Chapter 45

Part 1

Something Long Forgotten

Strange.

Everything around him those next few days felt so strange.

Being with Gilbert.

Being with the man he had come out here to kill, and was now somehow sitting beside. Funny how things happened, sometimes, Toris supposed. Couldn't ever really have said how he found himself here. Felt even stranger when he thought about how Siberia must have been smoldering under Ivan's wrath.

That was funny, too, in a way. Hoped it had hurt.

Hoped Ivan was looking back on every decision he had ever made and was wondering why he hadn't taken better care of Toris, when Toris had learned so much that it should have been obvious that he was the greatest threat to Ivan. Ivan had thought so lowly of him that he hadn't ever seemed to consider that it was only Toris who could have really ever undone him. Ivan had taught Toris everything he knew, but had felt Toris so pitiful that he hadn't even stopped to think that Toris could have very easily turned that knowledge against him. In the entire world, of billions of people, of so many 'brave' men, it was Toris that Ivan should have been leery of the whole time.

Hoped he was squirming, alright.

...oh, but, oh man, sure did miss him.

Missed him. Had spent so long wanting nothing more than Ivan to be proud of him. So long loving that man. Missed him so much, now that he couldn't see him anymore. Had never missed anything the way he missed Ivan. Like someone had stabbed him in the chest for the way he felt.

For it all, though, for Toris' wandering mind, Gilbert seemed hardly bothered.

Just looked as dazed and tired as always, even though he had perked up a little now that Toris was beside of him and now that he had eaten. Must have felt so much better, after all of that. Looked a bit less gaunt, anyway, even after only five days.

Ivan's guys must have talked to Ivan by now, and no doubt were shifting their focus from hunting Gilbert to hunting Toris. Ah. Let 'em look. Toris was smarter than they were, and was hardly concerned. Anyway, if they started getting too close, then he could always call up some of his guys to get in the way. Ivan didn't tell Toris everything, but that was a two-way street, and Toris had his own tricks here and there.

Didn't care about anything behind him. Was just worried about what lay in wait.

Ludwig.

They were staying in this nameless little town, and Toris just stared out of the window at the trees. A quiet little house. Cozy. Gilbert might not have liked it too much, but Toris considered it a great change from those shitty motels. Anyway, better to just pay kind people to let them crash. Too risky to stay in public areas. Felt like a kid again, almost, staying in someone's house like this. Sleeping over, in a way. Pleasant. Would have been, anyway, if he weren't fretting about encountering Ludwig again.

Somehow, it was almost more frightening in his mind to see Ludwig than it was Ivan. How sad. Wished Gilbert would figure it out before they got too close.

Hardly.

Anyway, all Gilbert ever did was sleep.

Gilbert slept all of the time, when they weren't moving, no doubt catching up on rest from his traumatic ordeal. Still so shocked from Eduard and Natalia that maybe sleeping was easier for him, so he didn't have to think too much. Slept so hard though, didn't move at all, didn't even twitch, barely breathed, and sometimes Toris wondered if Gilbert would just end up dying in his sleep. Woulda been merciful, really.

The sun was getting lower, as Toris stared on out of the window, and still Gilbert slept, burrowed under the blanket, and for a while there, Toris thought he'd finally just kicked the bucket. Hadn't moved a muscle in a while. Hadn't ever seen anyone sleep as hard as Gilbert did. It was a little worrying, honestly. Didn't seem very healthy.

Well. Best to check him, then.

Goddamn, though, what was he gonna do if Gilbert died before they even got there? Where was he gonna go? West, obviously. Maybe he'd go to Berlin for a while. See where he wound up. Maybe he'd go to Greece. Hell, maybe he'd go to America, if only to piss Ivan off all the more. Had to go somewhere, somewhere distant enough to where it would be hard for Ivan's hand to fall upon him. Oh, Christ, but then there was living afterwards. Good god, living without Ivan. How was he even gonna manage that? So used to having the world under his feet. So used to being surrounded by men who ruled countries. Fuckin' diamonds crunching under his feet every time he walked outside. Oh, god, how was he gonna survive? Why hadn't he stuffed his pockets full of diamonds before he had left? So many of the damn things layin' around out there, and he hadn't thought to take a single one. Ivan mighta owned the world, but diamonds did, too, he'd learned that quickly enough. Stupid! Oh, he was gonna haveta get a job, a fuckin' job, like ordinary people, was gonna haveta work, work, like those nobodies he had spent so many years looking down on. He'd considered himself above the world, gotten so used to owning people, it was terrifying to even think about being one of them, one of them, a normal goddamn guy, a damn speck of dust again—

A pain in his hand.

He looked down, and realized he had punched the wall in his frustration. Blood, rising up from his scraped knuckle.

Damn. What had he been doing?

Oh, right, right, checking on Gilbert. Right.

God, couldn't stand thinking about it. Missed Ivan so much, missed that identity. Didn't wanna be a normal guy. Just wanted to carry on without ever having to lift a hand for anything. Wanted to keep on stomping on people. Wanted to have everything without having to give effort for it.

Dammit, Gilbert.

...better not be dead yet. Toris would have liked to avoid the inevitable for a while longer. Wanted to drag his feet in Siberia as he had dragged them behind Gilbert. Leaving home. Didn't wanna go.

Gilbert had cost him everything.

Because of it, Gilbert was really all he had at the moment. How pitiful. And Gilbert wasn't even worth it. He really wasn't.

Too late, and maybe it was better to just focus on Gilbert for now and try not to envision himself working somewhere in some other country. Working. Ah. Maybe, before Gilbert realized that Ludwig was gone, maybe he could slip in somewhere and grab a handful of diamonds. Had to have been some still in that shuttered KGB office, surely, if he couldn't get inside the house. Could swing by the mine and see what he could scrounge up. Ore, if nothing else.

If he didn't get shot first.

Ugh.

He slunk forward, and reached out a hand to put it on Gilbert's head. Didn't even know why he slunk, either, because Gilbert slept like a rock. A fuckin' bomb couldn't have woken than man up.

A glint, in the lowering sunlight.

Pretty hair, what little of it could be seen under the tips, blond so pale that it was nearly silver, although 'pretty' wasn't exactly a word that was easily attributed to this unkempt, gruff, snarled human being before him. Maybe, in some dark, rough way, Gilbert was handsome, but certainly not pretty. Handsome worked, he guessed. Well. Ludwig was handsome. Ivan was handsome. Maybe rugged was a better word for Gilbert.

A stir. Gilbert's heavy eyes cracked open then, and he peered upward through pale lashes.

Oh. Not dead yet, apparently. Good.

Pretty eyes, too, but most people had pretty eyes. Still, though, to give credit where credit was due, not too many people had eyes like Gilbert's. That odd red pigment. Had never in his life met an albino. Absolutely fascinating, those eyes.

"What're ya doin'?"

Toris straightened back up, and said, honestly, "Checkin' to see if you were still alive."

"Oh."

