Chapter 59

Gil opened the door of his hotel room, letting Schultz follow behind him. He opened his suitcase and slipped his hand into the inside pocket, pulling out a little leather case. He opened it, resisting the very strong urge to glance up to look at Heinrich's reaction. He took the needle and gave himself four full syringes full. He breathed deeply with a smile, relaxing. He closed the case and glanced up at Schulz, who watched silently. Gil slipped the case back into its pocket and took off his military jacket, hanging it in the closet, buttoning it on the hanger carefully. He pulled off his shirt and walked to the mirror across from the bed. He inspected the injuries again. They were scabbed over, continuing to heal, though slower than he would have liked. He pressed at one, inhaling through his teeth a little. He glanced over at Schulz, who still stood by the door, watching Gil.

"Well? Do you have anything you want to say?"

There was silence for a moment before Heinrich spoke, "Are you all right, sir?"

Gil sighed, "Have you ever been shot before, Schulz?"

The young man shook his head, "No, sir."

Gil nodded, "Good. I don't recommend it…" he winced again, turning to try and look at the wound on his back. It hurt more than the others. He guessed it was from trying to dig the bullet out with no mirror and a pocket knife.

"Should…" Heinrich stopped, not entirely sure if he should continue, "Should you be in a hospital, sir?"

"Absolutely not," Gil almost laughed, shaking his head, "That would be more trouble than any of you want to deal with," he smirked, glancing back at Schulz. "How old are you?"

"I'm 23, sir."

Gil nodded, "You're young. So, why did they assign you to me? I'm curious. Admit it, you're a bit young to 'handle' someone with my track record…" he laughed, looking into Heinrich's face, "which they didn't tell you, did they?" He shook his head, trying to hold back the slightly painful laughter. He forced himself not to limp towards the bed, rolling onto it, not bothering to kick off his boots. He looked back at Schulz, "Well? What did they tell you about me?"

"I'm not sure I should say, sir." Schulz stepped forward, still standing at attention, his hands behind his back.

Gil rolled his eyes and swore with a laugh, "You really aren't any fun. Relax, sit down, grab a beer from the fridge…I don't care, just stop standing there like a wooden board, I'm not that dangerous," Gil shook his head again, motioning towards the fridge.

Schulz walked around the bed and into the spacious living room. He sat down in the chair closest to the bed, facing it. He tried to sit back into it, keeping his eyes on Gil. He couldn't relax.

"Look," Gil sat up, wincing again, forcing himself to lean on his elbows, "I'm dangerous, I'll give you that. Like I mentioned, I spent the whole night killing people. I've killed a lot of people. I lost count a few hundred ye-people ago." Gil shrugged, "But I'm a soldier. Killing people is what I do. It's what I'm good at. Killing people, and breaking people. Did they tell you that? I'm the best interrogator in the Soviet Union. I'll teach you if you like. You're Stasi, knowing how to get someone to talk against their own self-interest would probably be a useful skill for you. Interested?"

Heinrich said nothing, moving his hands slightly, uncomfortable.

"Am I making you nervous?"

Still no answer.

"Really? You really don't talk much. Oh well. I can talk a lot," he smirked, "How many people have you killed?" he asked, looking right into the young man's face.

Schulz sat back a little, surprised by the blunt question, "I… I… I'm not sure, sir?"

"Best guess?"

"5? 6?" Schulz said, forcing himself not to look away.

Gil nodded, "That's respectable," he looked at Heinrich, almost studying him, trying to learn as much as he could. His posture was stiff, nervous almost. Gil wasn't sure if it was from what he was sure was a very unfamiliar job, or from actual fear. He noticed again how young Schulz was. Too young. Far too young to get himself into this mess. Gil sighed. Humans didn't have a good track record of survival once they got close to him.

"Weapon of choice?" Gil asked, trying to start something like a casual conversation.

"Walther PPK-L, sir."

Gil smiled, "Me too. It's a good gun. I get mine specially made, of course, but you can use the regular model I suppose?"

