Chapter 18
Hostility
He would have preferred Ivan.
It left a bitter aftertaste to admit it, but god help him, Ludwig would have preferred awaking in the first light of dawn to Ivan running his fingers through his hair and whispering to him.
Not her.
But that was how it happened nonetheless, when Ludwig stirred back into the realm of consciousness, his sleep feeling long and heavy and somehow exhausting. Someone's hands smoothed down his hair, and when he could finally find the strength to open his eyes, he shuddered.
He was laying on his side, a blanket halfway down his chest. The pale sun couldn't seem to break through the curtains. The room was dimly lit and the shadows in the corners were disconcerting. A heater blew warm, scorched air into his face. The fingers in his hair were not particularly comforting; one long, fervent stroke through, and then they clenched together and tugged, painfully, and then one long stroke through, and then another clench.
Ivan didn't touch him like that.
It took a moment for him to gather his strength. Finally, after minutes, he turned his head, and looked up. A woman was above him. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Pretty face. Long hair. Dark dress. A terrifying air. Familiar. Her hands were smooth and cold.
Disconcerting.
She stared at him from where she sat on the edge of the bed, and he stared back dumbly, and felt a creep of panic. Couldn't remember much, couldn't recall the past hours, but he knew enough to know that he did not want to be alone with her. Not with her. Couldn't say why, but he knew anywhere she was, was somewhere he didn't wanna be. Where was Ivan?
A silent alarm of danger in the back of mind. A bleary memory of a flash of steel.
Where was Ivan?
A lurch of horror.
Inhaling in panic, Ludwig rolled from his side onto his back, and the simple movement made his head split open and his body ache. Felt like he was dying all over again, and Ludwig could only look around desperately for Ivan as she hovered above him.
She was smiling, as her hands continued to tug at his hair, quite contentedly. He wished he had the strength to yank her fingers out of his hair, but he couldn't even lift his damn arms. How had he been left alone with her? When she was more of a danger than the snow outside? How had this lapse in judgment occurred? Ivan had left him alone with her? How could he?
Ivan, for all of him, could be damn dumb sometimes.
She spoke then, for the first time.
"Finally woke up, did you? What a shame." She leaned farther down, long blonde hair falling all around him, and she was staring at him with obvious interest, her voice sweet and saccharine. "Oh well! It can't be helped, I guess."
He struggled to remember her name, but maybe that didn't matter at all because she was dangerous and too close and her hands fuckin' hurt, and Ludwig dug his heels in the blankets as he tried to push himself backwards. He stopped short when he realized, with another lurch of unspeakable horror, that he could not move his feet. Couldn't even feel them. They were numb. Oh, god, could there be a worse time to be immobile?
He tried to move again, this time using his elbows, but she grabbed his collar with her other hand, crawling quickly on top of him in an attempt to keep him still. Knees on either side of his waist. One hand still clenching his damn hair and the other falling to his chest.
"Calm down. Stop moving. You'll hurt yourself. That would be such a shame."
Ludwig could only stare up a her with dumb terror, and she stared right back at him, and after a moment of silence she spoke again, her smile ever widening as she looked him over.
"Remember anything?"
He didn't answer.
Her fingers left his abused hair and fell down to his neck.
"Your pulse is stronger. ...that can't be helped, either. Hey, can you talk? Don't you remember anything? Well, even if you don't, I'm still glad you showed up. That was the first time I've gotten to see Ivan in years. Guess I should thank you, but honestly I wish you woulda died instead. Oh, well. Seeing him was enough, I guess."
Now her hands came up to cup his face, thumbs running over his cheeks, her weight feeling far too heavy above his aching chest, and Ludwig was slowly recalling the past hours as his brain came back to life, and shivered beneath her.
"He never comes just to visit me."
Natalia.
"He's too proud."
Her name was Natalia.
"Oh, Ivan. Men are so strange. I don't understand them at all."
And she was rambling.
Her random, disjointed speech was as unnerving as her eyes, as her hands, and Ludwig wished that she would have just left him alone. What she said next, though, irritated him, for whatever reason.
"Isn't that a shame? That a wife should only see her husband every few years."
Wife?
Temples aching and dizzy with nervousness, he met her eyes and said, voice low and weak, "You're not his wife."
He didn't know why he said it. Why provoke her? He didn't know why he said it, and why he felt so agitated. But she was not Ivan's wife. Facts were facts, after all.
A quiet hesitation. Her brow came down.
"Ah. You do remember."
Not everything. Most of his memories of her were bleary and out of his reach, but he knew enough to matter, the feel of steel and the look of danger, and damn, how could Ivan have left him alone with her? Ivan, who always kept him close and promised that he would protect him from the dangers of this land. Maybe he was dreaming, still asleep, because this certainly felt like a nightmare.
"Feel alright? Can I get you anything, colonel? Would you like some coffee? Vodka? Tea?"
She smiled in a leering way that might have implied that coffee would include small talk, a friendly hug, cream, sugar, and some poison on the side. Yikes.
He found his voice, and rasped, "No, thank you."
"Well," she said, still sitting quite happily atop him, "At least you're polite."
Was that a good thing? Sure hoped so. Didn't want her trying to fuckin' stab him again because he hadn't uttered a basic courtesy.
They stared at each other, and she fell back, sitting her weight now upon his knees, and he looked over towards the door, helplessly. She followed his gaze, and, perhaps sensing his nervousness, scoffed aloud.
"Don't worry. I didn't kill him or anything. He'll be back. He's fetching hot water." She looked over her shoulder, down at his numb feet, and reached back with one hand, grabbing his foot playfully.
He couldn't feel her hand, and that was pretty damn terrifying. Fucking feet were still so numb, even hours later.