A long, silent stare. Thought that Gilbert would go back to sleep, but he didn't, and, after a few moments of squirming and inhaling, Gilbert finally flipped over onto his back and sat himself up at the waist. A long, bleary look around, as Gilbert came back to consciousness, and when his eyes fell on Toris, he gave a weak smile.

"Hey."

Toris inclined his head.

"Hey."

With that, Gilbert fell silent, and seemed to be trying to remember where he was.

Toris asked, absently, "You hungry?"

Always was now that he wasn't crying every five minutes, it seemed, and, sure enough, Gilbert nodded. Dutifully, Toris went to fetch food. When he came back, though, and set it down beside the bed, Gilbert only seemed to be picking at it halfheartedly.

Preoccupied with something else. Didn't take that much longer to find out.

The sun had set.

A while later, Gilbert turned to him, still messy with sleep, and said, "I can't really believe you're here with me. I was so sure I was gonna be alone. I thought I was gonna be alone. I didn't know where to go. I can't believe you didn't shoot me."

"Yeah," Toris grumbled, as he plopped down onto his back on the other bed, "Neither can I."

Gilbert cast him a glance, and opened his mouth.

What Gilbert asked him, then, took Toris completely off guard.

"How did you get here, huh? I asked Eduard, but he never talked about it." A look of regret. "So, how did you get here? Have you always been here? Weren't you..." A shift of discomfort. "Weren't you two friends?"

Toris sat stark still, and even though he must have looked quite stoic, his stomach hurt.

Eduard.

Friends? Yeah, once, just for a little while. Toris wasn't really the best friend to have, though, considering where Eduard was now. Toris had never been a good friend. His track record with them was a little...red.

Gilbert fell a little silent, and ducked his chin down.

"You don't have to tell me, I guess. I was just... I just wanted to know."

Toris stared at him, more intensely than he probably meant to, and finally asked, "Why?"

Why would Gilbert even care?

At that, Gilbert shrugged, looking timid suddenly, and grumbled, "I dunno. I just... Eduard was helpin' me out, and now you're helpin' me, and I just... I guess I just want to know a little about you guys." An awkward shift. "I just wanna know what happened out here. Ludwig's here now. I just wanna know what's going on out here. I don't understand anything, I really don't, I don't get it, I don't get what's going on, and I just— I just wanna understand a little, I guess."

Understand? Gilbert would never understand, because, hell, even Toris didn't really understand. It was what it was, and there wasn't a great reason behind it. Things had just happened the way they had, and that was all. Didn't get why Gilbert wanted to know.

Then Gilbert had suddenly looked up at Toris through his lashes, and asked, tentatively, "Do you even remember?"

Remember?

"Yeah," Toris said, without thought. "Yeah, I remember."

Sometimes. Some days he could remember everything, clear as water, and then some days he couldn't remember anything.

He could remember now, though.

Gilbert was staring away at him.

Maybe, even when he couldn't remember, he hadn't truly forgotten. People never truly forgot anything, did they? Everything was seared away in the brain, every single act, every word, every face, every feeling; it was just that sometimes they couldn't pull it up. Not forgotten.

He would never forget that. Never could.

He could still smell the fuckin' gunpowder.


Gunpowder.

All he ever smelled these days.

Couldn't ever really say how he had wound up here, with these guys.

A long way. A long road.

Toris hadn't ever been anything special.

Hadn't ever even left his village in his entire life, not once. Hadn't ever seen the outside world. Knew only this little place. The only people he knew were his parents and a couple of neighbors. So many people in the world, and he could count the ones he was acquainted with on his hands. Hadn't ever done anything worth writing home about. Spent all of his damn time herding sheep, and trying to learn things. Not much else to do. He had only ever been good at sheep and languages, so he usually found himself with some book in hand as the sheep grazed.

Toris was as boring as they came, and always had been. A nobody. Nothing. His parents had told him all the time that he was handsome and charming and sweet, but, hell. Toris could only take their words to heart so much. Didn't know anything else. Wanted to go out in the world and see what other people were like. Where would being handsome and charming and sweet get him in this village of thirty people?

Hard to feel worth anything, sitting in his room at night, staring at himself in the mirror and wondering if things would ever get more interesting.

Ha. Easy enough to be sweet, he supposed, when his only friends were gentle sheep. Sittin' there talkin' to lambs all day must have turned him into one. Could be moody sometimes, though. Some days were good, some days were bad. Maybe being isolated for so long had been making Toris a little crazy.

He was boring.

At least until one day, out of the blue, Toris had just turned to his parents and said, 'I'm leaving.'

Didn't know what the catalyst had been, except for holding that book in his hand, looking down at it suddenly, and thinking to himself, 'What good is this language gonna do me here?'

They had been shocked, to say the least. His mother had gasped aloud and grabbed his father's arm with a look of disbelief. His father had just looked like he'd been hit in the head with a rock. No surprise; Toris hadn't ever even talked to them about it, hadn't ever expressed a desire to get out. They'd hadn't ever known. But that was how he felt all the same, so, a few days after he turned eighteen, Toris packed up his things and left home for the first time.

Didn't know to where, and didn't know why; just felt stifled there. Out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by sheep instead of people. Wanted to get out of there before he went crazy.

Who could ever amount to anything, surrounded by sheep?

Maybe he could find a translating job somewhere. Wouldn't mind doing that. He was good at that, at least. Spoke Lithuanian, because it was his native tongue, German fluently enough, because his mother did, and Russian completely fluently, because his father did. Learned a lot of Czech when he had time to study. Most of Polish, since it was so similar to Russian audibly.

He could do something with that.

Felt a little confident, but only a little.

He hitchhiked his way out of the boondocks, and he got on the bus in Vilnius, just grabbing the first one he saw, regardless of where it was going. He spent the ride clenching his bag to his chest, gawking out of the window and feeling more than a little alive. The first time on his own. Couldn't even believe it. Hadn't ever felt so free. So excited. Meeting people.

By god, meeting people.

The first time in his life he had ever been around so many people. Absolutely intoxicating.

He kept on going, farther and farther, chatting with people on buses and trains, making friends, if only for a few hours. Having conversations. New sensations. Having people smile at him and talk to him. Laugh with him. If he was a lamb, then he was bleating his heart out.

Belarus, Ukraine, back to Belarus, and then somehow, before he knew it, he was in Poland.

He'd been away from home for a month. His hair had gotten longer; almost reached his shoulders now. He'd put on a good bit of weight, not having to spend his days climbing up the side of mountains to feed a flock. Bought new clothes. New shoes. Now, when he stood in front of the mirror, Toris could feel good about what he saw; a man, on his own, grown and independent. He wasn't the tallest guy around, but not the smallest, either. Looked older than he was now that he was dressed better. For once, he looked at himself and could say that maybe he himself thought he was handsome.

Felt like a normal guy.

How strange! Leaving home had been the best thing he had ever done for himself, it seemed.

He wandered ever farther. Girls smiled at him frequently, and he was always smiling, too.

Toris met him in Warsaw.