"Actually, sir, I'm left-handed, so I usually get a custom gun too."

"You're left-handed?" Gil didn't mean to sound as surprised as he was.

"Yes, sir. I believe I read that you are too?"

Gil smiled, "That I am," he kept his eyes on Schulz, "So if you need it custom made anyway… have you ever gotten a custom molded grip?"

Heinrich shook his head, "I haven't, sir."

Gil shook his head, clicking his tongue, "It's worth it, I promise. There's nothing like feeling like your gun is part of your arm, truly," he sighed contently, just thinking about the feeling made him smile, "All right, I know you have questions for me. Go ahead. Ask away!" Gil leaned back, not bothering to look at Schulz, "No holdbacks. As whatever."

"Um…" Schulz thought for a moment, trying to think of a good question, "Well, your file didn't list an age… how old are you?"

"25," Give or take almost a thousand years… Gil answered simply. He looked at Schulz, nodding for him to continue.

"Sir…" Heinrich sighed, again, almost too afraid to ask, "Sir, how did you… how did you survive those bullet wounds…"

"And that is one of the few things I can't tell you," Gil shook his head, "But I'm fine. Trust me."

Heinrich nodded, "Yes, sir."

Gil smiled. He liked being called sir. It was a welcome change from his usual title, or worse, one of Russia's nicknames.

…

"Head up, Nazi."

Germany winced as a wooden rod forced his chin up. He looked at his captor, who wore a black cover over half of his face. He said nothing, waiting for the man to continue.

"Looks like you have friends in high places," the man snarled, "We've been asked to release you, unharmed."

Germany felt his heart pounding in his chest. They were going to let him go?

"I haven't decided yet if I'm going to listen to them…" The man struck Germany's back with the rod, smashing the end of it against the deeply reopened scar.

Germany didn't cry out, gasping from the sudden force. He looked up at the man defiantly.

"I'd still like to find out what you are." The man snarled, "You're too valuable of a hostage to let go…" He looked at his watch, "Oh dear… only 15 minutes until noon. So much for letting you go unharmed." The man smiled, pulling out a knife, "Now, how quickly can you heal?"

Germany winced, closing his eyes to hide the fear in them as the man pressed the blade against the back of his knee. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself. He opened his eyes, looking up suddenly as the door opened.

"Halt," the rough voice called in. It was the same man Germany had talked to when he'd first arrived.

Germany shivered. The voice was familiar, and familiar was almost comforting. He hated it.

"We're letting him go," The bigger man walked forward, tying a blindfold over Germany's eyes again.

Germany didn't struggle, trying not to move as the knife still pressed behind his knee. He didn't want to make the younger man angry. He would be able to heal from the injury, but it wouldn't heal quickly. He glanced towards the rough man again, wincing as he tied a gag tightly around his mouth. He didn't fight it.

"Now, he has someone to pick him up at the train station in twenty minutes. Make sure he gets there safely, and unharmed. Fail, and I kill you, is that understood?"

The younger man's voice grew quieter, "Yes, of course."

Germany relaxed a little, relieved as the blade moved from his leg without cutting him. He struggled to keep his balance as he was pulled up from the chair suddenly by a firm grip on his arm. He wrenched his arm free, earning him a hard shove with the wooden rod, sending him onto his knees. He felt them scrape against the concrete. He stood. He didn't care. He walked forward as he was pushed slightly. He knew the younger man was behind him, and he could hear the footsteps of the older man as he walked behind him. He tried to listen as they walked down a long hallway.

"There are steps here, be careful," The younger man said, a smirk in his voice.

Germany tried to brace himself too late as he was pushed forward, his shoulders and arms hitting the edges of the steps, his chest taking deep gashes, unprotected like his face as his hands were kept behind handcuffed behind his back. He tried not to move as he felt the relief of hard, flat concrete. He hadn't counted how many steps he'd fallen down. He coughed through the gag, blood soaking the fabric. He winced. His ribs burned and his lungs ached. He tried not to think about it. He could hear the older, rough man yelling at the younger from far way. The top of the stairs? Slowly the voices grew closer. He didn't move until they dragged him to his feet.