"I would have just let you catch gangrene," she said, as she turned back to him, "But Ivan would seem to prefer that you can walk. Among other things. I'm upset with you, you know. I didn't think you'd pull out of that. I was hoping you'd just go to sleep and slip away before morning. Well, a woman can dream."
Sick with adrenaline and hating the fear in his chest, he tried to smile at her, and managed to mutter, breathlessly, "Sorry to disappoint. I won't try so hard next time."
His voice was so rough and low by now he was surprised she could hear him at all.
"I'm afraid there won't be a next time," she said, primly, as she mercifully slid off of him and pulled herself up to her feet, "Ivan never makes the same mistakes twice."
There was a short, stiff silence in which she stared down at him impassively, and then a voice from the doorway said, coolly, "I don't make mistakes."
Ludwig's head snapped to the doorway, and he had never been so relieved to see Ivan, as Natalia's bristles lowered in his presence. Not ever. Oh, what a relief. Hadn't ever thought he'd think those words, but there it was. Ivan was back, and Ludwig was damn glad for it.
Ivan stood in the frame, and in his hands he held a pot of steaming water, and he was staring Natalia down with an exceedingly intimidating glare that Ludwig was thankful had never been used on him.
Ivan uttered a simple, hissing command.
"Out."
She seemed unfazed by Ivan's silent threats, by his commands, by his aggression, but started leaving all the same, because she felt like it. As she took her leave, she walked smoothly and surely, and when she passed, she reached out and brushed her fingers down Ivan's cheek, doing so only because his hands were otherwise occupied, crooning softly in Russian.
Ludwig watched, in utter fascination, at that interaction. Just the way Ivan acted.
Had never seen Ivan anything less than composed, even in anger, but she seemed to make him uneasy. Ivan narrowed his eyes at her, spitting words under his breath, but she didn't flinch. Ludwig couldn't stop watching. Ivan jerked back from her touch as though burned when her fingers fell to his neck in a caress, sloshing water onto the floor as he continued to berate her, and now Ludwig bristled too, at her audacity. At her fearlessness. At her presumptuousness.
...she was not Ivan's wife. Crazy. What the hell was the matter with that woman?
Maybe he was just upset with himself, that a woman had the gall to be so unafraid of Ivan and Ludwig did not.
Then she popped up on her toes and kissed Ivan upon his cheek. Ivan pulled back from her, furiously, the look upon his face absolutely terrifying as he hissed at her with nothing less than rage. No doubt he would have slapped her if his hands hadn't been occupied, but then, that was why she had done it. She just smiled, and then she was gone. Ivan watched her go, still and silent and shifting restlessly, and when she was out of sight, he turned his head towards Ludwig and took a step forward.
He met Ludwig's eyes, something within him seemed to shift, and then Ivan smiled, his withering glare gone as swiftly as it had come. Maybe as happy to see Ludwig as Ludwig was to see him.
"Awake? Good. How are you feeling?"
Ludwig didn't respond, still watching the doorframe, just to make sure that she was really gone. Hell, he was afraid of her. It hurt a little to admit, but was undeniable.
Scared.
Ivan looked at him, then back at the door, and then he snorted, and said, as he came forward to the bed and set the pot on the floor, "Hey, don't worry about her. She knows better than to hurt you. She's crazy, but she's not stupid. Don't worry! No one touches you while I'm around."
Ivan's words were sure and comforting, but they didn't hide the fact that Ludwig had just seen, with his own eyes, that shiver of something that ran through Ivan whenever Natalia was near, and he suspected that Ivan was just as afraid of her as he was.
A strange thing they could share.
"Can you move?"
Digging his elbows into the blankets, Ludwig pushed himself up as best he could, ignoring the dizziness in his head, and Ivan seemed pleased at his efforts.
"You're doing much better! I was worried, for a moment. I'm glad you're okay. I hate seeing you like that."
Ludwig shrugged a shoulder, not knowing what to say, and then Ivan knelt down onto the floor, hovering above the pot of water. The rising steam gave away its heat.
"Here," Ivan coaxed, and held out his hands, "Give me your feet. Can you feel them?"
Nope.
Ludwig shook his head, and it was with a furrowed brow of concentration that he somehow swung his legs as best he could over towards the edge. The muscles in his thighs were sore, but he forced them to move nonetheless, and when he had flung them over far enough, Ivan shoved the blanket off and grabbed his ankles, rolling up the hems of his pants. Ludwig looked straight ahead at the wall, ignoring the flush on his cheeks as Ivan poked over his feet, eyes calm and attentive, and then set them down in the steaming water. How humiliating.
A sudden burst of agonizing pain stopped that humiliation short, alright, and he heard himself gasp aloud. A jerk, as he tried to pull away.
The water stung above his ankles, where he could feel, and it was almost too hot to bear. But Ivan's hands wouldn't let him move, and Ivan looked up at him intently although Ludwig refused to meet his eyes.
Ah, Christ!
Hurt.
"Hey, don't worry. They are numb, now, but they'll start waking up in a little bit. Once the nerves warm up. It will hurt though, for a few hours. But, hey," Ivan added, and ghosted warm fingers up to his knee, "That won't be a problem for you, will it?"
Ludwig looked down, despite himself, and the heat on his face was becoming unbearable as Ivan's fingers crept upward, and their eyes met. The pain seemed less important now that Ivan's big fingers were suddenly creeping. Figured.
Ivan was still smiling.
God, did he always have to touch? Couldn't he just sit there? Always touching.
A silence, and Ludwig was relieved when Ivan's hand stopped halfway between his knee and his hip. Whew.