Hadn't meant to; a complete and utter accident. He had been wandering around in Warsaw, taking in the city, and ran into a man and a woman who gave him directions. A few hours later, Toris bumped into them again, just by chance, and they had all been so surprised that somehow they had decided to go to a bar together.

His first time in a bar, too. Terrifying. Exhilarating.

He had been sitting with that couple, laughing over beers, and then someone had sat down beside of him. The first time that night. So damn excited to be around so many people, so excited to be in the world, Toris had squirmed around in his chair to face the newcomer, and had immediately thrust out his hand in greeting. The guy who had sat down next to him gawked over at him for a second, and then snorted, reaching over awkwardly to grab the offered hand.

"How ya doing? I'm Toris."

A smile.

And then, a rather suave voice said, "Feliks." A short look-over. "You sure are a friendly guy."

Was he? Maybe, but it was more likely that he was just so damn excited he didn't know what else to do. So jittery. So happy. So happy. His dumb, blinding smile must have been ridiculous, because the guy was suddenly laughing.

As he tittered away, Toris observed him.

Not a bad-lookin' guy, that was for sure. Handsome. Maybe a little older than Toris, but surely not by too much. Blond hair, a little longer than his but pulled back, pale, cheeks rather sharp and covered in light stubble, a bumped nose, and when he glanced over, Toris could see the shade of his eyes. Green. Hadn't ever met anyone with green eyes.

Toris would have been the first to admit that he didn't know anything about human interactions, not at all, but he was pretty sure that he was ogling the guy a little, and was pretty sure that he was being ogled in return. A certainly breathtaking sensation. The beer helped. So long in the middle of nowhere, and then being thrust into the world might have made everything more intense than it should have been.

The guy lifted up his brow, his smile turned into more of a leer, and then he lifted up his chin too, sending Toris a rather curious look.

A question.

"You from around here?"

Toris, face red from alcohol and still so jittery, felt himself leaning over when he spoke, and not just to make sure that he was heard over the ruckus.

"No. I'm from Lithuania! This is my first time here."

"Oh, yeah? You speak Polish really good. I thought you were from around here."

Pride.

His parents had been the only ones to ever compliment him in his entire life, so it was more than a little bit of a shock when the man looked him up and down from under a high brow, and said, amicably, "So! Toris. What's a handsome guy like you doin' in Warsaw, huh? Got family here or something?"

Handsome. Well. Maybe his parents hadn't been lying to him after all.

"Nah," Toris had said, feeling a little tipsy and maybe a bit red. "I'm alone. I was just going around, seein' what I could find. Sight-seeing, I guess. I was looking around for a translating job."

"Oh?"

A long, raking stare. Feliks was smiling again, wider than ever, and maybe it was the booze, but Toris was pretty sure that Feliks had gotten a little closer.

Feliks. Cute name.

Toris hadn't noticed when the couple had left. Just him and Feliks, suddenly, chattering away.

They talked all night, loud and laughing and sometimes Feliks would put a hand on his shoulder as he spoke, and when it was time for the bar to close its doors, a drunk Feliks had walked a drunker Toris outside, and when they had fallen up against the wall, watching the street blearily, suddenly Feliks had thrown an arm over Toris' shoulders.

"Say," came the heavy whisper in his ear, "You know, I got some friends— Well, hell, we could really use a translator. You speak Russian? I can speak a little, but damn if I can't read it. Why don't you come down and see if you like it?"

Drunk and too warm under Feliks' arm, Toris had asked, in a slur, "Yeah, I speak Russian. What kinda work d'ya do?"

Feliks had just smiled, and said, "You'll see! I'll take ya down in a few days to meet the guys. Say, you wanna stay with me 'til then? If ya ain't got nowhere else to go, that it."

He didn't, so Toris said, "Sure."

Shoulda been more leery of Feliks' offer of work, given that it required the knowledge of Russian and Feliks didn't exactly look like he had some kind of perfectly honest job.

Too late.

Didn't remember too much after that, until he woke up the next morning in Feliks' apartment, sprawled out face-down on the floor. Feliks was hanging halfway off the sofa, and when they spent the morning nursing their various degrees of hangover, Toris had realized that he felt pretty content. Liked Feliks. He did. Certainly a charming man, if not a bit vulgar.

An amazing sensation, anyway, sitting there on someone's floor for the first time ever, clothes wrinkled and hair sticking out everywhere, pale as a sheet and feeling subdued, as Feliks gawked down at him from above, hair loose and shirtless and just as pale.

Hadn't ever gotten drunk with somebody before.

They took up their conversations where alcohol had cut them short the night before, and suddenly it was late afternoon.

Toris had never smiled so much, and when he did, Feliks smiled, too. When Feliks smiled, though, he went from handsome to downright gorgeous. Hadn't ever seen such a pretty, friendly, eager smile. Feliks loved life, that much was obvious. Could see it there, in his face. In his eyes. In that smile. Feliks loved the world in its entirety.

Those first days, when Toris stayed in Feliks' house, he had almost felt like he was home, the way Feliks came back in the afternoon and greeted him with a quick hug. Hadn't ever had a friend, not truly. Addictive, the sensation. Toris liked Feliks, so two days later when Feliks had reiterated the offer to go meet his friends for the hopes of a job, Toris had nodded his head. Sure. Why not? What could it hurt?

Yeah, famous last words.

As it turned out, Feliks had a hobby that he engaged in that would have made Toris go running for the hills if he had known about it beforehand. And that was no lie; had Feliks told him beforehand, he quite literally would have lifted his foot into the air, took a deep breath, and started running away as fast as his legs could take him.

Damn rebel.

The bastard was part of one of those damn student groups who liked to go rile up the Soviets when they didn't have anything better to do. The ones that opened up illegal books and read them aloud in the street whenever Red soldiers were passing. The ones that sabotaged train tracks and postal routes. The ones that caused trouble.

As much as anything else, Toris had never been in trouble in his life, either.

Good god, coulda died, following Feliks down the street and then walking into that decrepit old building and seeing those guys, sitting there like nothing was out of the ordinary, piles of guns and books all over the place.

Pretty sure he lost three lives then.

The smell of gunpowder.

Knew he had gone pale as a ghost, and he must have looked petrified and ready to flee, because Feliks had thrown that arm over his shoulders again to keep him locked firmly in place. Before Toris could squirm away, Feliks had ruined it by calling out, "Hey, guys! Look what I got!"

And when all eyes were on him, Toris lost two more lives. He'd be dead soon, he knew it.

Hadn't ever been put on the spot like that, and when Feliks dragged him forward, Toris stumbled along and tried to utter weak greetings. Heard Feliks talk, but felt so far away.

"I think I found us a new translator. What do you think? Can we afford another guy?"

New? What the fuck had happened to the old one? Jesus Christ, someone get him the hell outta here—

Shoulda run for the hills right then and there.

"Sure can!"

"Say, he's a little young, isn't he?"

Feliks stood up straight, seemed hardly concerned, and then finally thought to ask, in Toris' ear, "Say, how old are you, anyway?"

