Chapter 44
Betrayal
He had looked all through Krasnoyarsk, searched every house in that city, and there had been nothing.
Toris might have dragged it out intentionally.
In some part of his mind, he had known all along that even idiotic Gilbert wouldn't hang around there after having been nearly assassinated. Well. After having been nearly murdered; Toris liked to reserve the term 'assassination' for important people. Like Edelstein.
All the same, though, in the end, and it was really only the agony of seeing a still Eduard that had made him drag his feet after Gilbert. Honestly, didn't much feel like it. He had known Gilbert would go to Lesosibirsk, had known that right off, but had decided to hang back and search Krasnoyarsk anyway. Couldn't say why. Bitterness, maybe, for Ivan.
That strange, constant sense of lethargy and surrealism.
Irritation at Ludwig. That awful shame. The betrayal, if that was the right word, that he felt whenever Ivan swooned over Ludwig.
All of it, together, everything, seemed suddenly like too much.
Maybe he dragged out the search in Krasnoyarsk just because every time he stopped walking, every time he stopped thinking, every time he stopped looking, he could feel his face crumpling, could feel his composure slipping, could feel himself blinking too hard, and so he had to carry on. Couldn't show any weakness in front of Ivan's guys, any at all, and so he searched that city for days, even though he knew Gilbert was gone.
It had occurred to him, if only in his subconscious, that prolonging his search was giving Gilbert more time, giving him a better chance to get to Lesosibirsk. Giving him a head-start. He was willingly, at least on some level, giving Gilbert a head-start, and he didn't know why.
Ivan woulda killed him right there if he knew that Toris knew where Gilbert was and hadn't gone to him right away. Ivan would have come out himself just to shoot Toris.
It had also occurred to him that he really didn't care.
It had been creeping upon him, these last days; restlessness. An odd sense of something that might have defiance. Agitation and the desire to suddenly wound Ivan in some way.
Hate.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Eduard's face. Saw that pale face, and he could remember Eduard's smile, even after so long. For it, for that smile, he gave Gilbert a breather, because doing so would hurt Ivan, even if Ivan didn't know about it.
Couldn't last forever, though, and eventually, after a week, Toris had no choice but to call it quits and head out, because Ivan's guys were shifting and shuffling and looking increasingly agitated. As if they were tired of Toris' bullshit, and Toris didn't want them to go whining to Ivan, because then the game would be up. Wanted to drag it out, suddenly. To prolong it all the more, Toris was quick to send those guys off in separate ways. Didn't take too long to get to Lesosibirsk, and Toris wanted to be alone. He picked them apart, and sent Ivan's guys to places he knew Gilbert wouldn't be. Expensive hotels, parks, the such.
Wanted to find Gilbert on his own. Wanted to see him. Wanted to do this himself.
After Eduard, he needed to do this himself. Couldn't stand another round of 'why's, just couldn't.
Maybe, in some way, some bitter part of him wanted Gilbert to get away. Wanted him to get to that house, if only so that the ground under Ivan would shake a little. So that Ivan would be the one to feel fear. So that Ivan would be the one who was faced with losing someone he cared about. Maybe he wanted Gilbert to get there, to take Ludwig, even though he knew that couldn't be, so that Ivan would be the one to feel that horrible longing. That regret.
Couldn't be, though, because Gilbert wasn't smart enough to get away from Toris before Ivan's guys got antsy.
And, in the end, the idiot was almost exactly where Toris had expected him to be. One step ahead, but only one, and easily found. So dumb.
Actually, the only thing in Lesosibirsk that Toris hadn't expected at all was a dead Natalia, in the motel where he thought he would find Gilbert. That was a shock, to say the least. Not that she was dead, nah, didn't give a shit about that, but rather that she was there at all. The hell was she doing out here?
It took him a good while to figure it out.
To figure out that she had been helping them along the whole while. Why he had missed them so many times. Fuckin' Natalia, always so keen to Ivan's mind, had been assisting them, knowing what Ivan would do, and therefore what Toris would do. Getting Eduard farther and farther, until she had missed a step or Ivan's guys had been too clever.
Well. That was a first. Natalia helping somebody. No doubt just to get rid of Ludwig, whom she had hated the moment she had laid eyes upon him. A simple cat-fight between Natalia and Ludwig for Ivan.
Ha. Those two. Two crazy people fighting for a crazier man.
Aw, hell. If he'd'a known that, if he had known she had been slinking around, it would saved him a lot of time. Would have just driven out to her fuckin' house and shot her. Well. Not him. Ivan would have, not Toris. When everything was said and done, Toris wasn't really sure that he was brave enough to shoot Natalia. Not her, insane as she was.
She had always terrified him.
Maybe even Ivan wouldn't have been able to do it, either.
...so, then. Why had Gilbert done her in? Had to have been Gilbert. No one else was crazy enough to shoot that woman, especially when she was on your side. Standing in front of Natalia and still being able to pull the trigger. Gilbert had some pair on him, that was for sure, to be able to pull it off.
Oh, Gilbert. So fuckin' stupid, just like Ivan had always said.
And he was easily located. Took all of five minutes to find him after leaving Natalia behind. Found him in the worst looking motel in the city, and it was easy enough for Toris to pick the lock on the door. Couldn't say he wanted too much to cause a scene and draw attention. Wanted to do this alone.
Eduard hadn't moved, at his touch.
When he pushed the door open, silently, he slunk in with his gun drawn.
