Chapter 15

Black Snow

Stifling his nausea, Ludwig changed the gear, lifted his foot from the brake, and the car lurched forward. As he pulled out, Ludwig thought he heard Ivan mutter, under his breath, "You're lucky you're so damn pretty," and then hissed, irritable Russian.

The snow crunched under the tires.

The courtyard went by far too quickly, and then there was the beginning of the road, and Ivan was suddenly whispering in his ear, "Slowly. Very slowly. If you crash my car, I will be very upset. I like this car."

This ridiculously shined car. Figured.

"You would," he grumbled back under his breath, and Ivan just snorted.

The tires crept along over the sheet of ice, and Ludwig could barely keep a grip on the steering wheel for the shivering of his hands, and someone, should they have been passing, could have simply walked by the car faster than it could drive. Slower than slow, and Ivan's breath was warm on his neck. An errant hand brushing through his hair. Gentle motions.

"Keep going."

Where were they going? Was this the part where Ivan drove him out into the middle of nowhere and shot him, like he had thought he would back at the Czechoslovakian border? The gun pressing into him was a good indication.

"I'm curious, Ludwig," Ivan suddenly whispered, wiping again at his eyes, "Where did you think you would go? Did you really think you could just drive back to Berlin? Did you think you could drive out of Siberia? Do you know where you are? It would take you months! You'd be dead by then."

It had been foolhardy, yes. Stupid, even. But...

"I had to try," he grumbled, and Ivan laughed.

"Well! Are you satisfied then, now? You tried. But," he leaned in, pressing his cheek into Ludwig's with narrowed eyes of victory, "I win again."

Again.

Ludwig gripped the steering wheel and bit his tongue.

"I always win, Ludwig. Always. I will never stand to lose to anyone. Even if I have to cheat. But hey!" He leaned in, and placed a swift kiss on the side of Ludwig's head, "That's between us, yeah?"

Arrogant. Prideful. Self-confident and always so sure.

Gilbert used to rig the rules of board games so that he would not lose to Roderich. Gilbert would use his hands to keep Ludwig from scoring a goal when they played a friendly game of football.

"You know," Ludwig began, voice deep and barely a whisper, "maybe you should have kept my brother. You and him could have spent all day making up your own rules."

Gilbert never lost. Ivan always won.

A silence, and then Ivan drawled, "Nah. You are much less annoying. Despite this."

The trees passed by. The town lights were behind them. The snow glittered in the lights of the vehicle. He could barely feel his fingers. He was shivering. The silence was overwhelming. The gun in the back of his neck was uncomfortable, and the stroking of his hair was more so.

How did he find himself in these insane situations? Couldn't stand it.

"Now, you tell me," Ludwig finally said, to break the suffocating silence, "Tell me. Why does Toris do everything you say? Why won't he leave? He's not a real soldier, either. What have you done to make him so dependent on you? Why won't he leave?"

He almost didn't want to know, and he was not sure why he asked. Maybe to get a glimpse of what was in store for him. Maybe just to know whether he really should kill Toris or not.

A short silence.

Ivan gave a deep, "Mm," kissed the side of Ludwig's head again, and seemed to be gathering up his thoughts and words. Then he said, "Why does he stay? That's the easy part. Because I made him somebody. With me, Toris owns the world, too. That's all. He likes power. I gave it to him. He likes to hurt people. I let him. Why wouldn't he stay? Who doesn't want power?"

Well—

Before Ludwig could speak, Ivan carried on.

"Toris is so moody, isn't he? Don't let him scare you. He acts tough, but he's not. He's a coward, he always was. All I have to do is slam a door, and he can't even move. Have you ever really heard the slam of a door, Ludwig? Not knowing when it's going to open again? It could be hours. It could be days. Or maybe never. It's interesting, to see how long someone can last in a locked room before they go crazy." He pressed his lips into Ludwig's hair and added, "Toris only lasted four days. The first time. The second was two. Then one. When we get back home, maybe I'll try you out. I bet you'll last a lot longer, brave as you are."