"Eighteen."

His voice had been weak, trembling. So scared.

Feliks gave a bark of laughter, and called, "He's old enough!"

Toris would have said, 'Hypocrites!' had he been able to speak up. Those guys were only older than him by a few years. Feliks couldn't'a been more than twenty-four or so.

The guys smiled at him, and one of them asked, "So! What can you speak?"

Feliks had walked him forward, and, a while later, when Toris had stopped breathing through his mouth, it didn't seem so bad. Anyway, they needed a translator, and he needed a job, and well...

Wished he'd known sooner, because he had already gotten attached to Feliks, crazy as that sounded since he had only met the guy three damn days ago. He really had. Feliks was magnetic, and Toris had been drawn right off. Liked Feliks, and wanted to stay with him for a little longer.

Maybe Toris had attached too quickly, but he had been alone his entire life.

So, Toris had sat down with them, Feliks beside him the whole while, and talked to them a little. Feliks just smiled away in what was obviously happiness, and every so often, he returned that arm to Toris' shoulders. Couldn't seem to stop touching, and Toris didn't really complain too much. All in all, it really didn't seem too bad. They had just sat there and chattered, like young men did, and after a while the sharp smell of gunpowder had just blended in and Toris had forgotten about it.

Days passed, and Toris started settling into the scenery, if that were close to being an appropriate word. If not settling, then he was at least not petrified as much. Feliks and his beautiful smile made it easier to adjust, and so did the alcohol he was pretty adept at shoving down Toris' throat.

For that first month, all Toris did was translate newspapers and letters (and he didn't ask where the damn letters had come from or how they had gotten them because he was happier not knowing thank you very much), and sometimes he wrote things down for them in Russian. That was all. It wasn't bad. Gradually, though, afterwards, Feliks led him further and further.

So hard to say 'no' to that man, not when he looked at Toris as if Toris were suddenly the only thing in the room.

At home (home, he had started calling it, couldn't say exactly when), Feliks' friendly greeting hugs had started to last a little longer, and sometimes when he pulled away he would draw his hands up to Toris' shoulders and leave them there for a long second, and Toris loved it.

Feliks was beautiful.

The group started breaking him in, slowly but surely.

The first time Toris ever held a gun, he was pretty sure that he had been so pale that he might have gone a little yellow, no matter how nice Feliks' hand on his back may have felt. Damn gun! Had never held a gun. His father's rifles had always sat unused in the cabinet.

Couldn't ever have said how Feliks had talked him into that, how Feliks had gotten him out into that field in the first place, how he had gotten him to put his eye down to that scope of that rifle and aim at those bottles sitting there on that log. Practice, Feliks had said. Was so strange, so scary, yeah, but...

When Feliks saw how uncertain he was, how nervous, he had come up behind Toris, reached around to grab his arms and show him how to hold them, how to hold the gun, and as he had done so, he had pressed his chest into Toris' back.

Dumbly, Toris had just let Feliks do whatever he wanted, following along blindly.

Warm.

"It's easy! Just aim."

Sure; easy.

Toris fired, for the first time, jumped pathetically, and had missed.

Feliks ducked his head forward suddenly, resting his chin on Toris' shoulder and pressing their cheeks together, Toris had started breathing a bit quickly, and Feliks had just leered at him.

"What? Worried or somethin'? You look so damn scared all the time. The hell you doin' out here, anyway?"

Toris glanced over at him, narrowed his eyes, and grumbled, "You brought me out here, you jerk."

Feliks lifted up his chin, leering away, and snitted, "Oh, yeah! You didn't complain, though."

Well. That was true. Not because he hadn't been scared, exactly. Had just wanted to impress Feliks. Didn't know why. Just wanted to do something. Wanted to feel important, for once. This was as good a way as any, he supposed, and it was certainly bolstering, having someone paying attention to him like this.

So, he let Feliks put the rifle back up, aimed again, and fired. This time, he was closer. And it only took two more tries before he finally hit the first bottle, and after that, after he had found the motion, after he had learned where to aim and how to sight, he didn't miss anymore, and Feliks had let him go and let him do it on his own. Hit every single one.

That time, Feliks reached out, clapped his shoulder, and said, "Good job! You know, you're not too bad a shot. I've seen worse. I mean, you're not the best, but not the worst."

Well. A half-assed compliment was better than none at all.

Feliks reached out then, brushing errant fingers through the tips of Toris' hair, and teased, "Better start pulling your hair back, though! Don't wanna miss just because you got a mop in your face. You'll get yourself hurt that way."

Felt like his fingers had been in Toris' hair far longer than was necessary to make a point, and maybe Feliks' smile had been a little slanted.

Adrenaline rush. No one had ever noticed him.

That night, when they were in Feliks' living room, when they were both tipsy, Feliks had reached out and put his arm over Toris' shoulder, and for the second time that day, he pressed their cheeks together. It might have been around then that Toris felt himself becoming a little enamored with Feliks. Just wasn't brave enough to tell him.

A month later, Toris somehow found himself going out with those guys whenever they left Warsaw. It was extremely clear to Toris by then how much Feliks loved his men, adored them all, and maybe Toris joined them because he wanted to feel a part of that love. Wanted to have those friends. Wanted to have men that adored him and watched his back. So he stayed with them. Going here and there. Wasn't too bad at first, and, anyway, Toris tried very hard to stay out of trouble, reminding Feliks very frequently that he had come here to translate, and that was all.

Just translate.

Yeah, nice try. Each time, seemed like Feliks goaded Toris a little more, pushed him more, and Toris didn't know how he did it. Every time Feliks said 'go', Toris said 'no', and then went anyway.

Toris had started pulling his hair back, without really thinking about it.

Steadily it escalated, Toris' involvement, and three months into his arrangement with Feliks, Toris had become a full-fledged member of the group. Did everything they did, and went everywhere they went.

And sometimes, Toris liked it. Liked getting into trouble. Like causing mayhem. Liked the excitement and the adrenaline and the attention.

Once, somehow, Toris had found himself standing up on a fountain in Krakow as soldiers marched by, a book in hand, and reading passages from banned literature aloud, Feliks stuck at his side. Had never been so brazen in his life, had never looked for trouble, had never wanted to cause a ruckus, until Feliks had come along. Feliks had changed him. Wondered, sometimes, if it was for the better or worse. Probably shoulda thought more about that before he had started reading.

He had been going at it for a good half-hour before the first sight of police officers within the rowdy crowd.

Jeering. People jumping up, fists in the air, shouting along with him. Electricity. Defiance. Hate for the Red occupation.

Toris had been absolutely immersed in the atmosphere.

"'—It's a good thing when a man is different than your image of him! It shows he isn't a 'type'. If he were—'"

Feliks kept on reaching out and grabbing his arm. Adrenaline. The police came ever closer. Feliks just sent them a wide smile as they crept up, hardly frightened, and it was Feliks' fearlessness that gave Toris the courage to stay up there and keep reading.