Gilbert was sitting on the bed, staring out of the window with slumped shoulders. The hair threw him off for a second, but he knew it was Gilbert. That pale, translucent skin, and those eyes. That face. Gilbert sat there, obliviously. Hadn't seen Toris. Hadn't heard him come in. Just staring away out the window, even though nothing interesting was happening out on the street. His eyes were moving back and forth, back and forth.
What did he see?
Would have been so easy to shoot him there and kill him before he had time to be scared, before he had time to realize what was happening. That would have been a mercy, would have been something that Toris could have felt good about, so he didn't know why he suddenly slammed the door behind him to draw Gilbert's attention.
Gilbert looked over at the noise, saw Toris standing there, and seemed to freeze up like a deer, fingers clenching in the shoddy bedding and eyes so wide that they could very well have popped out of his head. The pulse in his neck was going to town.
Stillness.
A sharp inhale, and suddenly, as Toris aimed his gun, Gilbert was nearly hyperventilating, and his wide eyes had squinted a little in what might have been absolute despair. Hadn't ever seen anyone look so defeated, so miserable, so sad. So downtrodden.
Toris had thought that Gilbert would have tried to bolt for the window, try to rush him, try to do anything, anything at all, to get away, to escape. To avoid that gun, to fight for his life.
He didn't.
He just sat there, staring at Toris, immobile and terrified, until Toris finally said, "Get up."
Gilbert took a long time to obey the command, and Toris didn't even know why he had bothered. Coulda easily shot him there where he sat, but felt the need to at least have him stand so that he could get a good look at him. Curiosity, maybe. Just wanted to look. He hadn't gotten the chance to stand before Eduard. Maybe, if he had, if he coulda said something, coulda looked at him, maybe...
If Eduard could have tried to explain why.
Maybe.
When Gilbert stood, he had to physically push himself off of the bed with his hands, either too tired or too petrified to get his legs working. A wobble, a totter, and then, with what looked like a ridiculous amount of effort, Gilbert slowly raised his trembling hands in the air, but only to the height of his chest.
A long, silent stare.
Toris almost felt rather fascinated.
Chased this man so long, so hard, and here he was. A little underwhelming, after everything was said and done. For all the trouble Gilbert had been, for everything Gilbert had cost him, Gilbert seemed hardly worth the effort.
It was so easy to take everything as a whole, to take Ludwig's former devotion, to take Ivan's unease, to take Toris' terror, and to envision Gilbert as a broad, strong, bold man with hard eyes and a harder will, someone that had torn through Siberia without a care in the world, someone that had the balls to take on Ivan, of all people, that had the nerve to trek through this land that made grown men shudder, that had the strength to make it so far when others had failed. That had the gall to come and take what had been stolen from him.
So far away from home.
And once upon a time, Gilbert no doubt had been. Gilbert had once been all of that. Nothing, now. It had been easy to envision a Gilbert that would have fought now, cornered like this. Someone who would have raised holy hell to get that gun out of Toris' hand. Not this pitiful thing.
Toris could say that he was thoroughly and utterly surprised. Unimpressed. Hell, even when he had been wailing and bawling the last time, Gilbert had seemed so much stronger then.
Just a shadow, now.
Gilbert looked like he was one light breeze from falling over. Paler than ever and skinnier than he had been the last time they had crossed paths, the shadows under his eyes looked more like somebody had slapped some veils on his face, and, damn, he looked pitiful. Stubble on his cheeks, clothes dirty and wrinkled, a crease in his brow from constant fretting. And he couldn't even keep his fingers straight; they curled up onto his palms, as if there was no strength to even bother trying. Couldn't even stand straight, either, leaning as he was from side to side.
Pitiful.
Toris gave him a quick look over, and didn't know why he said, randomly, "That's not a good look for you."
That hair. Pale silvery-blond roots already coming in, mingling with that dark brunet color. An odd, mismatched palate that wasn't exactly flattering. Made Gilbert look paler and sicker than he probably was. For all it mattered.
Gilbert just stared straight at him, opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to find anything to say.
Toris tried to engage him a little, then, maybe to prolong the inevitable. Didn't know why he did that, either. Hell; he was worse than Ludwig. Tormenting Gilbert by pointing the gun at him and makin' him dance for a while when he could have already shot him and had it over with.
This week had been considerably confusing for him.
At last, a long minute later, Gilbert finally found his voice. Didn't plead, though, didn't beg for his life. He seemed rather dazed, as a matter of fact, only half-there, and whispered, roughly, "You're Toris, right? I remember you."
Well.
How kind of him, to remember Toris' name. Surprised a man that stupid and brash had even bothered with details. Didn't think that strung-out son of a bitch had the ability to retain facts at all, let alone a name.
Still, for some reason, Toris inclined his head in acknowledgment, and said, "Gilbert. I remember, too."
Silence, then, as they stared each other down.
Gilbert's gaze kept breaking, twitching here and there as his heavy breathing started to calm down a bit. As if, slowly, Gilbert was accepting his fate.
An awful look of pain and regret crossed Gilbert's face then, and Toris asked, for whatever reason, "How'd you get this far without dyin', huh? Nobody else did."
Gilbert's hands trembled with the effort of keeping them upright. Finally, a weak mutter that bordered on the verge of dying altogether.
"Guess I'm just one lucky son of a bitch."