And then things got a little strange, when Ivan said, in a murmur, "See what you made me do? Oh, your poor feet. Hey, I was really worried, you know! I thought I was going to lose you there for a minute. I didn't mean to get so angry with you, but you made me do it. It was not so right of you, to run out on me like that. But it's alright! I forgive you, so you shouldn't be angry with me, either. Let's just put it behind us, yeah? Don't be mad at me, because I'm not mad at you."
Mindlessly, stupidly, Ludwig said, automatically and without thinking, "I'm not angry."
He wasn't angry anymore, it was true, but he had not necessarily wanted Ivan to know that. He had lost some kind of edge, however small it may have been, by letting Ivan know that there was no animosity to overcome. He was far too tired to be angry. Just too damn tired. Being angry took too much effort. Too much thought and strength that he didn't have. Wouldn't run again, so being angry all of the time was going to be impossible.
Anyway, he'd survived the walk, so the whole incident was over.
Something else hit him, though.
...Ivan forgave him? What, then, the whole thing had been his fault? He had been the one who had been in the wrong? By trying to escape a wintry prison? If so, then Ivan's hypothermic punishment had been justified, maybe, because Ludwig had tried to back out of a deal.
A deal.
Contracts couldn't be broken. Well. Maybe he had been in the wrong. He had made a deal, and he had tried to break it by running. He had been in the wrong.
That little alarm in the back of his mind was suddenly screaming at him that hell no it wasn't his fault, that he had done nothing which needed forgiving, nothing at all, that Ivan was to blame for everything, that Ivan was the only one between them that was a murderer.
Yeah, maybe, but he was so tired, so tired, so exhausted, so defeated, and so far, no permanent harm had come upon him. So far. Just like with anger, thinking too much was also too tiring.
Damn, how his head hurt.
But it wasn't his fault, and somewhere in his head he knew it, because that intense survival instinct he had felt last night wouldn't have just come up out of nowhere. Wouldn't have felt like that if it were his fault. Not his fault. So he wasn't really sure why he needed to repeat it so many times. Why he had to actually think about it and convince himself.
His feet were starting to sting.
Ivan always spoke so surely, with no quiver of doubt. So confident and precise. Ludwig had never been like that, hadn't known himself at all, could never have trusted himself, and Ivan's self-assurance made him doubt his own mind.
Damn. He was confused. The night had taken a toll on him. He couldn't think.
"You don't look so well," Ivan suddenly murmured from below, and Ludwig could only shake his head, avoiding Ivan's eyes.
Maybe his mind was still cloudy from his second brush with death. He felt horrible. Awful. Lethargic. Nauseous.
"Can you move your toes yet?"
He looked down, dumbly, at his red feet below the water, and narrowed his eyes as he focused to clench his toes. They bent, slowly and awkwardly, and now the stinging was becoming a sharp throbbing, and he clenched his jaw at the pain.
Ivan watched, as he struggled to regain control of his digits, and then patted his knee.
"That's good! Keep moving them. Tell me if something hurts, okay, because maybe there's a blood clot somewhere. See, I knew it would be easy for you!"
Ludwig furrowed his brow, and continued to flex his toes against the pain, if only because it was better than thinking about things that only ended up confusing him in the end, and because Ivan was urging him on.
"I knew you were a soldier, after all."
...ah, maybe it wasn't so bad.
"You're very brave." Ivan's hand was warm and heavy upon his leg. "This is nothing for you, huh?" Fingertips massaging his skin, and Ivan's constant croons of admiration and words of endearment were starting to slowly wear him down. "You can do anything, can't you? You remind me of myself!"
And not necessarily in a bad way.
Hadn't ever had anyone always spurring him on with endless compliments, so that wasn't so bad. Being told that he reminded Ivan of himself should have been absolutely horrifying, because that was no one he ever wanted to be, but somehow in this particular situation the words sat well with him.
Ivan pulled himself up onto the bed, sitting next to Ludwig and pressing their sides together, and then suddenly Ivan's hand was up and running through his messy hair with gentleness. Not like her's had.
"Look at you. You're always so handsome, even half dead. Funny. You must have had lots of friends. I don't think I've ever seen anyone as good-looking as you. I sure was lucky to run into you! So handsome. There aren't so many people here, so I can't promise you a lot of friends, but you can have plenty of soldiers below you."
He'd never had friends, except for Alfred. Let Ivan think he had been popular. The words were nice. Nice to be paid attention to.
Gilbert had never stayed home.
"I wish that there were flowers around here, so that I could maybe find you some. You'll like here in spring. When the snow is gone, there are flowers everywhere. It's pretty. We Russians love flowers. But I'll find something for you, for Christmas. It's so soon. What would you like? Mm?" Ivan's voice was smooth and amicable, shoulders loose and relaxed, like they really were just old friends exchanging Christmas lists, "Huh? You can tell me! I'd get you anything you wanted. Well? Everyone likes getting things for Christmas. I can get you anything."
Ivan was just blabbering now, saying whatever came into his mind to keep Ludwig engaged, to keep his mind off the pain in his feet, and maybe Ludwig was a little grateful for that. So surreal, sitting side by side with a Soviet general, dressed up like a colonel, one jostling the other like a teenager and chattering away like birds. When Ivan wasn't angry, when Ivan was in a good mood, his voice was so pretty, like those flowers he spoke of. Had never seen such a rough, frightening, huge, masculine man with such a pretty voice.
A sudden, dumb image in Ludwig's head of Ivan in full uniform showing up with flowers.
Ha.