"—it would be the end of him as a man! But, if you can't place him in a category, it means that at least a part of him is what a human being ought to be! He has risen above himself, he has a grain of immortality!'"

Closer.

Hands, thrust into pockets.

And then, when the crowd was cheering ever louder and the police had come close enough to come into full detail, Feliks deemed it time to go; a firm yank on Toris' arm, and he took the hint.

Just like that, they leapt down, and took off as fast as their legs could carry them, hair flying behind them and breathless smiles on their faces. As usual, the crowd worked to their advantage, and they got away again, as they always had when doing these sorts of things. Their luck wouldn't last forever, but they felt as if it would. They felt ever bolder each time, and when Feliks was around, Toris felt invincible.

Sometimes, though, that boldness made them reckless.

When the others weren't looking, Feliks smiled at Toris so brightly and so adoringly that Toris felt the world spin. The way Feliks made him feel.

One day in February, Toris found himself holding a rifle, Feliks and his guys all around him, and they were on a desolate road outside of Lublin, crouched down in the ditch and waiting quietly. Toris didn't know what they were doing, had just been told to get ready to move out, until suddenly a vehicle had come down the road, and Feliks had whistled.

Before Toris even knew what was happening, he was trotting behind the group, and they had run up from the snow and surrounded the vehicle. Didn't take long for Toris to realize that it was a military vehicle. A postal carrier.

Aw, shit.

Too late to back out. The gun was in his hand and he was already a part of it. Couldn't just say, 'I don't want anything to do with this.' He was involved. He was a member of this group, and, to be fair, in the eyes of the Red Army, it was just as illegal to rob this mail carrier as it had been to read that book.

The vehicle lurched to a halt at the men in the road, and Toris felt rather dazed when the guys wrenched opened the doors and tossed the soldiers inside out onto the ground. Corralled quickly, Feliks' men were rather rough with the soldiers, all things considered, and they were forced at gunpoint onto their knees. They knelt there, hands in the air as Feliks kept them under his sights, and when Toris looked up, the guys were waving him over. Toris slunk to them, dumbly, feeling somehow as if the soldiers were watching him even though they were on their knees out in the ditch.

Hands pushing him forward.

"Alright, what do we have?"

Head pounding and rather dizzy, Toris just poked his head into the back of the vehicle, at the boxes and stacks of letters and correspondences. He took the nearest package into his hand, and read the address. Meant for a Soviet base in Hungary. With that, Toris nodded his head in a silent way of telling them that this was exactly what they were looking for.

"Alright, let's go."

A rustle, a movement, and Toris was being pushed inside the vehicle, and then suddenly he was a fuckin' criminal, more so than before, because they stole the damn truck.

Feliks followed behind in a car, after having left the poor soldiers in the middle of nowhere.

They whole time they drove, Toris was pretty sure his heart was about to give out. Had never been so happy to park and jump out of a car, that was for sure. He couldn't really have denied, though, that it had been an absolute rush.

Toris spent the rest of the night hunkered at the table, reading letters aloud. Most of them were droll; orders and numbers, plans. Some of them were important. Sometimes, every now and again, there was a letter from a soldier to his girl, private letters, and Toris was quick to cut those short, usually with a blush, and those letters he set aside in a pile and kept a good eye on them so that the others wouldn't grab them.

Didn't know why. Felt wrong, something personal like that.

When every article of post had been sifted through, the guys used the information to plot their movements and such, but Toris just sat at the table, quiet and halfheartedly sipping at the bottle of palinka he had scrounged up.

It was Feliks who finally looked up at moody Toris and asked, with a warm voice of adoration, "What's the matter now?"

As if Toris were a moody woman.

...kind of was, sometimes. Moody, that was.

Still, after a short glare, Toris just cast his gaze back down, and inclined his head to the pile of personal letters. Took Feliks a second to get it, and when he did, he started laughing.

Agitation.

Didn't see what was so funny about it. Those men had put their hearts into those letters, and it shouldn't have mattered what side they were on or what color their uniforms were or if they were Reds—they were just young men in love. Those letters should have made it to those women. That was only fair.

Feliks looked at him for a long time after he stopped laughing, with a crooked smile, and then he lifted up his head and said, firmly, "Ah. Hell. Mail the love letters, for god's sake. Don't wanna make any girls cry. We're not that kind of men."

Toris might have smiled.

Feliks mailed the letters because Feliks thought that love was what made the world beautiful.

Toris thought that Feliks made the world beautiful.

Months passed.

Prague. Spring time.

Toris had become the unofficial second-in-command, because Feliks never left his side for a second, and the men had started treating him as such.

Feliks had started smiling at Toris in that wonderful way even when the others were around to see, as if he had given up trying to stifle it anymore. Toris was in the clouds. Absolutely in the clouds, and he didn't want to come down.

They had been in Prague for two weeks, joined up with another little group that wanted to become as bold as they were. Accommodations were tight; nobody slept alone anymore. Feliks, as the leader, put them where he wanted them, and Toris had hardly been surprised when Feliks had called him as roommate. Not surprised, but ecstatic all the same.

Prague was beautiful, it really was, one of the prettiest places he'd ever seen, but nothing in his eyes ever compared to Feliks.

Lately, it seemed, when they had been gathered together, making plans, Toris and Feliks had just sat there and stared at each other from across the way, chins in palms and up in space.

Soon after, enough must have been enough; Feliks called a meeting short one night, sent everyone home early, and when they were back in their room, it didn't take Toris too long to figure out what had been on his mind.

Hadn't even been in the room for a minute when Feliks had turned on him. Hands grabbed his collar, fingers tangled and clenched, and before Toris could even find his balance or be startled, he had been whirled around and slammed none too gently back into the wall. A chest against his own. Slowly, Feliks' fingers had untangled from his shirt and had gone to the sides of his neck. Thumbs on his jaw. A nose pressing into his.

A long, heavy hesitation, the astounding sound of Feliks' breathing, and then suddenly, for the first time in his life, Toris was being kissed, by this man he didn't really even know, not truly, and yet everything about it felt pretty beautiful then. Feliks had the uncanny ability to make him feel as if he were caught up in a whirlwind.

That had been the best night of his life, and in the morning, when he awoke, tangled up in Feliks, the world had seemed even brighter. Life seemed more colorful. Prague seemed more beautiful. Toris could have said, perhaps, that he had been in love.

What did he know? Dumb. Hadn't ever been in love before. What did he know about it? Wouldn't have known love from lust at that age, not as dumb as he had been. Didn't know anything about anything.

But what he felt for Feliks was far too strong to ignore, and so Toris became more reckless, because it made Feliks smile when he did bold things, and Toris would have done anything to make Feliks proud of him. Anything to make sure Feliks felt as strongly as he did.

Felt so different now, free from the confines of his boring life.

Feliks had rubbed off on him, in many ways, some more pleasant than others. Sure did curse more, after having met Feliks. His mother woulda slapped him, hearing how he was talking now. On the other hand, Toris felt happier, as well, because Feliks was always so happy, happy with everything around him. It was infectious, Feliks' vivaciousness.