"He's mostly unharmed!" The younger man snapped, his tone defensive.

Germany winced as he heard the older man pull out a gun, readying it to fire.

"Hey-" The younger man's voice was cut off as a shot rang through the empty hallway.

Germany heard the body fall to the ground and turned towards the older man, not sure if he was relieved, or more terrified.

"Can you walk?" The man asked, almost less than coldly.

Germany nodded.

"Good."

Germany stepped forwards as the man gave him an almost gentle shove. He heard a door open, and fresh air hit his face. He took a deep breath. He hadn't realized how damp the air had been inside the concrete room before. He felt the sunlight on his face and bare shoulders. It was warm and pleasant. He shivered as he grew used to the warmth again.

"Get in,"

The older man's voice broke into Germany's thoughts as he heard a car door open. He obeyed, sliding into the car, hearing the door close and lock behind him. He didn't hear anyone else get into the car, figuring the driver was already inside. He fell on his shoulder as the car turned, moving suddenly. He pulled himself back up, trying to listen to the sound of the tires on the ground, trying to figure out where he was in the city. He fell against the door as the car turned again, trying to balance himself, finding it difficult with his hands tied behind him. He noticed the light disappear even behind the blindfold and felt the car stop. He waited as he heard the driver get out of the car. He tried to listen, the voices outside the car muffled. He turned towards the door, struggling suddenly as he heard Italy's voice. Then someone else, heavily accented… France? He wasn't sure.

The car door opened suddenly, and a hand grabbed Germany's arm, dragging him out of the car. He felt the handcuffs being unlocked. He brought his hands to the back of his head as soon as they were free, untying the gag and ripping off the blindfold. He barely had time to register that he was in a parking garage before Italy ran up to him, throwing his arms around him and not letting go. He wrapped the redhead in a hug, shaking.

"You're ok…" Italy closed his eyes, trying not to cry, "I'm so glad you're ok…"

Germany nodded, not sure how to react. He barely moved, keeping his arms around Italy, looking up at France.

France nodded, "He hasn't slept since… it happened. He's been trying to help find you. What happened? They just called your government and said they were letting you go, where to meet them… what happened?"

"I don't know…" Germany shook his head, gently pulling Italy away from the hug, wincing hard as gashes in his chest from the stairs started throbbing, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off. He felt sick, suddenly realizing he hadn't eaten anything in almost two days. He felt lightheaded.

"Germany!"

He opened his eyes, hearing Italy's panicked voice. He looked up, realizing he must have blacked out, as both France and Italy steadied him. He looked at their car, nodding. They led him to it slowly, opening the door. He pressed his hands into his face, trying to remember every tiny detail so he could report it. He replayed everything in his mind, every sound, every smell, every voice, every threat, every cut, every bruise… he shivered. He didn't want to remember all of it. He had to remember all of it. They had to find them and stop them. He couldn't let them keep terrorizing his country. They had to be stopped, and he was going to stop them. He looked up as sunlight streamed into the car. He looked out the window, watching the buildings in the distance pass by slowly, the closer ones blurring past faster than he could see them. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. It felt good to be home.

A/N: A light chapter? What? XD Gil's having a grand old time messing with Heinrich, and GERMANY'S BACK HOME! He did end up getting released and is (mostly) ok... though he certainly is angry with RAF... I enjoyed writing this chapter. :)

As always, I really do love reading reviews! It seems like you guys are already starting to blast through the 300's! Thank you so so so much! And thank you to all of you who have been sharing this story with your friends and bringing in new viewers! Thanks! Danke! Spasiba! *hugs* Today is my Dad's birthday, so there was cake. Lots of cake. Chocolate cake. Chocolate cake for everyone! YAY! :D (And Tea/Coffee, whatever you prefer!)