Gilbert stood there, looking so defeated, and Toris wished that he could make him understand. He wished that he could find the courage to say, 'I've come to shoot you, so that it won't break your heart when your little brother tries to.' If Ivan asked it, Ludwig would shoot Gilbert. Wouldn't even flinch. The Ludwig that Gilbert sought had disappeared a long time ago. The dumb son of a bitch just didn't get it. Wished Gilbert would understand.
Toris opened his mouth again, but this time all that came out was a low, weary, "Aren't you tired? Huh? Don't you want me to just shoot you and get it over with?"
Gilbert's arms were slowly falling back down to his sides; he was just too tired to keep them in the air. Toris hadn't pitied someone like this for a long, long time.
Gilbert didn't answer. Somehow, that bothered Toris. Wanted him to interact. Didn't know why. Hated that look of despair.
Wanted to rile Gilbert, wanted him to do something, because Toris wasn't really sure he could stomach shooting the poor son of a bitch if he didn't do something. Shooting someone who was so defeated that their hands couldn't even stay in the air—only Ivan and Ludwig could have ever really found any point in that. He wanted Gilbert to at least do something, so that way he would feel less shitty about the whole thing.
"I saw Natalia back there," he said, a bit offhandedly. "Didn't think you had it in you."
Gilbert looked dazed. Lost. A familiar feeling.
"I didn't mean to," came the almost confused whisper.
"Sure."
Oh. Eduard was dead.
Eduard had been the only person that had ever smiled at Toris.
Gilbert's face was falling as much as his arms had, misery and terror and everything else, and Toris knew it was time to stop teasing him. Time to stop dragging it out. Time to shoot him, and put him out of his misery, even if he wouldn't snap out of it. The merciful thing to do, when all was considered.
So he aimed his gun, Gilbert's face scrunched up, his head bowed, and Toris pulled his finger back.
—I'll shoot us all—
Tried to pull the trigger.
Lyudovik.
He tried, he really did try, and yet somehow he couldn't seem to do it. No matter how many times he tried to move his finger, just couldn't seem to. A million things running through his head.
Couldn't do it.
Kept on seeing Ivan, holding Ludwig's head beneath the water.
Eduard, motionless there on that floor, where he didn't belong. Far from home and with no friends to mourn him. A good man that had just gotten mixed up with the wrong people. Eduard hadn't ever done anything wrong. So few of the people he had killed actually had, come to think.
Still, he kept on thinking. Kept on wondering why he hadn't tried to talk to Eduard first. Kept on wondering how he had lost Ludwig. Kept on wondering why nothing he did was ever good enough. Kept on wondering how Ivan always came out on top.
The worst thing was that this would have been the thing to make Ivan look at him. Shooting Gilbert would have given him everything he had ever wanted, would have made him better than Ludwig, would have made Ivan say, 'Good job.' Shooting Gilbert would have saved him. This was it, and suddenly he couldn't do it. Couldn't get his damn finger to work, no matter how hard he tried.
It was that horrendous feeling of remorse in his stomach that eventually caused his finger to lose grip.
Eduard's death was what spared Gilbert, in the end. That indescribable hurt. Couldn't really bring himself to shoot the stupid son of a bitch. Not now. Eduard had been his brother once. Eduard had given his life for this stupid, stupid man, simply because Eduard had always been a good guy. Nothing more. Eduard hadn't ever wanted anything from anyone. Had only ever wanted to help.
Hurt.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, in that part of him he had always tried to ignore, maybe Toris wanted Gilbert to get there. Wanted Gilbert to see Ludwig, wanted Ludwig to see Gilbert, wanted Gilbert to take Ludwig, wanted Ivan to lose, wanted Ivan to fulfill his oath to shoot everyone in that house, because everyone there deserved to be shot. He knew it couldn't be, knew that Ludwig wouldn't turn, knew that Gilbert could never break through to the new Ludwig, knew that Ivan, perfect Ivan, never lost, but he wished it could have been that way. Wished Ivan would just lose, just this once.
He didn't even realize that his gun had been steadily lowering until he felt it bumping into his thigh.
Gilbert's face was still crumpled up, his head was still bowed, he was still breathing through his mouth, presumably looking back on every decision he had ever made and wondering how he and Ludwig had ever found themselves out here. Yeah, join the club.
He felt his hand moving again, then, but this time he looked down and saw that he was putting his gun back in its holster.
The second that his gun was out of his hand, he knew. Ivan would kill him. All those years, unable to run away, and finally he had sheathed his gun. He had finally disobeyed a direct order. Had finally looked upon something Ivan had told him to do, had tilted his head, and had said, 'No.'
No.
Defiance, for the first time. Never had he disobeyed Ivan. Never had he turned. He did now, and he didn't know why, except that his stomach and head hurt and Eduard wouldn't ever smile at him again.
Eduard was dead.
A long silence, longer than any other Toris had ever known, and he didn't know why it took Gilbert so long to finally open his eyes again. Why it took him so long to lift his head and look at Toris, through those bleary, miserable eyes. Why it took him so long to realize that Toris' gun was put away. He stood there, long after Toris had stopped aiming at him, and looked so confused. Stunned. He turned his head, slowly, looking this way and that as if he thought that Toris was just fucking with him and had some other guy there to do the shooting.