A gentle nudge in his side, Ivan was all smiles, and Ludwig felt a twitch on the corner of his lips, a strange sensation that he had not felt for years now, and for a peculiar, exhilarating moment, he started to smile. He hadn't smiled, not really, in so long. Only Alfred had ever made him truly smile and laugh. No one else. He hadn't heard mindless praise in years, either. Christmas had been forgotten for a long time. Flowers. Had never gotten flowers, that was for sure. Who would have ever even thought of that?
Ivan.
Ludwig suppressed his half-formed smile harshly and efficiently when Ivan looked up and arched a brow, and he was mortified at himself. The hell was wrong with him? He was out in space.
But it was too little, too late, because Ivan had seen, and now he was leaning in, eagerly.
"You should smile more! I would have you smile, just once."
Ludwig bowed his head, and even though he would have liked to ask, petulantly, 'What is there to smile about?' he didn't, because he would rather not antagonize Ivan when he was in a good mood.
At his silence, Ivan seemed hardly deterred, and was actually rather determined.
"Well, then. I'll make you smile. My new mission. Don't worry, I know you got scared last night, but things will be better once we get back home. I'll take you on a trip somewhere, if you'd like. Where would you like to go? Huh?"
Ludwig opened his mouth, and nearly said, 'Berlin, please!', but Ivan was watching him so intently that he lost his nerve, and finally managed to mutter, "I don't care."
Ivan's smile never fell, bolstered on by Ludwig's passivity. Just felt so resigned all of a sudden. Didn't even feel like fighting Ivan off anymore.
A hand on the back of his arm.
"Do you like traveling? I do. I love going places, but sometimes I can't go very far because the military doesn't allow it. Some countries won't even allow me in, just because of my rank, isn't that terrible? I had a wonderful trip planned once, across the United States and then down to Mexico, but it was canceled, you see, because hostilities—is that word right?—were so high. I had wanted to go somewhere warm. But I can only go where the Soviet Union says I can."
For a moment, his eyes darkened, and his hand on Ludwig's arm tightened, painfully, but it passed quickly and Ivan was cheery again.
Shadows.
"Well, no matter, I think I'll go down to Argentina soon. Would you like to go there? I tell you what, once we get back home, I'll let you choose! I have a big map in my office. Anywhere you want to go, assuming it's possible, of course. Well? What do you say? Would you like that?"
Argentina with Ivan? Well. Probably wouldn't say no. Getting out of the Soviet Union was still an urge, an impulse, if only now a dream. Would have taken anything at all. Ludwig had turned his head to stare at Ivan, had been so entranced by him that he had stopped flexing his toes, and Ivan noticed.
His airy voice became a bit droll, a little low, and he leaned in far too close to Ludwig's face, eyes drilling into Ludwig's own, and said, "The faster your feet work, the faster I can get the hell out of this house."
Say no more!
Ludwig immediately took his feet up out of the water, rolled his ankles around, and tried to stand up, because if Ivan wanted out then Ludwig was positively itching. He succeeded in standing, however wobbly, and Ivan's hand was looped in his belt for balance.
Another damn smile, but this one of relief.
"Good job! Come on, let's go."
Ludwig sat back on the bed, pulling on his socks and boots with shaking hands, Ivan threw his coat over Ludwig and helped him bundle up, tied his own ushanka over Ludwig's head, and when Ivan led Ludwig out of the room, Natalia was waiting in the living room, hands clasped politely in front of her.
She was blocking the front door.
"Leaving so soon?" she asked, sweetly, and Ivan only stood before her, waiting irritably for her to move so they could pass.
But she stood there.
"Why don't you stay?" Her eyes passed over each of them, hair neat and pretty, hands so still. "I could use some company."
Ludwig felt himself leaning in towards Ivan subconsciously, because of that latent terror.
She smiled at Ivan, and then her eyes fell on Ludwig in a moment of intensity, and he could feel the hairs on his arms raising up in fright as she stared him down. He shuddered, and found himself rather petrified in place.
"Have a safe trip," she finally whispered, voice soft and low, and for a terrible moment, Ludwig found himself frozen under her terrifying eyes. Because they were swirling again, and they were promising him that this was not the last time they would meet, nor the last time she would hold his fate in her hands, nor the last time that she would strive to take Ivan for her own, nor the last time that she would try to take his life—
Ivan reached down, and took his hand within his own, and gripped.
The spell was broken.
She stepped aside. They passed. Ivan opened the door, and was pulling him through.
"Colonel, if you ever get bored with Mirny, you can come back down here and visit me sometime, okay?" she suddenly said from behind, her sugary voice laden with a dangerous edge, and as Ludwig looked over his shoulder at her he was glad that Ivan was gripping his hand. She winked at him, her smile bright, and Ludwig's terror was unrivaled.
Ivan slammed the door shut so hard behind them that it rattled in its frame, and seemed quite relieved to be back outside in the freezing air.
A heavy exhale, Ludwig duly noted his new Siberia drill of crackling sinuses and lengthening lashes, and then Ivan carried on.
Ludwig would never have guessed that he and Ivan would share a mutual fear, and he would have guessed even less that, for their respectable heights and builds and virility, their mutual fear would be of a rather small woman. Shameful, maybe, but goddamn. She was fear incarnate.
Ivan's hand was still firm around his own, but that was alright for now, and it was only his fear of Natalia that led Ludwig to grip Ivan's hand in return. He wanted to go. Now. Wanted away from her.
Ivan's smile was showing his teeth again, those canines poking out, a wolf sensing weakness, no doubt, but Ludwig would take the wolf over the viper any day.
Ludwig looked around, expecting to see Toris waiting in the car, but there was no one in the street. Ivan saw his eyes searching this way and that, and said, as he began to tug Ludwig along, "It's so close, we'll just walk. It will be good for you, to walk. It will wake your feet up more."