Was that it? A locked room seemed much less brutal than he had been expecting, not the torture he had been dreading, and Ludwig almost felt relief.

"Have at it," he said, and Ivan's little leer was grating him.

"So confident! I like that. You and I will have good times together! I like you, Ludwig. I do. I was not expecting that, really."

"I try."

Ivan laughed, and seemed in far too good a mood suddenly, considering the circumstances. Ludwig narrowed his eyes and looked ahead at the white road, and said nothing more.

They drove. The lights in the distance were faint. They had gone perhaps a little more than a kilometer, at a slow crawl, before Ivan finally sat back and said, "Stop here."

He slid to a halt, and the gun pressed harder into his neck.

"Get out."

Get out? Was this the end of the line?

Ludwig grabbed the handle, and somehow found the strength to open the door, and god, as soon as he stepped into the night air, his skin froze again, and he tucked his hands immediately under his armpits, damp hair already once more icy. That now familiar cracking, and the lengthening of his eyelashes. Hell, he'd only been outside for a day and already knew the drill.

Ivan got out too, gun held steady, and then he took his ushanka off and tossed it forward. Ludwig barely caught it, hands trembling as they were, and then Ivan sat down in the driver's seat, and Ludwig realized with a dawning horror what was going to happen :

Ivan was going to leave him here.

In the cold.

Resting his elbow on his knee and holding his head up with his palm, Ivan watched him, eyelashes frosting over eerily as he eyed Ludwig up and down, as Ludwig pulled the ushanka down over his ears and struggled to tie it, and then Ivan smiled.

"Well," Ivan said, long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks in the moonlight, and inclined his head towards the wilderness, "Here's your chance! You want to go? So go! It's two hundred and fifty kilometers back to Mirny. Or, like you had planned, eleven thousand kilometers back to Berlin. Better start walking. Maybe you'd even make it until sunrise before you froze to death." Ivan looked at the thermometer in the car, and said, to himself perhaps, "Eh—only minus fifty. It's fine."

Fine?

Ludwig bit his lip to keep his scream of frustration at bay, and Ivan's smile fell into a sneer of what could very well have been annoyance as his good mood suddenly foundered. As though, perhaps, he should not have had to get out of his warm bed in the middle of the night just to deal with such frivolous things. Beneath him, no doubt. This was probably something Toris should have been doing.

"Or," Ivan continued, "It's just one kilometer back there." He pointed at the dull, glowing lights behind them. "If you can walk even that. Don't be a fool, Ludwig. Germans came out into these snows once. It did not end well. You're not a fool. You'll make it. I know you will." He reached out and grabbed the handle of the door. "I'll be waiting for you. Hurry up, won't you? I want to go back to sleep. Oh! And don't you ruin that coat! That's mine."

With that, Ivan shut the door, and Ludwig could only stand there, completely numb, and watch as Ivan turned the car around, and the vehicle glided over the ice back towards the town, and Ludwig was alone.

Alone. Out in the snow. In the middle of Siberia.

A dumb thought crossed his dizzy mind, and he nearly laughed; fuckin' Ivan, driving himself for once in his life. Hoped it was tortuous. Bastard.

For a long moment Ludwig stood completely still, in absolute horror and disbelief, and then the rage rose up within him like a volcano and he kicked the snow in Ivan's direction, screeching to no one, "Goddammit! Goddammit! You son of a bitch! Fuck! Fuck! I'll kill you when I get a chance! Do you fuckin' hear me? Oh, god! God! Goddammit! I hate you so fuckin' much!"

Pointless, screaming at no one like a little kid, but he couldn't help it.

So furious.

He whirled around, punching the trunk of the hapless tree that just happened to be the closest. The bark scraped his skin, and he watched in horror as the blood that crept to the surface froze before it could even drip.

His anger faded into something that felt like hopelessness, and from there into complete despair. What did he do? What the fuck did he do now? Die out here in the snow? Try to walk back? He didn't want to go back to town, not there, but what choice did he have? He couldn't stay here. Death was a certainty.