It was a few more minutes, stifled in that silence, before Gilbert finally lost his strength and tottered backwards onto the floor. A scoot up against the wall. Gilbert looked up at him, and Toris couldn't say that he had ever seen an expression quite like that. Didn't even know what it was. Gilbert sat there on the floor, looking up at him through dirty bangs, and Toris wasn't really sure whether he was relieved or not that the gun had been put away.
Still seemed so devastated, somehow.
Finally, Gilbert opened his mouth and asked, in a voice that was mostly air, "Aren't you gonna kill me?"
Toris stood there, feeling somewhat surreal, and answered, "No."
Felt like he was dreaming somewhere. Everything felt so misty, as if he had wandered off into some cloud.
Pale fingers dug into the floor, and Gilbert's voice had gone ever breathier, somehow.
"Why?"
Why? Toris had no good answer for that. Had no reason.
He'd killed Eduard.
Gilbert said as much by adding, "You killed him. Why aren't you gonna kill me? You killed him."
All Toris could do then was say, "I don't know."
An honest answer, because he couldn't understand himself, then. He couldn't understand what was going on his head. He couldn't understand why he had spared Gilbert, why he had stopped, why he had let this man live when so many others hadn't. Had killed Edelstein, his wife, that kid, Eduard.
But not Gilbert.
Gilbert seemed to be thinking everything Toris was, though, and glanced up at him again long enough to ask, "Did you kill them? Did you really kill all of them? Are they really dead?"
Maybe there was a glimmer of hope in Gilbert's voice, as if maybe some stupid part of him was really praying that that had been a lie, that everyone wasn't dead after all, that maybe there had been a misunderstanding.
That couldn't be, though, so Toris just looked down at shaking Gilbert and said, simply, "Yeah, I did."
Another fall of Gilbert's face, and then he hung his head, and didn't say another word.
Time passed, and Toris stood there still, not knowing what else to do.
Ivan's guys were probably close to finishing up. What to do. Better go round them up and send them farther out. Make sure they were far enough away to keep Gilbert out of their sights, distracted enough not to notice Toris' strangeness. Shouldn't be too hard; maybe his confidence was just far too inflated, but Toris was pretty sure he was the smartest guy here.
Just had to get Gilbert to stay still.
"Stay here," he commanded, and even though Gilbert didn't look up or answer, Toris was certain that Gilbert didn't even have the energy anymore to move at all, let alone run, so he slunk back through the door and back out into the city.
Kinda hoped, he would, though. Hoped that Gilbert would make a break for it, that he really would run, so that Toris could get a breather and try to get his head back on straight. Maybe Gilbert running would give him the motivation he needed to shoot the bastard and have it all done with.
For all his internal fretting, Ivan's guys didn't seem to notice anything amiss, chattering amongst themselves as they waited for Toris' command. Gave 'em one, alright; go north. The way across the river and out of the city was south, and Toris sent them as far as he could without risking their suspicions. They went without question, because he was Toris, and, whether Ivan liked it or not, whether Ivan appreciated it or not, whether Ivan acknowledged it or not, Toris was still Ivan's right-hand man.
For now.
Restlessness. Wanted Ivan to lose.
On the walk back, he tried once again to gather the will to shoot Gilbert, because he knew that that was the only thing to do. But no; when he returned, hours later, Gilbert was still sitting there against the wall, and Toris found that he still couldn't do it.
Wished he woulda run.
Gilbert looked up that time, when Toris came in, and Toris could see right off in his red eyes that he'd been crying. Looked a little stunned that Toris had actually come back. In some way, Toris thought that maybe he looked relieved. That didn't make any sense. Toris should have been the last person Gilbert ever wanted to see.
And again, Toris could only stand there and think about what he was going to do. What should he do? Send Gilbert on his way? Tell him to run? Tell him which way to go? Try to get him moving? Give him a head-start? Wasn't even sure that Gilbert could have stood up then if he had tried to, and if so, then he couldn't have gotten far by myself, not as dumb and demoralized as he was. Even Toris' best head-start would have given Gilbert two days at the very most. Gilbert wouldn't get anywhere like this, not on his own.
They stood at an impasse for a while, Gilbert too tired to get up off the floor and Toris too disheartened to really move, and they settled for staring at each other from time to time.
Toris was still thinking of what to do when Gilbert finally addressed him.
A low, guttural whisper.
"Is Ludwig alive?"
And for a while there, Toris had had half a mind to answer, 'No.'
Ludwig wasn't alive anymore, not the one that Gilbert sought, and that would have been the best answer. That would have ended this journey where it stood. It would have been the truth, in a way, because the Ludwig that stood by Ivan's side was not the same one Gilbert was looking for.
But when Toris looked over, the way Gilbert's face had crumpled made him stop short.
Absolute heartbreak, in human form. Gilbert's face. The way his eyes had squinted up and his brow had crinkled. The way his shoulders shook as he tried to prepare himself. The way his mouth was slightly open, chin low even as he looked up at Toris. The way his fingers were digging into the carpet for balance. The way he was barely breathing at all.
The way that he looked like he would have fallen over and died from misery if Toris told him that his little brother had expired.
So, against his better judgment, Toris heard himself say, "Yeah."
Didn't know why he said it anymore than he knew why he was doing any of this now.
Gilbert's eyes shut completely, his head bowed, his lips pursed, his face collapsed completely, and when he raised up a wobbling hand to his forehead and inhaled sharply, Toris knew he was crying.
Toris couldn't say it. Seeing Gilbert like that, so ecstatic over the life of his little brother, he couldn't say it. He couldn't say, 'Ludwig doesn't love you anymore.'