The cold said otherwise, but Ivan's furiously fast pace kept Ludwig from fretting too much.
The morning's pale light shone over the white town, gleaming on the roofs and making the snow glitter. The sky was clouded, and a mist hung above. As they walked, side by side, he realized how cold his head was despite the hat, and he looked up at Ivan, whose pale hair gleamed as white as the snow in the light.
How did he do it?
Didn't know why he thought of it, or why he said it, but Ludwig heard himself whisper, lowly, "Sorry. I lost your hat."
Ivan looked down at him calmly, and only smiled. "Don't worry about it. I've got another one. A prettier one."
Sorry. Why had he said sorry?
Ivan's eyes flitted over his face as they walked, and suddenly Ivan said, "Your eyes are so pretty like that."
Everyone's were, as far as Ludwig was concerned, when their eyelashes were thick and icy and fluttering like huge white butterflies. Ivan's were, although Toris' eyes seemed to hold first place up in Ludwig's head. He took the compliment all the same, silently, and turned his eyes to his feet.
He stared at the sidewalk, concentrating on where he put his boots, and when he finally looked back up minutes later, he realized the great hotel was before him, towering against the skyline.
The black cars shined in the courtyard.
The courtyard, that had seemed like such salvation only several hours earlier. The night had gone so horribly wrong. No matter where he was now, no matter how it all had happened, he sure was glad it was over with. But the thought of seeing those people again, after what had been done, after that night...
He didn't want to go back there, and started slowing down, but Ivan was quick to assure, "We're just going to get the car, and I must thank everyone for coming. Then we'll go. I promise."
Ludwig's pulse raced as they approached ever closer, and when he could see the Soviet military looming here and there, bidding each other farewell and trading off the last of their cigars and vodka, he felt a flush of embarrassment on his cheeks, and tugged his hand out of Ivan's quickly. Christ, he didn't want them to see that. He'd die of mortification. Didn't know them, but sure as hell didn't want them to see him holding hands with another man like a schoolgirl.
Ivan stared down at him, for a moment, but then snorted, and waved a hand in the air. "You embarrass so easily! Look, how red your cheeks are. I don't know why. There's nothing to worry about. Well. Oh, well. That's alright, you look pretty when you blush."
Mortified, Ludwig slowed his pace until he was walking behind Ivan, rather than at his side.
They stopped before a car, inside of which Ludwig could see Toris before the steering wheel, drumming his fingers irritably. Ivan opened the back door and took out a white ushanka, pulling it down on his head as he smoothed out his uniform, straightening everything until he was a model of neatness. Then he pulled out a coat and threw it on, and Ludwig wondered why he had preened his uniform so much if he was only going to cover up. Must have been pride.
When Ivan was finished, he went to the men, and even though Ludwig longed to join Toris inside the warm car, he did not dare get in when Ivan expected him not to.
Ivan had not said, 'Sit down'.
So he didn't.
Stood there outside, looking stupid. Toris was probably rolling his eyes again. Didn't know why he did that, either. Why he stood there.
Ivan looked back at him, suddenly, and waved a hand. Ludwig knew what he wanted, and heaved a sigh as he trudged onward behind Ivan.
Didn't know why Ivan was tormenting him, either.
Maybe this was just another one of those moments, because surely it wasn't necessary for Ivan to return and tell them all goodbye? Did he really have to shake all of their hands, as Ludwig trailed behind him like a dog, brow furrowed and cheeks red and eyes firmly on the pavement, wobbling this way and that as his numb toes came slowly back to life? Was it necessary for Ivan to direct everyone over towards him, so that they could shake his hand, too?
It wasn't a necessity. It was a bonus. Ivan just liked seeing him squirm.
Despite it all, it wasn't as bad as the first time.
At least this time he didn't have to deal with their knowing leers, and most of them were too hung-over to even raise their eyes in the pale sunlight, and with Ivan's huge coat thrown over his shoulders, he at least felt less exposed. Loose, weak handshakes, mumbled farewells in various languages as they winced and paled, and Ludwig could only hope that they all threw up on their leather seats the whole way home.
Ivan walked tall and straight ahead, and it occurred to Ludwig (with another pang of nausea) that no one even seemed to remember that, only the night before, Ivan had snuck up into a hotel room that was not his and had pulled out a gun. Or maybe they admired him all the more for it. Maybe this had happened before.
God.
The crowd was thinning.
...was her body still up there?
He shuddered.
Minutes passed, and finally, mercifully, there was no one else standing before them, and Ivan turned back to him with a smile, shoulders high and chest puffed and looking quite satisfied. "They all asked about you, you know," he began, proudly, and Ludwig could only look up at him, struggling to keep his balance, "They're curious about you."
Curious about what? About how much his fuckin' hand hurt after beating the hell out of their comrade?
Turning on his heel, hands clasped behind his back, Ivan started off towards the car, where Toris, the lucky son of a bitch, was waiting, and Ludwig trailed dumbly behind, pulling Ivan's coat around himself and avoiding raising his eyes up to the hotel windows.
Did Ivan tip the staff extra to bleach blood out of the carpet? Did he have a well out in the forest somewhere? Did he have people who he bought in the government, who erased papers and birth certificates clean away? Jesus, did normal people ever ask themselves these kinds of questions?
The car was in sight. He could see the exhaust floating up in the freezing air.
Ivan's boots clicked on the frozen pavement.
He panted to catch his breath, the effort of walking for so long proving a bit much for his stressed body. Ivan's white ushanka gleamed in the light. A beacon. Ludwig followed, although he was tired of walking. The sky was white, too. Everything was still. Snow drifted down from the bare trees. The horizon was misty. Silence. This frozen place was quiet in the early morning. Ice crystals hung everywhere. The air was cold and clean.