Toris was sure that he could never have gotten enough of that man.

The feeling must have been mutual; one night, when everyone had turned their meeting into an impromptu party, when drunken Feliks had grabbed drunken Toris by the hand and forced him to stand up and dance with him, Feliks had leaned in, lips pressed against Toris' ear, and had whispered to him. And, oh, had words ever made anyone so happy?

'I hope you stay with me forever.'

Hands gripped his own, for just a second, that wonderful smile bright in the dim light, and Toris had just smiled back. If Feliks wanted, then Toris absolutely would have stayed forever.

Forever.

Feliks was everything he had never known he wanted.

Curled up in bed, Feliks bumping their foreheads together over and over again, nuzzling and touching, was the happiest Toris had ever been. The most entrancing moments of his existence. Feliks reaching out to grab his chin and drag him in for a kiss. The sensation of fingers in his hair. The feel of Feliks' skin beneath his palms. Hands running down his shoulders and arms.

Love.

Should have lasted forever, anyway, that wonderful feeling, but it didn't. Ended far too quickly.

April came, and they moved again.

Toris followed Feliks, wherever he went. Night, chasing helplessly after the sun.

A little town, a few hours outside of Krakow. Tiny little place. They had only come there to do what they always did. It was something they had done so many times. Stealing letters. Mail. Orders. Plans. They had done it so many times. They had been overconfident. Arrogant. Proud. They had done it dozens of times, and so it was easy enough, corralling the vehicle and forcing the driving soldiers out onto the ground. Same old. They always did that.

Something had just been different that time; the soldiers kneeling in the dirt didn't stop smiling, even as their hands were in the air and the guns were pressed into their backs. As if they knew something no one else did.

No one had noticed. Why would they? No one was even paying attention to them, Toris least of all. Why pay attention to them? He was already plotting how he and Feliks were going to spend the rest of their lives together. Thinking about how he could make Feliks smile at him that night. Thinking about how it would feel when he finally gathered up the courage to say, 'I love you.' Maybe tonight. Maybe he could say it tonight. Sure! Why not? He could say it, if he tried. Feliks' smile already said it; why not voice it aloud? Feliks would really have smiled at that, if Toris finally said it.

Tonight. Couldn't wait to get home.

They had done it before.

The soldiers were smiling. And when Toris rushed forward and opened up the back of the vehicle, confident and unconcerned, it was immediately obvious as to why.

He opened the doors.

And just like that, that beautiful world that he and Feliks had created came crashing down.

He opened the doors. No letters. No packages. No parcels. No boxes. The truck was empty, save for one thing :

A man.

The most instantly frightening man that Toris had ever seen in his life. Like opening the doors to the black, endless void of space.

He sat cross-legged, resting up against the wall of the truck rather idly, a pistol held loosely within his hand and pressing into his thigh, and when he saw Toris, he broke into an awful, crooked smile, and said, gently, "Good afternoon."

A smooth, soft, crooning voice. Russian.

Pale lashes.

A rustle. Toris looked to the side, dumbly, and could see soldiers walking up out of the trees, rifles aimed. He turned to the left; more soldiers, coming from the brush. The soldiers that were kneeling were still smiling, and had already lowered their hands. And the man in the back of the truck was smiling too, and when Toris returned his wide eyes to that man, he had already started pulling himself up to his feet.

Toris recognized that olive uniform. That star. That embroidery.

The Red Army.

A trap. They'd fallen into a trap, for their own confidence.

All that Toris could think of to do then, his hands still gripping the doors of the vehicle and feeling cold despite the warm air, was to look the man in the eye and say, dumbly, "Oh shit."

Oh shit was right.

The loose pistol was suddenly aiming at his chest, pale eyes bored into his own, and Toris could only let his hands come slowly off the doors and into the air, and back up as the soldier leapt out with a sneer. A hand snatched out, and grabbed a fistful of his collar. It wasn't the hand in his shirt that made it suddenly so hard to breathe, though. The soldiers in the forest had come up and surrounded them.

A silent standoff.

Feliks, his rifle still pointed at those kneeling soldiers, had gone as pale as a sheet, and his always friendly eyes were wide; terrified. Had never seen confident Feliks look like that. Horror.

Toris was too damn petrified to even do anything, and just let that soldier grab him by the collar and drag him back over to the others.

Toris looked at the bar on the soldier's shoulder, and could see, beyond his terror, that the man was a very high-ranking officer. Colonel General. Three stars on his bar. What the hell was a guy like that doing out here? Good god, what had they gotten themselves into? They had become so reckless, so stupid, and had become such an annoyance to the Red Army that they were sending out the hotshots to take care of them. Sending out men who by all rights should have had better things to do. This man should have been sitting at a desk in Moscow, not walking in a field in Poland. Colonel General. Christ almighty.

Toris had never been so scared in his entire life. To be perfectly honest, he was truly surprised that he didn't faint or start crying. Would never understand how he hadn't fainted then.

Feliks looked absolutely stupefied. Dazed. But then he looked over, saw that superior officer dragging Toris back towards them rather roughly with the pistol pressed into his side, and Toris was startled when Feliks had suddenly aimed his rifle at the officer and said, if not weakly, "Let 'im go."

Stupid. There was no point. They had lost. They had no upper-hand. No advantage. Outnumbered and outgunned. And Feliks' brazen command had only seemed to attract more attention to the both of them in particular.

The Colonel General lifted up his head, looked around, and then released Toris' collar to reach up and remove his cap rather neatly. Even though he was free, Toris stood there, stupidly, stunned by that man, and could only stare at him. What a terrifying man. Couldn't put his finger on what made him so scary. Tall, broad, strong. A huge guy in stature already, but made so much more intimidating for the uniform. Glossy, neat hair. Curved sideburns. Strong jaw. Not so old, still a rather young man, strangely, for such a high rank. A somewhat crooked, prominent nose. By all rights he was a normal man, but those eyes...

The soldier tucked his cap under the arm that held the pistol, smoothing his hair back rather primly, and then he turned his eyes to Feliks. Toris had never seen eyes as frightening as those. His free hand went up in the air, a finger crooking, a silent signal, and he beckoned Feliks over.

A shiver from Toris.

Wasn't even scared of the rifle pointed at him, and Feliks didn't lower it as he crept slowly forward. Glances back and forth between Feliks and Toris, as much as they dared. When Feliks had come close enough to the man, he fell still, and it was the soldier who walked forward, until he was pressing himself into the barrel of Feliks' rifle, that sneering smile still on his face and absolutely and utterly calm.

From the very second that Toris had laid eyes upon that soldier, he had been terrified of him. Couldn't even move in his presence.

The soldier stared at Feliks, who had started cold-sweating, and he asked, simply, "Do you speak Russian?"

Feliks didn't answer, but probably didn't need to. Even if Feliks hadn't spoken Russian, it would have been quite possible for Feliks to understand a good bit of what he was saying anyway under the assumption that he was Polish.