Ivan had spent so many years calling him a coward, and Toris had never denied it, because he was. Too cowardly to ever say what he really wanted. Too cowardly to think for himself. Too cowardly to tell the truth. Too cowardly to tell Ludwig who he had killed. Too cowardly to put aside bitterness and spare Eduard.
Too cowardly now to tell Gilbert there was no hope.
Coward.
Long, uncomfortable minutes of Gilbert trying to stifle his sobs, too weak to bury his head under his arms and hide his face, and Toris looked around, rather helplessly. Didn't know what to do now. He had gone this far. He couldn't go back, not from this. If he couldn't shoot Gilbert, if he couldn't do it, and if Gilbert couldn't go on alone, then what could he do? What? Was he supposed to guide Gilbert? Was he supposed to go back home, but this time in secrecy? Was he supposed to turn his back on Ivan, after all these years?
Well, actually, he already had. Not shooting Gilbert the second they had been in a room together had, essentially, been turning his back on Ivan. Seemed like he had suddenly gone too far to just turn around.
Eduard had been a step too far, too far. Couldn't stop seeing his face.
Gilbert finally looked up at him when he stopped choking and coughing, determined even through his bleary eyes and his misery, and asked, "Will you help me get there?"
From there, Toris felt like he had shifted permanently into that dream-like state.
Again, Toris said, serenely, "Yeah."
His voice was calm; his mind was anything but.
Gilbert started crying yet again, and ducked his chin down into his collar.
Toris looked down at him, and asked, as Gilbert shook, "Why don't you just go home, huh? Why did you come all this way? I don't understand. You were there. You got there. You were where you wanted to be. Why did you cross the wall again? Why? He's not even your brother."
Wanted to understand that, he really did. Had Gilbert really done all this, risked all this, come so far for Ludwig? Why? Those men, brothers in name only, shared no blood. Gilbert and Ludwig had no ties, none at all, and so he couldn't really understand why Gilbert was putting so much into this.
Gilbert stared at his feet for a while, reached up to wipe at his nose, gathering his thoughts, and then he said, quietly and rather simply, "'Cause he loves me. No one else does."
Not anymore.
But Gilbert looked up at Toris, then, and for the second time Gilbert's face stopped him short.
That look.
As if the thought of Ludwig had lit something up inside of dull Gilbert. As if even the mention of Ludwig, the thought of him, the notion of him, could bring something to life in Gilbert. His eyes had brightened, the darkness was replaced with something close to elation, the crease in his brow had softened, his chin was held up higher. His lips had twisted up into a crooked smile. Weakness and despair morphing into eagerness and adoration.
A glimpse, however briefly, of what proud Gilbert had once been.
When Gilbert spoke then, his voice had changed, too. No longer that pitiful wisp, but a stronger, deeper pitch, richer and more alive. Strong enough to make even unshakeable Toris shiver a bit when he said, "He loves me, for no good reason. I never did anything for him, not really, but he loves me anyway. I'll do anything for that, just because he loves me. I'll do anything for him."
And, well...
Toris looked down at Gilbert, looked down on that love there, and made up his mind.
Couldn't shoot him, and couldn't leave him here alone. Couldn't. He went on then, because, in a way, Gilbert's love for Ludwig was beautiful. Something he hadn't ever seen. Even though it wouldn't end the way Gilbert wanted, even if that love had died on the other side, even if it would kill Gilbert in the end, Toris couldn't seem to turn around then. Couldn't take his eyes off of that man, off of that look.
Fascinated.
No one had ever come for him, no one had ever wanted him like that, so in a way he might have been trying to experience it a little through Gilbert. No one had ever loved him like Gilbert loved Ludwig. No one had ever been so enamored with him that his name alone could have brought out an expression like that.
Gilbert loved Ludwig, and so Toris helped him, because it was easy to look at Gilbert and feel a little of it, just because it emanated from Gilbert so strongly. He could feel it, just by being in the same room with Gilbert. Hadn't ever felt anything like it, either, not in Ivan's world, and so Toris looked around, braced his feet and shoulders, and settled everything once and for all.
He wouldn't go back to that old routine.
Eduard was dead, and Gilbert loved Ludwig.
Anyway, Ivan was a breath away from shooting him. May as well play his hand out here and see how far he got. Go down with a fight. Torment Ivan a little, as Ivan tormented him, before he died. If he was gonna die, then so be it, but he at least wanted to get a shot in before he went down. At least then Ivan would remember him.
With those thoughts in his head, with those men still nearby, Toris felt the issue suddenly pressing, and said, "Get up. Time to go."
Even though there was nothing left to draw upon, somehow Gilbert stood up, because he loved Ludwig. That was beautiful. It was just a shame that Ludwig had stood up for Ivan.
Still, Gilbert carried on.
Took a step, and then another, and was somehow walking, unsteadily and clumsily but walking all the same, and followed Toris blindly. Didn't question him, didn't seem suspicious, didn't seem aloof. Followed Toris out the door, followed him down the street, and didn't look over his shoulder. Followed, because Gilbert wanted Ludwig so badly that he was willing to do anything, willing to trust anyone, willing to go along with whomever may have offered.
As if Gilbert were just so desperate that he would have mindlessly attached himself to anyone who extended a hand. One of Ivan's guys coulda come up then, gun drawn, and teasingly said, 'Let's go,' and dumb Gilbert would have run up and tried to hug him.