And death was one of those things that was much easier to talk about than to actually do. It was easy to say to himself, 'I'd rather die!', but when death was suddenly a very real possibility? The latent survival instinct kicked in. Now, he wanted to live.

Goddammit.

Cursing to himself and wishing that he had never awoken stupid Toris in the first place, Ludwig dragged his feet out of the snow and began to walk. It was like walking through knee-high sand. Slow, hard, and exhausting. The ice clung to his boots like dumbbells. His lungs hurt.

It was only a kilometer. One little kilometer. Hardly an arduous journey.

...in theory.

Gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering, he lunged forward through the snow, trying to step back into the road for easier trekking. But when he slipped and fell, and then again, and again, he realized that he was simply trembling too much to balance himself on the sheet of ice. With a low brow, Ludwig slid back down into the snow, with only the distant glow of the lights as a guide.

Couldn't be worse. It couldn't have possibly been any worse. Bad damn luck was all he ever had. Could barely see anything, and he reached up very quickly to knock the ice from his eyelashes, but it was very quickly replaced, and pulling his hands out from under his arms hurt too much.

The forest beyond was pitch black and completely still. He dreaded even looking into it, so dark and imposing it stood. Who knew what was in there.

Alone. Vulnerable. Helpless.

He walked, and walked, and with every step he took his legs were becoming less and less steady. His pace was slowing into a lurching stagger, and the snow was falling down into his boots. It melted, and the freezing water around his feet stung like needles before it eventually refroze. His chest ached and his lungs were burning, but he didn't stop, even when his eyelids began to stick together every time he blinked.

He couldn't stop. A minute's delay would be disastrous.

The meters passed. It wasn't that far. It was only a kilometer. Not so far. He had gone over two kilometers in that awful death tunnel, and in total darkness. God, it was so cold, though. Absolutely insufferable. Hell, made of ice instead of fire.

He walked.

The idiotic run through the forest in Brno may as well have been a pretty summer day in comparison.

And walked.

Minutes dragged. His pace continued to slow. At one point he stopped, trying to catch his breath because the cold air made it so hard to breathe. He only stopped for a few minutes, that was all. Just a few miserable minutes.

When he finally tried to walk again, his boots were stuck in the ice. It took every ounce of strength and determination in his body, every shred of it, to reach down, grab his knees, and physically yank his boots up from their icy death-trap. Another godawful jolt of terror. Couldn't even stop, couldn't even get a breather, because he wouldn't have the strength to do that again. That was a mistake that he would not make again. No more stops. He tried to carry on, as best he could.

Couldn't breathe, and couldn't stop.

Every step felt like it took a year.

His hair was frozen to his scalp, even underneath the ushanka. His shirt was quite literally freezing to his skin beneath his coat.

He looked down. The snow was endless. He couldn't feel his feet. He was walking on nothing. He couldn't feel where he was placing his boots, and had to watch the ground to make sure his feet were falling flat.

His pace had turned into a crawl.

Everything ached, but maybe the sluggishness of his body was not what should have concerned him.

His feet were numb. Didn't most of the body's heat leave through the feet? The feet and the head, or so he had heard. His feet were completely frozen. That was not good. Because with every step, every foot, every inch, every second, his thoughts were swimming further and further away, and his mind was slipping, and a word kept running through his head :

Hypothermia.

He was becoming hypothermic. His blood was turning to ice within him, in every sense. Hit him fast, too. His balance faded. His vision started going next. And then his alertness. He felt sleepy. Lethargic. Everything was blurry. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but it was no use. His mind filled with fog. The lights guiding him were hazy.

Another step.

Faint.

One more.

The lights were closer, but still so far.

...couldn't really find the will for one more step after that. So far.

He looked around, as a thought suddenly struck him. Where was Toris? Nowhere in sight. No trace of him. Toris had left him again. Again.

A dull throb in his head, and the cold was slowly becoming less unbearable. He kept walking, somehow, although he couldn't really remember anymore lifting up his legs. How long had it been now? An hour? Two? Ten? A whole day? He had no sense of time. Just cold. The snow was deep and endless. Colorful dots danced before his eyes. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance. Speaking to the moon.