But the way that that man was suddenly staring at Feliks...

Made Toris shudder. Couldn't stand it.

Finally, they had no choice but to surrender, no other choice in the middle of this army, and Feliks' men all lowered their guns. The kneeling soldiers stood up and went to the sides of their comrades. Only Feliks still held his rifle up, stubbornly, and somehow, the soldier staring him down almost seemed pleased with that.

Something was wrong with that man; Toris could see it. Could sense it. Terrifying. Feliks felt the same, Toris could see it in his eyes as he tried hard to match the gaze. Failed miserably at that, anyone would. Couldn't ever stare down a man like that.

The novelty of Feliks' defiance eventually wore off, however, and the soldier waved his hand in the air a bit languidly. In a second, the soldiers had taken aim at Feliks.

Heavy breathing. Toris could see Feliks' hands trembling.

For a minute there, Toris thought that Feliks was actually going to shoot the soldier, just to make a mark before he met whatever fate was before him. But he didn't, and after a long minute, Feliks inhaled, sharply, and lowered his rifle. The dull thud as it was tossed to the ground.

The soldier's smile became more of a leer, and then he had suddenly lifted his head, with such confidence, and said, "Take them down."

That soft voice didn't match any of this awfulness. That gentle, pretty voice.

Feliks' head snapped up as the Red soldiers started wrangling his men and forcing them down to the edge of the trees. Guns pointed at chests, and from that awful, pale, horrified look on Feliks' face, it was quite obvious that he thought his men were being led to execution, and Toris found himself agreeing. It sure as hell looked like they were being aligned for slaughter. Their hands were shaking as they held them up.

Toris and Feliks were left above. Oh, god, oh, what could they do? Not much.

Two soldiers had remained behind, and held their rifles on Toris and Feliks as the Colonel General started to pace between them. It was obvious that his mind was whirring away, and Toris really didn't want to know with what. What did a man like that even think about?

Didn't take long to find out, as the soldier raised his hand up in the air, and said, "Aim."

Clicking below at the tree line, as the soldiers set their sights on the group. Feliks' men, and lately, in some way, they had been Toris', too. Friends. The only ones he had ever had. Those men.

Feliks was breathing through his mouth. Fists clenched. Feet bracing into the dirt. Looking around helplessly. Shoulders shaking and so pale, so pale. Had never seen him so pale, so scared, and when the soldier looked straight at Feliks, making it very clear without words that he was about to give the order to fire, Toris heard Feliks whisper, thinly, "Wait! Wait. Stop."

The soldier stood idly still, hand still in the air, and his smile was rather wolfish by then.

"Yes?"

So calm. How was he so calm, about to shoot those men as he was? How was he so tranquil? About to murder young men, and he looked as if he had just woken up after a wonderful dream.

Feliks, on the other hand, looked on the verge of passing out, and asked, in a mixture of Polish and Russian, "What do you want? Huh? What do you want? Stop. You can't just shoot them."

Feliks loved those men.

A look of interest, and the soldier was quick to lift his brow and his chin, the look of supreme arrogance, and he just said, in the softest and yet most terrifying voice Toris had ever heard, "Oh? Can't I?"

As if it were nothing.

A twitch of his hand; a warning.

Again, Feliks said, "Stop."

He did, for whatever reason, and turned his full attention to Feliks.

"Are you their leader?"

The word 'leader' had been droll at best, condescending at worst, and Feliks nodded his head.

The soldier held still for a second, scrutinizing Feliks with alarming interest, and then called, mercifully, "Hold!"

A look of relief from Feliks as he tried his best to stand straight and tall, but his effort seemed pitiful in the shadow of that terrifying Red, and Feliks may as well have been a kitten hissing at a tiger. Pointless. Feliks didn't possess a stance even close to anything that man could pull off.

All Toris could do was watch, because no one was speaking to him and he just didn't know what the hell to do. Frozen.

The soldier glanced over at Toris briefly, and said to Feliks, "Is this your second-in-command?"

Again, Feliks nodded.

A wry smile, as if the soldier were thinking to himself, 'Is that all he is?'

Feliks' stupid break of composure earlier; the soldier was taking advantage of it, and taking advantage of Feliks' obvious love of his men.

And then, from there, from that second nod, everything went to hell.

"You seem to be in trouble," the soldier said, as he started circling Feliks in a frighteningly predatory manner. "I've been given orders to wipe you all out. You've been rather annoying as of late. But perhaps I could be persuaded otherwise. I'm not happy about coming all the way out here, if I'm honest. I have better things to do. I wasn't happy about being sent here. So. What can you offer me?"

A trap, another one, Toris knew it, he could feel it, knew that there was no offer that that man would have accepted that wouldn't have been a crushing one, but Feliks leapt on the opportunity all the same and cried, "Anything! What do you want? Anything, anything at all. What do you want? Let them go, and I'll give you anything. What do you want?"

A short, pointed silence, as the Colonel General came to a halt before Feliks, just a few inches in front of him, and looked him straight in the eye. Toris could sense the shadow looming.

That man.

And then the calm answer.

"You."

Toris felt the first stab of terror. Hurt. Anger. Everything.

Dizziness.

Feliks just stood there, confused, so confused, he opened his mouth and nothing came out, and then he sent Toris a horrible, helpless look, before turning back to the soldier and muttering, "I don't understand."

The soldier straightened up, put his arm behind his back, and smiled. Happy enough to clarify.

"You. I want you. The leader. You got them all into this, so you should be able to get them out, shouldn't you. I'll cut off the head, and throw the rest away, how about that? I'll send you to a gulag, and I'll let them go. You can save them, if you want. Just say the word. It's up to you. Easy, isn't it?"

The world went silent.

Toris was fairly certain that he was a breath away from dying. Nothing had ever shocked him like that. Nothing had ever made his chest hurt the way those words had. Nothing had ever made his stomach drop like that.

Feliks.

The soldier wanted Feliks. Wanted him to give up everything, give up life, to save his men. Toris couldn't fathom it. Had never heard anything more cruel in his entire life. There had never been a person that had loved life more, that loved being alive more. How could anyone ever ask a person like that to give it all up? Feliks had been the most beautiful thing Toris had ever seen. People like Feliks, happy people—the world needed more of them. How could anyone ever want to snuff that out?

Feliks adored the world.

At Feliks' horror, at his hesitation, at his immobility, the officer seemed to know he was in a good position, and upped the ante suddenly by pointing at Toris.

"Or, if you don't want to go, I can take him instead. Leader, second leader, all the same. What would you prefer? Which one of you will I take?"

A pang in Toris' chest, a literal burst of pain, at how fast his heart was pounding. Numb, absolutely numb. Couldn't think. No air. No atmosphere.

Although the officer was putting them both on the line, his eyes were only on Feliks, and it was quite clear that he was expecting Feliks to leap upon the chance to be a hero. Waiting. Feliks just stood there. The Red had said it to spur Feliks on. He had said it to force Feliks' hand. He had said it so that Feliks would leap forward bravely and say, 'I'll go. Take me.'