Toris was fascinated, in every way, by that love. By that dedication. By this selfish, egotistical, proud, arrogant man, who had cast all of that aside just to save someone who had once loved him.
Felt more surreal than ever when he found a guy on the river, did a little sweet-talking, and boarded his boat with Gilbert. Going across the river. Behind them, Ivan's guys continued scouring the city, quite oblivious.
The whole while, Gilbert just stared at Toris as if he had fallen out of the sky, and Toris felt himself shifting from time to time, because he wasn't used to someone looking at him like that. Was used to people being terrified of him. Most people that stood before him hadn't ever come out of it that well, and yet here Gilbert was, staring at him as if Toris had just saved Gilbert from drowning.
Not used to being looked at as a savior, because he usually wasn't. So long, doing everything Ivan told him to.
Walking with Gilbert on the other side of the river was even stranger. Gilbert didn't turn to him once and ask, 'Where are we going?' Just trusted that Toris was taking him the right way. Somehow, that made his chest hurt.
They went into the outskirts of the city, Toris bribed a guy for his car, and they were on their way.
How strange!
He couldn't even believe anything going on around him. Absolutely, fantastically surreal.
As they drove along, though, Gilbert finally turned to him, and seemed a little bolstered by his presence. Toris being there must have been a great boost to his confidence, because he suddenly said, "When we stop, will you call him?"
At first, Toris thought Gilbert meant Ludwig.
But when he turned, he could see that strange look of intensity on Gilbert's face as he added, "Call him, and tell him I'm coming. I want him to know I'm coming. I want him to know that he can't stop me."
And then he realized that Gilbert wanted Toris to call Ivan, that Gilbert wanted Ivan to know that Gilbert was coming, despite everything Ivan had tossed out. That Gilbert wanted Ivan to squirm.
Toris didn't say a word then, and stared straight ahead at the road. Wanted to say, 'Are you stupid?' but didn't have the heart. Telling Ivan would lose them their advantage, but, in a way, he could understand Gilbert's sentiment.
So Toris drove along, and thought about it. To distract Gilbert, in the meanwhile, he asked, "How long's it been since you've eaten?"
Gilbert shifted, irritated that Toris was changing the subject, but was no doubt hungry, so he just shrugged a shoulder. Bought Toris a little time, anyway, to think about it, as he stopped to find Gilbert something to eat.
Lesosibirsk was a full day of driving behind him when he finally did what Gilbert wanted, and called Ivan.
Wondered if Ivan's guys had realized by then that Toris had gone missing.
In a way, even though he knew it was stupid, he could agree in a sense with Gilbert; wanted Ivan to feel that unease, that betrayal. Wanted Ivan to sit there at night and not be able to sleep. Wanted Ivan to know that Toris could still get one over on him, when he had a mind to. That Ivan, after all, had taught Toris everything he knew. That Toris had been a good student.
Bitterness.
He stopped the car when he saw a payphone in a small town, inhaled, and stepped out. Felt jittery and clammy. Gilbert was hot on his heels, looking alert despite it all.
Picking up that phone, though, Toris had almost choked. Had almost lost his nerve, as he punched in the numbers.
This place had been home for so long. That house had been his, too, all along.
"Allo."
Ivan's voice. That was something he had gotten used to. Something he feared and loved at the same time. Ivan had been his family.
Took him a long time to gather the courage to say, "It's me."
Ivan's voice became high-pitched. Eager.
Oh, Ivan. Didn't know.
"Toris! Tell me."
Well. Guess those men hadn't noticed his absence yet, still looking around Lesosibirsk. That was a relief, if only a slight one. So, Toris was keen to drag in out, in anxiety rather than boldness, and said, "Natalia's dead."
Ivan scoffed, curtly, and grunted, "That would be good news if that were what I was asking you."
So impatient, as always.
A quick glance back at bristling Gilbert, and then, feeling his heart palpitating so quickly that he knew he was on the verge of either vomiting or fainting, he said, weakly, "I got him."
A horrible silence.
'I got him.' Had, alright, just not in the way he or Ivan had expected. Not in the way he had meant to.
Oh. He had only ever wanted Ivan to be proud of him.
And then a laugh.
Ivan's laugh, high-pitched and a bit breathless, and Toris was pretty sure, as the nausea disappeared as quickly as it had come, that what he felt then was close to elation. Joy.
The sound of Ivan's voice, when he said, "You don't say! I'll be damned! Didn't think you'd be able to do it. See? You see how easy that was to find 'em? You should have told me sooner. Ah—hell. It's done. I was startin' to get a little irritable with you, I admit, but... Ha. Good damn job, Toris. Good job. It's over."
Toris' racing heart skipped a beat. His mouth dropped open as he exhaled, and he couldn't seem to inhale again. As if everything had stood still the moment those words had left Ivan's lips.
Good job.
Oh. God. Had he finally made Ivan proud? Absolute breathlessness. Everything he had ever wanted to hear. Everything he had ever wanted.
Ivan was god.
Good job. He'd wanted to hear that, his entire life. Had just wanted Ivan to respect him.
And for a sudden, dazed moment, as that indescribable euphoria took over him, the thought crossed his mind to pull out his gun, whirl around, and shoot Gilbert in the chest right there, and then he could go back home and have Ivan say it again to his face. 'Good job.' To hear Ivan say it. Felt so fuckin' good, to hear him say it, to know that he had done something for once that maybe even Ludwig couldn't have, to be able to make Ivan proud. Ivan would never forget, not ever, and would always remember Toris' accomplishment.