And then suddenly, as he looked over his shoulder, and then back at the lights, Ludwig realized that he didn't remember why he walking out here. The fuck was he was doing out here? Certainly, this was a very poor lapse in his judgment, to take a walk in such weather, alone. Why would he do such a thing?

The trees here were dark. Endless.

Stars up above.

He looked up, in a moment of dazed dreaminess, and tried to pick out familiar constellations. He couldn't seem to focus long enough to find any. Huh. Oh well. Furrowing his brow, he picked up his wobbly foot, and took a step forward, and then stopped, reaching up and scratching irritably at the ushanka. It was starting to bother him. Too hot.

It wasn't that cold, on second thought. He probably didn't need it.

His fingers were clumsy and very stiff, but still he managed to untie the flaps, as he began to stumble forward again, and it was with relief that he yanked the fur hat off of his head and tossed it down onto the road. That was better. It was almost too warm. Uncomfortable. Ugly thing, anyway. He felt better without it.

He carried on, and then he could see the outline of a town in the distance. It seemed vaguely familiar despite the blur in his mind. Had he been here before? Who could say? He knew that he should go there, because Ivan had said so, but as to how he had wound up out here in the first place...

Where was Ivan, anyway? And Toris. Had they forgotten him? Left him behind? Buncha assholes. Ditching him like that. Hadn't they thrown that ball for him? What kind of jerks tossed the subject of the party out of the fray?

He couldn't think.

The forest thinned.

There were buildings suddenly, small houses in rows, streets of ice, pretty cottages, and he staggered up to the nearest one, stumbling for his numb feet, and brought his fist down on the door. There was no sound from within, and he tried again. Nothing.

Numb.

He passed on to the next, and now he could feel a stir of anxiety within him, because he was certain all of a sudden that something awful was chasing him, even if he couldn't put a name to it, and a great fear hung over him. No one answered. Where was everyone? Maybe he had stumbled into a ghost town. He moved on to the next house, and this time he collapsed against the door as he knocked, as a horrible wave of lightheadedness overtook him, and maybe the town was empty because Ivan had killed everyone.

Gunpowder.

He knocked again.

His eyes closed. He just wanted to go to sleep. He was tired. Drifting. Ivan's hands were rough and warm. Ivan's hands were always warm, no matter how cold it was outside. How was that?

Suddenly, he was freezing again.

He knocked again, as the shiver returned. He thought he would faint. Strength left. Energy drained. Exhausted.

And the door finally opened.

A sudden warm light cast out on the snow, bathing him in its glow, and a beautiful woman stood in the frame, her golden hair shining yellow in the firelight. A pretty dress. Long hair. He couldn't really grasp too much of her, honestly, drunk and dazed as he was. Swaying, with the effort of standing.

There was a silence as they stared at each other. He was shivering so terribly that he couldn't even speak, but he didn't need to. She gave him a long hard look-over, raised her brow in what could very well have been amusement, took a step back, and held open the door. Ludwig staggered inside, and made it only a few paces before he collapsed on the floor before the fireplace, holding his arms around himself and digging his boots into the floor.

Thank god, thank god.

Burying his face into the rug, he couldn't even think right as she shut the door and then came over next to him, kneeling down and whispering, "Kto vi?"

Didn't understand.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment she was silent. She might have been smiling; he couldn't really focus on her. He could not stop shivering. His hair was frozen to his head.

"Vi poteryani?"

A soft voice.

Maybe he was dying. He couldn't feel anything. Not even his chest when he breathed. Nothing.

She raised her hand up and placed it upon his frozen hair.

Finally, he managed to raise his head, and met her eyes, a pretty dark blue, and smiled. Even though he didn't know if she could understand him, he said, voice slow and a bit slurred for the mist in his mind, "Hey! Thanks for letting me in. I think someone was chasing me!"