His nose was numb.
And then, quite out of nowhere, someone started screaming.
Panic.
He and Ivan looked over at the same time, and Ludwig's heart jolted with adrenaline and horror and something else that he could not quite put his finger on, because there, standing at the edge of the courtyard, eyes bloodshot and voice thick and absolutely hysterical, was the officer whose wife Ivan had murdered. Two men stood on either side of him, grabbing handfuls of his coat as he pointed at Ivan and shrieked, and even though Ludwig couldn't understand him, he got the message loud and clear.
Murderer. Assassin. Traitor.
Dizzy with that awful horror, that shame, Ludwig looked over at Ivan, and some part of him expected Ivan to shoot the man right then and there, too, because surely no one insulted Ivan in front of everyone and got away with it.
No one moved. The officer kept on screaming, kept on lunging, and seemed upset, more than anything, that no one was helping him, that no one was taking his side, that the other soldiers weren't rushing up to Ivan to place him under arrest. No one moved, and somehow Ludwig felt awful for it.
Ivan only acknowledged the officer suddenly with a curt nod of his head, a crooked smile on his face, and carried on, completely unfazed. Absolutely unruffled. Not bothered. Ivan turned his back, and went to the car.
Ludwig stood still, taken aback as the officer wrenched free of the men restraining him and took two wide steps after Ivan, and for an absurd, ridiculous moment, Ludwig had opened his mouth to tell Ivan to be careful. He stopped short before the words left, and he was horrified at himself. Why would he do such a thing? If the officer were to attack Ivan, shoot him, maybe, then that would be all the better for Ludwig. Until the officer shot him, too, anyway.
If Ivan were to suddenly die, his contract would be broken. The deal would shatter.
Ludwig clamped his jaw, furrowed his brow, and only watched.
And yet...
Even as the officer took another step, shaking terribly and not from the cold, Ludwig remembered him. He remembered being goaded and hissed at. He remembered being insulted. Affronted. Offended. He remembered the burn of vodka in his eyes, the degradation of being spat before. And even though the man was on the verge of tears, bruised and bloody and beaten, even though his wedding ring caught the light in a mocking reminder that he was now a widower, and even though Ivan had stolen his entire life from him, Ludwig couldn't really help the strange aggression that suddenly squirmed into his chest.
He hated Ivan.
But he hated that man more.
He hated himself, too, for thinking it, but no amount of denial would change the fact that he wanted Ivan to shoot the officer, for the way he had spoken to Ludwig the night before. Shoulda been enough, losing his wife like that, but now Ludwig wanted him to be on the end of the gun, too.
God. What was happening to him? He had never thought such terrible things before this. Never. Had never wanted anyone to be hurt.
He was so frustrated. Stifled. Confused. Felt very much as though he was suffocating, no matter how much air there was. He couldn't handle this stress, this overwhelming change of environment, this situation, and he would have given anything just to be able to go back in time and get a hold of the Valium again. Why had he not brought that last bottle with him? He had left it behind.
The aggression was surely just a side effect of stress. Wasn't it? Stress did horrible things to a mind. He knew that well.
The officer's coat was stained with blood, far more than Ludwig had managed to draw; no doubt that he had cradled his dead wife to his chest when he had gone up to their room and found her there on the floor. Shit—that image hurt.
What was done was done. Nothing could change it.
A sudden movement caught his attention; the officer had stopped screaming, silent danger, and after a moment of hesitation his hand flew down to the gun in its holster. A flash of steel in the hidden sun, and Ludwig felt himself freeze up, hands clenched at his sides. The other soldiers shifted, moved, but didn't come forward.
Something within Ludwig that he couldn't place.
Ivan didn't see the gun, back turned.
You can depend on me.
Ivan. That son of a bitch.
I'd do anything for you.
Ivan, who claimed to be responsible and to always take care of things. He'd only ever wanted someone who kept their promises. Someone who did what they said they would so. Someone he could rely on. So far, Ivan had done everything he said he would. Ivan had come looking for him for hours in the vast forests of Brno. Ivan had saved his life the night before with quick thinking. Ivan had kept Natalia at bay. And Ivan had made sure that the officer's actions had consequences.
He was so tired of being the responsible one, the one to take care of others, the one who had to be seen as the 'stick in the mud', the one who had to be so mature far too soon, the one who never smiled. The stern, boring one.
Gilbert had made him that way.
Tired of being thrust into situations where he had had to be the adult before he had even been able to shave. So many years of recklessness. So many years of stress. Broken promises and fights. Being let down. He was tired of giving so much and getting nothing. He just wanted someone who would look out for him, like he looked out for everyone else. Not such a grand thing. That was all he wanted.
Ivan had come back for him.
A gleam.
The officer's finger raised up to the hammer to pull it back, and before he knew what he was doing Ludwig had come back to earth, braced his feet, and shouted, "Watch out!"
It came out before he could stop it.
Ivan froze in his tracks, too, at his cry, but Ludwig doubted that it was in fear. Then he turned, slowly and deliberately, meeting the officer's eyes with a nerve-wracking tranquility. Didn't the bastard ever get scared? Wasn't there anything other than that woman that could move Ivan? The officer stopped dead where he was, his finger freezing right above the trigger of the gun, and there was a terrible silence. Ivan was smiling, as always. Looked like he had just been invited to dinner. Ivan was utterly unshakeable.
And maybe, just maybe, Ivan was something close to a god out here.
That awful silence.
Ivan lifted up his chin, eyes locked on and having yet to blink, and then he lifted his arms ever so slightly out at his sides in invitation. Daring the officer. Waiting, so patiently.