Ivan would be proud of him. Ivan would love him for it. He could get a new uniform—
A hand on his arm.
He looked over, dazedly, to where Gilbert was staring at him with something close to impatience. "Well? Did you tell him yet? What are you waiting for? Tell him. Tell him I'm fuckin' coming. You tell him that I'm coming to get mine."
Toris looked down, and realized that his hand had crept down to his gun. His fingertips brushed the steel.
Cold.
Took him a long time to bring his hand back up, and it almost felt like a struggle to do so, as the urge to shoot Gilbert and earn Ivan's love was alarmingly potent. Felt like more a chore, suddenly, this random change of allegiance he had made. Probably better to shoot Gilbert and just go back home. He didn't really wanna leave Siberia, anyway.
Home.
Gilbert glanced down, then, saw Toris' hand still hovering above his gun, and it was that soft, sharp intake of breath, that sudden glint of fear in Gilbert's eyes, that look of uncertainty and doubt and terror, that finally yanked Toris out of his stupor. That flash of hopelessness that had crossed Gilbert's face.
Oh, he had almost done it. He had almost shot Gilbert.
Almost.
Would have been better, too, would have been easier, but all the same Toris finally lifted his hand back up to the booth, and Gilbert might have swallowed. Looked a little yellow there, as he watched Toris with an attentive gaze. Toris raised that hand up to his forehead, then, to keep it away from his gun, because he really, really wanted to shoot Gilbert, did he ever, and it was better to keep his hand engaged.
Good job.
His head was already hurting. Gilbert was going to be the end of him.
Ivan was calling his name, and Gilbert was staring at him.
Gilbert was waiting. Ivan was waiting.
Fuckers.
"Tell him!" Gilbert beseeched, in more of a moan, at the same moment that Ivan called, "Toris?"
His chest hurt, too. He just wanted Ivan to be proud of him. Was that so much to ask? Gilbert had gotten in the way.
It was the hardest thing Toris had ever done, to put that phone back up to his ear, and say, "I'm here."
He clenched his fingers in his hair, then, just to be absolutely certain they stayed put.
Ivan's voice had gotten impatient.
"Where are you?"
"In Lesosibirsk."
Well—Ivan's men were. He wasn't, not anymore, but Ivan didn't know that yet.
A hiss from Ivan, as he said, "So close! He got so close! How'd that stupid son of a bitch even get that far? Damn. You got him just in time."
No way around it now.
Decision time; shoot Gilbert, or help him.
To follow Ivan as he always had or choose the fork in the road.
Once upon a time, that would have been an easy decision. He would have pulled out the gun the second that Gilbert had put his hands in the air, and would have shot him right there without so much as a word. He would have picked up the phone and proudly said to Ivan, 'I did it. I killed the son of a bitch. I told you I could do it.'
And even now, that was what he really wanted to do. He wanted to shoot Gilbert, and get back home, and get a new goddamn uniform. Wanted to be the one to sneer at Ludwig.
Ludwig.
Lyudovik.
Wanted to, but Ludwig had shaken him up so much. Whatever Ludwig was now. Scared the hell out of him. Ludwig was so dangerous all of a sudden. So unsteady. Felt like leaving Ivan with a match and a stick of dynamite and expecting him not to light it up. Ludwig would surpass Ivan. Become something worse, somehow. Ludwig might have been created by Ivan, but it was starting to feel like Ivan had gotten in over his head. As if, soon, even Ivan wouldn't be able to control this Ludwig he had made.
And that scared him, so, after the most titanic struggle he'd ever had to shove through in his entire life, Toris somehow finally did it.
He did it.
Gripping the phone so hard that the plastic creaked, Toris said, numbly, "Close, alright. I got him, though. I got... He's right here. He's standing right here."
The silence then was unbearable.
He could hear those wheels grinding in Ivan's head, even so far away. That silence. Ivan didn't say a word. Not a word.
And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, it felt as if Toris had been hit by a car for the way he felt. All of that uncertainty was replaced with anger. All of the terror was replaced with loathing. All of that confusion was replaced with abhorrence. Hate. It surged up from under the terror and made his chest burn, made his head hurt so bad that his vision almost blurred.
Hate.
He hated Ivan, hated him so much, even if somehow he loved him, and oh, god, he was far enough away now, had gone too far now, had done too much now to ever go back, so may as well fuckin' say it. Just say it.
Could see it in his head, all the time. Ivan, coddling Ludwig. Ivan, making Ludwig a colonel that first day without a second thought. Ivan, always putting Toris last, even as Toris had put Ivan before all else. Ivan, never once saying, 'thank you.' Ivan, ignoring everything he had ever done in favor of stupid Ludwig.
Let's see who Ivan was suddenly thinking about now.
Toris' voice was lower and rougher than he had ever heard it when he pressed the phone against his lips and said, "He's still coming. Guess I'll help him get there. Hope you got another colonel uniform in there somewhere, because I'm gonna be taking it. I shoulda been a fuckin' general by now."
Silence. Absolute, crushing silence. Ivan couldn't even talk.
But Toris could, and the last thing he ever said to Ivan was a thick, trembling, furious, terrified, "I hate you, I hate you!"