He dropped his head back down and giggled in a random bout of giddiness, and she fell down onto both knees, and now her eyes were a bit stern as she said in surprisingly fluent German, "Are you drunk? Did you go out and get lost or something? I thought you GDR type were supposed to be the smartest."

GDR?

...oh, right! Right.

Suppressing another giggle, Ludwig said, "Oh, yeah! That's right, I'm—" a snicker "—I'm Colonel Müller!"

His voice felt strange; thin and scratchy. She stared at him with a low brow.

How ridiculous, hearing himself say that name. Not his name. Maybe there was a colonel out there somewhere with that name, but it sure as hell wasn't him. Colonel, alright! Ivan wasn't here; maybe he could be a general, too. She wouldn't have known.

General Nobody.

He burst into helpless laughter at the thousands of thoughts running through his head, and she only shook her head and reached down, removing his boots as he burrowed his freezing nose in the carpet and tried to compose himself. She seemed exasperated, more than anything. Probably thinking to herself, 'Men.'

The giddiness that flowed through his veins would have, perhaps, alarmed a doctor, but Ludwig found it quite welcome. After all that terror, after all that strife, it was nice to feel happy. Even if it was killing him.

His wet boots and socks gone, she grabbed his ankles and dragged his legs towards the fireplace, placing them down as closely as possible. She was hovering over him again, and he couldn't really help but notice how pretty she was as she leaned down, met his eyes with a smile, and said, "You kept your hands under your arms at least. Guess that was smart of you." Her eyes drifted down to his feet, and she smiled, almost luridly. "You might lose your toes, though, colonel."

He barely heard her, and wrapped his arms over his chest, and as the ice in his hair began to melt, he found himself thinking, absurdly, that Ivan would be angry that he had lost that ugly hat.

He came in and out, as she kept on looking him over. She couldn't really seem to stop staring at him, and he didn't know why. Well—he did look good in the uniform, or so Ivan said.

A low, rumbling giggle.

Her hair tickled his face as she leaned down all the farther, and asked, "What were you doing out there?"

Wished he knew.

"I don't remember."

He didn't, but it had been pretty dumb.

She leaned down somehow closer, her nose nearly bumping into his own, and added, "I think you're up to something."

He smiled, bleary eyes darting over her pretty face in the midst of that utter excitement, and, hell, maybe he was. Couldn't remember. She was damn close, and he couldn't stop staring at her, opening his mouth and asking, quite lowly, "You comin' on to me or something?"

She snorted.

"You are very handsome," she suddenly whispered, right at his ear, and even through his delirious overexcitement there was something then in her cool voice that made him shudder just a bit. "And very young to be a colonel. Blond, blue-eyed, pretty face. You look like his type."

His type? Who?

Damn, was she ever close.

She reached down, sweeping his freezing bangs from his eyes with very gentle fingers as a mother might. She placed her palm on his forehead, as though checking temperature. Soft hands. Then she leaned it and pressed her chest against his, so close that for a stunned moment he thought she would kiss him, but she only pressed her nose into his collar, as if taking in the scent of his coat. Well. It wasn't his coat, was it? A second of thoughtfully narrowed eyes, and she suddenly whispered, "Ivan."

Ludwig shuddered.

Ivan.

"I knew it," she muttered, a bit irritably, but he was hardly aware of her annoyance; all he could think was, 'Whee!'

The room was spinning. He felt giddy and sick and tired and cold and somehow, beneath it all, so frightened.

Where was he?

Too many emotions at once. His brain wasn't working right.

She pulled back, and her fingers were suddenly not so gentle as she grabbed his collar with both hands and pulled him upright at the waist. Deep blue eyes boring into his own, she clenched his collar so tightly that he could barely breathe, and it was with a sharp tone that she said, voice low and dangerous, "Where are you going? Are you running? From him? Are you?"

He could only stare at her in a numb stupor.

"Huh? Are you trying to run from Ivan?"

He could not think quick enough to answer her questions.

"You're a new one, aren't you? Aren't you?"

Her voice was becoming high with what could have been anger.

"Aren't you? Answer me!"