Ludwig had never in his life been as entranced by anything as he was Ivan in that moment, as he stared at death so fearlessly and taunted it. Had never known there could be a man like that. Seemed otherworldly in a way.
The officer fell still, then; his shoulders slumped, his shaking hands lowered, the gun dropped, and he hung his head, his bravery washed away under the tide of Ivan's eyes. He fell to his knees on the frozen pavement soon after, clenched his fists, and pressed his forehead into the ground. He began to cry. The moisture froze there on his eyes, as it always did, and this time Ludwig didn't find it fascinating or beautiful.
Ivan observed him for a moment, thoughtfully, and then lowered his arms and turned around, and he walked on as though nothing had happened. After a second of speechless amazement, Ludwig found his feet and could only follow behind, brushing past the officer as he went.
No one else spoke, and seemed hardly hassled.
When he reached the car, Ivan waiting patiently for him, Ludwig looked back over his shoulder at the sobbing, broken man behind, gun clenched in his hand and whispering to no one as he bowed there on the ground. Others came up to him. Someone hauled him to his feet.
And what scared Ludwig the most in that instant was that he felt nothing. No pity. No remorse. Because the officer had brought it upon himself. His head hurt. It wasn't his fault; he had not asked Ivan to do what he had done. He hadn't wanted that, no, and it wasn't his fault. Ivan had said so, hadn't he? It wasn't his fault.
Ivan held open the door, and as he climbed in, Ludwig's head began to throb more than ever. Ivan climbed in next to him, tapped Toris on the shoulder, and then they were moving.
And not a minute too soon, because being here, in this situation, in this environment, was bringing out terrible things within him that he had never even known were there in the first place. Had those things been within him all along? Hidden, somewhere? Had never felt them until he had met Ivan.
Ivan reached down, and clenched his hand.
Because never before would he have thought that someone deserved that. Not that. No pity? No remorse? Who was he?
You're Ludwig!
He wasn't so sure anymore. There was no one here to remind him who he was.
Erzsébet wasn't here to tell him to treat others as he himself would like to be treated. Alfred wasn't here to tell him that the only thing to fear was fear itself. Roderich wasn't here to tell him that pride came before the fall. And Gilbert wasn't here to tell him that life was too short to spend it hating and getting even.
Ivan did not live by those rules. Maybe he wouldn't, either, not anymore. Then again, neither had they, Ludwig quickly reminded himself with a pang of what could have been bitterness. Because, for all of their talk and lectures...
Erzsébet did not always treat everyone quite like how she would like to be, and Alfred got frightened too, and Roderich was as proud as anyone he had ever known, and Gilbert had told him that just because he had spend his whole life in hectic whirlwinds of revenge.
They were all hypocrites.
He had gripped Ivan's hand without realizing it.
Why couldn't he be one, too?
How many times had Erzsébet lost her temper with the embassy secretaries? How many times had Alfred backed out of mischievous adventures because he was terrified of German police? How many photographs had Roderich posed for? And how many nights had Gilbert spent in jail, battered and bloodied? Would they begrudge him one arrogant Soviet fool? Ivan wouldn't, obviously, and suddenly he had leaned in, breath warm upon his neck.
"Hey." Ludwig looked up, startled, and Ivan was far too close for comfort, smiling serenely. "Were you worried? What, you thought he would shoot me?"
Ludwig felt a horrible flush of red upon his cheeks, and regretted immediately that he had ever cried out to Ivan in the first place. Now Ivan would think...
"You were worried about me. See? We're getting along so well!"
This was the last thing he wanted. Fuck. Why couldn't he ever keep his fuckin' mouth shut?
Ivan's smile was wide and content, chin high and chest puffed out in self-satisfaction.
Ludwig turned his head to the window, and watched the snowy trees creep by, and Ivan was creeping too, closer and closer.
He was starting to hate car rides.
Ivan fell still once he was firmly against Ludwig's side, taking no further unwanted action, and Ludwig could only breathe a sigh of relief and rest his chin in his palm. Their hands were still intertwined between them. Somehow, he didn't really think to pull away. His feet were throbbing painfully, more uncomfortable than Ivan's heavy weight, and when Ludwig looked up again, and realized it had started to snow.
Hours passed. Boredom. Toris drove slowly. Carefully.
He tried to rid the memory of that hotel from his mind. He couldn't. Couldn't stop thinking. So many things running through his head. And something else.
A thought, or maybe a memory.
And then, restless and anxious, Ludwig turned his eyes to the front and opened his mouth. Even though he knew he shouldn't have.
"Your father went crazy," he suddenly whispered, mindlessly, and he did not know why he said it, because he could not think straight off where he had heard it, or if he even had.
What an idiot he was.
For a moment, there was a terrible, suffocating silence, worse than the one that had made him open his mouth in the first place, in which Toris sent him a look of absolute horror in the rear view mirror. Then Ivan's eyes snapped up and he pulled his hand out of Ludwig's and reached out, grabbing up his collar and pulling him in so close that he could feel Ivan's breath moving his hair.
"Who told you that?" he asked, in a dangerous hiss, and Ludwig, caught under his stormy gaze, could only shake his head, helplessly.
Why, oh why had he opened his mouth?
"Who told you that?" Ivan asked again, and shook him gently, adding, "Did she? She did, didn't she?"
She? Natalia.
Then he could hear her wrathful shriek in his ears, as clear as a bell, and his brain lit up.
"Yeah," he finally said, as Ivan throttled him again, "She told me. She told me all about you two."
Toris' grip on the steering wheel tightened.