Hadn't ever felt so many damn emotions fighting it out in his chest as he did then, and he suddenly slammed the phone into the side of the booth, just because he was so angry, so scared. Everything.
The hardest thing he had ever had to say. The most satisfying. The most painful. The most terrifying. The most calming.
Hated Ivan, but god, the second those words had left his lips, the second that string had been cut, the second he had severed that bond with Ivan, he had felt regret. Hurt. Remorse. Sadness. Longing.
Pain.
Home. So long with them. His family. Ivan had been as much a part of his life these years as anything, and Toris almost couldn't even imagine him just not being there anymore. Waking up tomorrow and not having Ivan in sight. Not having that house to go to. Not having Siberia beneath his feet. Being no one again. Losing all power he had ever had. Losing his title, his uniform, his control, his men, his sense of security, his sense of authority.
Losing his identity.
Losing Ivan.
When he set that phone back down, Toris turned around and stared at the car, hand over his mouth, and suddenly wanted to fall to his knees and cry like he had never cried in his life. If Gilbert hadn't been there, he would have, right there in the middle of the street. Felt faint, all the same. Devastated.
Ivan.
Hadn't known it would hurt that much.
In some way, saying goodbye to Ivan, letting that man go, was the most heartbreaking thing Toris had ever done.
And that was the sad story of his life.
'It takes a brave man to be a coward in the Red Army.'
Ludwig remembered having thought that once.
Yeah, Stalin had gotten that one right, sure had, but it took an even braver man to be a coward in Ivan's household. Took a stupid man to cross Ivan. Ludwig didn't know what Toris had done, what he could have possibly done, but he had done it, alright, whatever it may have been, and Ivan was furious.
Livid.
Ivan was so mad that Ludwig was surprised he hadn't spontaneously combusted.
Hard to shake that scene from his mind; Ivan, picking up the phone and actually smiling for a second, at god only knew what, and then that smile dropping like a fly a minute later. A long silence. Ivan's fists clenching. A pen snapping. Ivan suddenly leaping upright and bashing the phone into the desk, over and over again until the plastic shattered into pieces. And then Ivan had just picked up the whole damn unit and threw it as hard as he could against the wall.
That poor office phone. Couldn't catch a break.
Ivan had whirled around, right after murdering the phone, and had slapped Ludwig across the face with the back of his hand. A sting, but nothing too terrible, and Ludwig hadn't even flinched when Ivan turned his fist over to the wall instead.
Ludwig knew, then, somehow, that it had been Toris on the phone. Seemed that only dumb Toris could ever make Ivan angry enough to lash out at him.
The desk got it right after the wall, flipped right over, the fallen lamp was crushed under Ivan's boot, and by the time Ivan's rampage was over, the office was in utter ruin and Ivan's hand was bleeding.
Ludwig just stood there the whole time, brow high and smiling a bit breathlessly, cheek red, and watched Ivan go at it. Ha. Cute, to see Ivan pitching such a fit.
When there was nothing in the office left to break, when Ivan finally stopped smashing things, he turned around, grabbed Ludwig by the arms, and slammed him back none too gently into the wall.
The pain was dulled by the absolute elation of Ivan being near. Nothing Ivan did could really scare him anymore, it seemed. Every day, things that used to terrify him seemed suddenly non-threatening.
Ivan slammed him back into the wall again, then one more time, leaned down, and forced Ludwig's gaze with nothing short of fury.
"Ludwig, you listen to me," Ivan hissed in his ear, and Ludwig stiffened in complete attention, "If you ever see Toris again, and I'm not around, you shoot him. Shoot him. Shoot him. Do you hear me? Shoot him. Don't talk to him, just shoot him."
Ivan's fingers dug painfully into his arms.
Toris?
Ludwig hadn't even thought much about Toris lately, let alone felt incentive to shoot him. Barely even noticed when Toris was in the room.
To shoot Toris? Sure. Why not?
If Ivan said so, he could shoot Toris. Couldn't say he wanted to. It wouldn't please him. Wouldn't give him any satisfaction. Nothing he would enjoy, exactly. Just another boring task. But he'd do it, if that was what Ivan wanted. If it made Ivan happy, then he'd do it.
Toris had known all along not to get on Ivan's bad side. His own fault.
By now, Ivan's fingers were so deep in his arms that they were already leaving bruises, but Ivan kissed him quite possessively right after, so it was easily forgotten, and so was the recipient of Ivan's wrath. Didn't take too long for Toris to disappear completely from his mind. Toris was great and all, in the way a dog was great, but Toris being gone was almost exactly as when Toris had been there.
Ludwig just didn't notice much. Out of sight, out of mind.
As long as Toris never came back, then there was no problem. Couldn't shoot what wasn't there. Where had he gone off to, anyway? What was he doing? Toris had just up and left without a word, after that day.
Ah—who cared?
As it stood, Ludwig found that he had started valuing the cat more than he did Toris. All Toris had ever done was get him into trouble, it seemed. Better, now that he was gone. Felt as if he had more control, more authority. When Toris was gone, Ludwig felt more powerful, because Ivan had to rely on him. Toris being gone was hardly a concern.
He dragged fuming Ivan up to the bedroom shortly after, and quickly forgot that Toris had ever existed at all.
In the end, Ludwig couldn't even manage an interest. When Ivan had said Toris' name, in fact, Ludwig had very nearly thought, 'Toris who?'
The dog had wandered off.
Replaceable.