He couldn't. He couldn't find his voice. Dumb and numb and so confused, above all else. So confused. Didn't know where he was. Who he was. Where he had come from. Hadn't ever had a damn name. How could he figure out where he was going if he didn't know where he had come from?

She shoved him back down on the floor, and his head began to pound with a dull pain as his chest started to clench up. Moving too fast. Everything was starting to hurt. His heart was palpitating strangely. Everything seemed to slow down. What was wrong with him? Guess he was dying, after all.

Then she crawled on top of him, straddling him on either side, and her knees pinned his arms into the carpet. For a dumb moment, he looked up at her, and didn't really remember how he had met her, or how he knew her. Did he know her? Sure was pretty, though. Her cheeks were about as sharp as his. Wished he could remember who she was, though. Maybe one of those girls Alfred had tried to set him up with.

Hands rested atop his chest, and suddenly he was squirming a little. A strange woman on top of him? Ah. Right. He tried to open his mouth and say, 'Listen, lady, this is a little fast for me,' but he couldn't. Couldn't seem to speak, suddenly, as if his throat had clenched up, and, to be perfectly honest, there were far worse things in life than coming to consciousness with a pretty woman straddling him.

He could live with that, he guessed. Sure wish she'd at least get her knees off of his arms, though.

He furrowed his brow and stared up at her, as though through a fog, and waited for her to do something, but she just sat there, and she was not smiling. Was she glaring at him? Had the date gone badly? Ah, hell.

Actually, on second thought, she was pretty damn scary. Kinda wished she'd just get offa him altogether. Suddenly not a ride he was looking forward to, and he squirmed again, but this time in an effort to wriggle out from under her.

No go.

She kept him pinned quite easily, weak and dazed as he was, and asked, "Ivan brought you home with him, didn't he?"

When Ludwig didn't answer, she leaned down, her hair falling back down into his face. Her voice was soft. Too serene. Void of emotion. Rather terrifying.

Ludwig squinted his eyes a little, and would very much have liked to say, 'God, get on or get off, lady, 'cause you're startin' to creep me out.' He opened his mouth, and nothing came out.

She sure did start talking, though, very randomly.

"You know, ten years ago, Ivan and I were engaged." Ludwig would have gawked, if he hadn't been so out of it. Ivan, engaged? Ha! That whacko. "We both lived in Moscow. This was a long time ago. My father was a general, you see, and he promised Ivan a quick rise through the ranks if he would take my hand. Ivan's family name has a long history. Very honorable! Until the last generation, anyway. A noble name to my father, for his only daughter to take. Ivan's father was military, too."

She ran her hands down Ludwig's neck in slow, gentle movements. Comfort. He felt sleepy under her smooth hands. He closed his eyes.

She kept on blabbering, and he didn't pay quite as much attention as he should have.

"Ivan became a general at twenty-eight! Unprecedented, you know. I did that. That was me. He wouldn't have gotten anywhere without me! And then my father died, and do you know how Ivan repaid me? He went out on a tour, and when he came back, he had that useless little coward, Toris, with him! You met Toris, didn't you? Sad, isn't he. You know what Ivan did then? He called off our engagement! He shamed me in front of everyone. My reputation was gone. I was alone. And I made his life a living hell for it. Then Ivan moved all the way out here just to get away from me. Not that he admitted it, but I know it was to get away from me."

She laughed, now, and Ludwig could only shudder beneath her, and open his eyes.

Suddenly, her hands weren't quite as gentle. Nails, raking his skin.

"But I followed him. I came here to Lensk. Can you—! Can you imagine his surprise when he held his first ball here and I show up? He was so upset that he threw me out into the cold and went back to Mirny with his tail between his legs! And then he told me if I ever showed up uninvited again, he would shoot me! Coward, just like Toris. Ivan is all talk, you know. He can't run from me forever. He ruined me. And now..."

She trailed off, shaking her head, and Ludwig was suddenly frightened. Hadn't asked for her damn life story.