Ivan only stared at him for a moment, eyes churning, and then he scoffed and released Ludwig's collar, leaning back into the seat. Crossing his arms above his chest, he stared ahead with a furrowed brow and pursed lips, and then finally he said, voice low, "Didn't you know? I'm her favorite thing to talk about. She tells everyone she can about that."
"I noticed," Ludwig managed, weakly, rubbing absently at his collar.
A short silence.
"Did she tell you that I called off the wedding?"
He nodded.
"And she told you about her father?"
He nodded.
Ivan scratched the back of his neck, irritably, and then said, "Her father was a great man. He did much for me. But she was too much. After he died, there was no point in staying with her. I owed him, not her."
Toris gripped the wheel so tightly that the leather creaked beneath his glove.
Ivan seemed suddenly foul, as he grumbled, "Don't... Well. If you think badly of me, don't. I promise, she was crazy long before I broke our promise. I told her all along that I didn't love her. She knew. She was always crazy. I didn't make her that way. She knew I hated her. She just didn't care."
Well, he certainly believed that.
Ivan said nothing more, ducked his head down, and stared ahead, eyes narrow and dark. Why was he angry? Was he worried that Ludwig was going to think him less a man, calling off an engagement with a woman who had helped him? That he would think Ivan less a gentleman, refusing to pay what he owed?
Ludwig sat still for a moment, heart racing and knowing full-well that he had just skated over very thin ice, and then he wondered, briefly, why Ivan had not just gone through with the marriage. After all, didn't crazy attract crazy? Ivan, having the nerve to call someone else crazy. Another hypocrite.
Ludwig wondered, too, why Ivan had evaded successfully the mention of his father. Well! Ludwig was dumb, but not so dumb as to pursue the matter a second time, and fell still.
Ivan's good mood was withering. His smile was gone. Toris tapped his fingers anxiously on the wheel as he drove.
...why couldn't he keep his mouth shut?
Turning back to the trees, he tried yet again to take his mind off of things, and it didn't take long before he realized that it was impossible. Because, in its own way, the ride back to Mirny was even worse than the journey out of it had been. At least the last time, he had had some kind of resilience to hold on to, the faintest of hope that maybe, maybe, he would still have a chance to get out of this somehow.
But now as he sat here, watching the trees, there was no hope. Only quiet resignation. He would have to accept that Berlin was no longer his home. His home was Mirny. His home was Siberia. His home was Russia. His home was with Ivan. Not with Gilbert.
Because he had made a deal. He was bound to it. Ivan had broken his deal with Natalia, but Ludwig wouldn't break his, because he still had something to lose on the other side of the wall.
Everything was silent. Ivan was still brooding.
Hours later, halfway down the road, Ludwig reached into his waistline, and groped around for the knife that he had taken from Natalia in their delirious struggle. Ivan had not discovered it, which was a surprising miracle, for all the groping he had done, but...
Why bother keeping it? Ivan stared down a gun with no fear. A knife would have just made him laugh.
He found the handle and pulled it out, and it was with a pang of defeat that Ludwig looked over and caught Ivan's gaze, reaching out and placing the knife on Ivan's lap, snipping, "Here."
Ivan looked down at it, and when he looked back up, he was smiling again, and the air about him was much lighter.
"How'd you sneak that by me?" Ivan asked, curiously, as he grabbed the knife and tucked it away in his coat. Ludwig was caught under his intense eyes, feeling stupid for whatever reason.
"I wasn't trying to," he finally muttered, irritably, "I forgot about it."
Ivan's smile widened, and he reached out, tossing an arm over Ludwig's shoulders amicably, his good mood back with full force. Ivan's mood swings were alarming. Unpredictable. Made terrifying Ivan so much more dangerous.
Suddenly, absurdly, randomly, completely out of nowhere, Ivan leaned in and whispered right in his ear, "Say, can I put my arm here?"
Ludwig scoffed, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
"It's already there."
"So it is."
Ivan fell silent, and pulled Ludwig firmly into his side, and Ludwig could only bow his head and furrow his brow, feeling absolutely ridiculous as Ivan pressed their heads together. He raised his eyes, and when he could see them in the rearview mirror, his shame intensified. Hadn't yet come to terms in his own head with someone like Ivan, hyper-masculine and domineering and confident, being attracted to him. It hadn't clicked somehow, seemed absurd and frightening, wrong.
Maybe it was the lack of control he had over the situation that made it so terrifying, because he couldn't really say for sure where he even stood in his own inclinations. Didn't know who he was or what he wanted.
His headache was back. His toes were still stinging.
Ivan forced him in closer until he had no choice but to rest his head on Ivan's broad shoulder, a heavy forearm across his chest.
He and Gilbert had lain like this before, and so had he and Erzsébet. Roderich had slung an arm around his shoulders and let him sleep on his chest when he was younger and they were all alone. Alfred had sometimes looped an arm within his own when they sat together drunk on the couch. Maybe everyone did this, at some point or another. So maybe it wasn't so bad, to sit like this with Ivan.
Ludwig nearly burst into laughter, because Natalia would kill, literally, to be like this with Ivan, and yet he was so nervous that he was afraid he would get sick. Strange. Well, one man's trash, etc.
Ivan held him so tightly that his sore chest ached.
The road was long and slow, and sometimes Toris would look up and catch his eye in the mirror, and the worry there barely broke through the fog. Toris sighed then, tiredly, but quickly fell still. Ludwig wondered, as Ivan's head began to bob up and down as he started to fall asleep, how Ivan had ever plucked up Toris in the first place. He would ask. One of these days.
Exhausted and drained, he leaned against Ivan, and fell asleep. It wasn't so bad.
But damn.
It was getting harder and harder to hear Gilbert's voice against the static.