But Feliks just stood there, still as could be, and didn't utter a word.

Toris thought for a second that maybe Feliks had checked out of the building, had zoned out, had spaced, because even his horrified face had suddenly become strangely blank. Toris couldn't even breathe anymore. His chest was too tight. He could feel his hands trembling. His shoulders shook. Eyes wide under a low brow. Mouth open. Sweating. His palms were clammy.

Felt so strange, this panic, this terror, because it was such a beautiful day. Blue skies above. The trees were green, swaying in the wind. Flowers all around. Cool air. Pretty.

Feliks didn't speak.

Time seemed to drag. Couldn't be right, couldn't be happening now, not now; tonight Toris had planned on saying those words.

Feliks was still immobilized, and now the officer's brow had come down, and his coy smile faded as he again started to circle Feliks with silent steps. He looked almost angry by then. Exasperated. Seemed annoyed that Feliks hadn't answered immediately.

"What?" he said, so loudly that Feliks jumped and ripped his spaced gaze away from Toris, "Did that sound like a good idea to you? Huh? Did it? Do you want me to take him instead? Huh? Tell me! Hurry up and make up your mind."

The soldier was angry. As if he had made some kind of mistake, and had lost patience.

"Hurry!"

Feliks opened his mouth, and lost his voice. A short, wide-eyed glance at Toris. Toris felt himself totter, felt his heart skip, because the look in Feliks eyes was so...

"Time's running out. Hurry up."

...distant. Far away. Like he was stuck in the mud. Like something in Feliks had been switched off and he was having trouble turning it back on.

Silence. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he opened his mouth, Feliks just couldn't seem to speak. Couldn't find his voice. Feliks, who had always been enamored with the world. Feliks, who loved life. Maybe...

The soldier started drumming his fingers on his thigh, obviously agitated. When he spoke again, he barked, harshly, "Hurry! Hurry up or I'll take the both of you and shoot them right here." To prove it, he raised his hand back in the air, and called for the second time, "Aim!"

Clicking. Rustling.

An inhale, as Feliks seemed to wake up at last.

A low, weak, "Wait."

The soldier's hand fell still again.

Oh... How had this come to be? They had been in bed together this time yesterday. Toris had been planning his 'forever'. The feel of Feliks' nose against his own.

A long stare, a longer silence, and then Feliks looked at the officer, through those wide eyes, and said, in more of a whisper, "I can't. I can't. I can't go. I—" He turned his eyes back to Toris then, as if somehow he were suddenly beseeching Toris to understand. "I gotta... I can't. I can't go, I gotta take care of those guys, my guys, we've always been together, I can't let anything happen to 'em, I gotta—"

The world stopped.

The feel of Feliks' hands in his hair. Gone. Everything was gone, just like that, at those words. Everything ended.

Gone.

And Feliks was still staring at him, still trying to plead with his eyes, but his voice had stopped, and the stare had become somehow forced. As if Feliks couldn't even bring himself to look at Toris anymore but was too scared to look away. Toris knew that Feliks must have been staring at him like that because Toris must have looked astounding in that instant, because the way Toris suddenly felt probably could have caused the trees around them to burst into flames. That awful, rising wave. Burning. Had never felt this way, not ever, hadn't even known he could feel this way. He couldn't even think of words to describe it, because it was an entirely new sensation.

Wrath.

Had never felt it before. It gripped his chest harder than the fear ever had.

Toris, already feeling far beyond betrayed even though Feliks hadn't outright said it, hadn't had the fuckin' balls to say it directly, wanted to screech, 'I'm one of 'those guys', you son of a bitch, don't you turn your fuckin' back on me, I did everything for you, everything!'

Those guys. What was he, then? What was he? What had he been? He had been one of them. He was only here because of Feliks. Never in his life would he have been in this situation if not for that man. Would have never in his life have thought to join up with that group if Feliks hadn't put his hand upon the whole thing. Feliks had led him out there, and Toris had followed behind dumbly, because, as he always had been, Toris was just a stupid lamb.

Led to slaughter.

Never woulda been here if not for Feliks.

Couldn't say a fuckin' word, he was so stunned. So betrayed. So hurt.

Maybe Feliks loved life, alight, so much that he wouldn't give it up for anyone. Not even Toris.

The officer, hardly seeming more sympathetic to Feliks than Toris, was sneering and looking at Feliks as if he were a bug, hands loose at his sides and head shaking irritably. And then he scoffed, and waved his hand in the air, as Feliks tried to sputter some more bullshit, griping, "Enough, enough. Alright. That's that, then."

With that, the soldier put his cap back on his head with a look of finality.

That's that? Was that it? Was that really it? Was this it? Was this how his life was going to end? Was this really how it was supposed to be? Was this how he was going to go out?

The phrase had been so casual—that's that.

Hadn't ever seen this outcome, not in his worst nightmare. Hadn't Feliks been the one to say first that he had wanted forever? Feliks had said it.

The officer waved his hand in the air again, this time towards the soldiers; the guns were lowered, just barely, and Toris felt a hand on his arm.

The deal had been made. The men were saved. Feliks sold him up the river, and saved himself.

A drag backwards. Toris didn't struggle. Didn't care about that, didn't care about being pulled along, didn't care, not as intent as he was on trying to murder Feliks where he stood with his eyes alone, but Feliks, the miserable son of a bitch, had bowed his head, shoulders slumped, and was staring at his feet. Feliks wouldn't look at him, wouldn't even look at him. His shoulders were shaking. Crying.

Toris didn't care, couldn't have cared less.

Feliks had betrayed him. Not fair—had it been reversed, had it been the other way around, Toris liked to think that he would have at least tried harder, would have at least argued, would have at least given an effort. Wouldn't have just outright given up. Not like that.

The terrifying soldier had looked just as agitated, dragging Toris as he was, and Toris heard him mutter to his men, as they went, "Poles! Useless. Pathetic. Tch—should just raze this whole country and exterminate them. Waste of good land."

Laughter.

Toris felt so numb. So numb. Feliks

A car door opened somewhere, who knew where, didn't know where he was anymore, and Toris was shoved inside. Inside a car. Didn't know why, didn't know for what, didn't know where he was going, and didn't care.

How had it come to be? The beautiful, bright, colorful world had become grey. Dull.

Listlessness. All he cared about was Feliks not being there.

The officer stood there before the open door for a while, looking down at Toris, head tilted and mouth open as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only shook his head and slammed the door shut. When he got in on the other side, Toris had just stared out of the window, absolutely and utterly dazed. The car could have burst into flames then and Toris wouldn't have noticed.

He was in outer space. Lost. At the last second, as the car started lurching away, Toris could have sworn that he heard, over the whir of the engine, the distant sound of gunshots.

Confusion.

Feliks. Oh—Feliks' fingers had felt so good running through his hair. Never again. Gone. He had been planning tonight. Tonight was supposed to be a good one. He had been looking forward to tonight. Not fair.

Feliks was gone.