'Oh, that's terrifying, thank you,' Ludwig would have said, had he been able to. He tried again to squirm away, and was again unsuccessful. Just wanted to get away from her.

She reached into the waist of her skirt, and pulled something out. A shine in the light.

And when Ludwig made out the shape of a knife, his brain suddenly came back to life as though someone had flipped on a switch.

Adrenaline surged.

Holy shit—

She gripped the knife in both hands, and held it in contemplation in front of her chest, staring at it as if she'd never seen a fuckin' knife before, and she added, "It's not that I need him, you see. It's just that..." She raised the knife up above her head. "I just want him to be with me forever, so that way he can be miserable. I would ruin him, as he ruined me. And, well, I would be lying if I said I didn't love him a little. Just a little. I hate him more, so I want him to be miserable. He deserves that, don't you think?"

Well, yeah, but—

What?

This woman was fuckin' insane. She made no sense, even to his disjointed mind. He could barely process her words, eyes frozen on the knife in the air. He had the alarming sensation that he was about to be stabbed by this woman he didn't even know.

She just smiled down at him, and carried on, the knife clenched in hands that were suddenly trembling in anger.

Her voice changed.

"But now, every few years, he brings home someone new. What a disgrace to my father's memory! I told him, you know. If he wants to be with someone, it should be me. I've always been here, all along. We were supposed to be married. I got him where he is! Me! My family's hard work. My dedication to him, my father's guidance after his father went crazy. Without me, he and his dumb sister would have frozen in the streets. She could never hold a job, the poor twit, and if he hadn't gotten up to general so fast they would have starved to death! And he repays...he repays me with you? Look at you! Who are you? Where he did pick you up from? He took you up as easily as one does a stray dog!"

She braced her arms, and was still smiling, even after that rant, even through her anger.

"It's alright, though. If I kill you, it will make him angry. Hurt him a little. Maybe it will teach him a lesson about playing with girls. You know, some of us do take these kind of things so personally. It's not your fault, I suppose. What a shame, because you really are handsome. Well. You should have run a little better. You have to be smarter to get away from Ivan. Farewell, colonel."

He panicked.

A flash of steel, a quick lunge. He had only a second to react.

Gathering the very last of his strength, he kicked off the ground with his numb legs, pulling one of his arms out from beneath her knees with clumsy speed just as the knife was coming down. He knocked it at the last second, and the edge of it cut into the side of his forehead. She tried to raise it again, and he acted; one fierce blow to the side of her head, and she fell over, and he crawled on top of her as she clawed out for the dropped knife.

His chest was killing him, but he kept on.

"Stop!" he cried, as he ripped her over onto her back and grabbed up her wrists in his hands, pinning her down, and her eyes were blazing with absolute fury as she tried very hard to knee him in the stomach. "Stop!"

She struggled beneath him, cursing and spitting like a viper, and he wasn't sure that he would be able to keep her down for much longer, as that adrenaline rush started fading, and he was fading too, but then she suddenly fell still, out of nowhere. She stopped moving, stopped cursing, stopped fighting, and he didn't know why, but he was grateful, because he fell still too in exhaustion, the only movement that of the drops of water and blood that fell from his forehead down onto her collar.

Coulda died, it felt like. His heart was lurching unevenly.

Her eyes were terrifying. Just voids of rage and hate and nothing. Crazy. He feared her, he realized, more than he did Ivan, and he hadn't thought that was possible.

A silence between them, and his head was swimming, his heart racing, and god, he was still so cold. So cold. He couldn't breathe. The adrenaline that had saved him was seeping out. He was going to fall over. Faint.

Dizzy and tired, he closed his eyes and bowed his head, and managed to moan, as his heart lurched, "Stop. Just stop. Please. Please. Listen."

He shook his head to clear it, and when he opened his eyes, she was staring at him with an exceedingly alarming intensity.

"I'm listening."

Everyone out here was fucking crazy.

"I don't care about you and Ivan. You want him? So what? Why don't you just help me? Just help me. Help me get out of here. Help me. You don't want me here. I don't want to be here. I wanna go home. Help me."

He lost his strength and fell silent in both exhaustion and confusion. For a moment, she stared up at him, and the burning in her eyes dulled down into an almost calculating coolness. Hell, she almost seemed exasperated again, like she was dealing with a child.

Another silence, and she said, curtly, "Let me up."

He did.

But he reached the knife first, and grabbed it up, tucking it into his waistline. She watched him calmly, and then waved her hand to the couch as though nothing extraordinary had occurred. "Please. Sit."

Like she had invited him for tea or something.

Still, he did not need to be told again, and collapsed upon the sofa, mindful of the knife, falling down onto his side wearily. Immediately, he began to fall into unconsciousness, and he heard her walking around, pacing back and forth, as though she were deep in thought.

He faded. The edge of his vision was black. Could barely breathe. His heart kept on lurching in that strange manner.

Then she knelt before him, and grabbed his shoulder. A gentle shake.

"Hey, hey, can you hear me?"

He struggled to look up at her. So weak. Everything had left him after that tussle.

She placed two warm fingers on his neck and felt his pulse. A smile, and she said, "Ivan must be really taken with you. No one has ever made it to colonel before. And to throw another ball." Her smile feel into a sneer. "You must have raised some hell. He would be so upset if something happened to you. But maybe I can use you, too. Maybe he would even be grateful if I had saved you. Ha. What do you think? I think so."

He barely comprehended her words.

A pang in his side. Aching, everywhere. Stars across his vision.

Her eyes darted across the room, and then finally she added, "Listen, I'm going to call someone now. You're dying of hypothermia. But do me a favor; when they get here, don't even tell them how bad you feel. Your heart will just stop on its own after a few hours. Death will be a blessing to you, yeah? So don't tell, okay? You said you wanted out. This is the way, okay? Sounds good, doesn't it?"

So dizzy.

She met his eyes, as much as he could focus anyway, and she reached out and placed her index finger over his mouth, hissing, gently, "Shh!" She smiled. "It's just a game! How's that?"

A hand in his damp hair.

For whatever reason, he smiled too. A silent game, huh? Death was his prize. As good a game as any, he figured, and he was too damn dazed now to really think about it too much.

Finally she left the room, sounds of bustling from the kitchen, and then he heard her voice, very soft and very smooth, as though she was speaking to someone. He thought he heard the sound of a phone being slammed down.

His vision blurred. He couldn't stop shivering suddenly.

Bang!

Everything was spinning, too fast, too hard, and maybe he could understand why Erzsébet had dropped the gun. The feel of steel, even just from a knife, was almost overwhelming. Scary, in a way. Cold.

Or had it been Roderich? Maybe it had been Roderich. Erzsébet had found one of Gilbert's guns, and had tossed it to Roderich playfully, and Roderich had fumbled it straight to the floor, jumping back from it as though it would bite him. But then, Roderich was a fan of culture and poise, not of firearms and bullets. Roderich could not hold a gun up straight, let alone hope to shoot one. Roderich, with his aristocrat's hands.

He felt like he was swimming. His chest hurt. He wanted to go home.

Home.

Home? He wasn't certain where home was anymore. Didn't seem to belong anywhere. Always lost, one way or another.

He shifted, just a little, and suddenly there was a sharp, burning pain in his heart, in his chest, in his neck, and he could not help but hiss aloud at the ache. Felt as if he really had been stabbed, and then a great dullness settled over his mind, and he realized that he was no longer cold.

Warm. His cheeks were reddening with what felt like a heat flash. Shock. Numbness. He moved then, sitting up long enough only to squirm out of Ivan's coat and throw it on the floor.

Time passed.

The room was warm. Too warm. Uncomfortable. His fingers began to twitch. Colors faded into dullness. Muted. Monochrome. Time passed and slowed down.

And then there was a knock on the door.

Lutz, I'm home! Miss me?

Ludwig opened his eyes and watched with mild confusion as the door swung open, and there was a flurry of snow, and then pale hair in the firelight. Footsteps.

Gilbert?