Chapter 35

Erratic

Laughing.

Ludwig was laughing.

It was such a strange, unfamiliar sound that Toris, when he had heard it the first time (deep and rough and sincere, echoing through the halls with a certain eeriness), just knew it was those damn KGB jerks from town, maybe hanging out at the front door and trying their hands at hapless Irina because they knew Ivan was not around.

Hadn't they taken the hint by now? Irina wasn't interested. They'd get the hint once and for all, sons a bitches, when he capped them one in the knees.

Toris came skidding around the corner, hand flying down to his gun, but when he came around and the front door was in sight, he fell still. Irina was there alright, and someone was definitely chatting her up, but it wasn't the officers.

It was just Ludwig.

He was back from Moscow.

Ivan stood behind him, suitcase in hand, smiling easily as Ludwig allowed Irina to embrace him and run her fingers through his hair and fuss over him. Ludwig was laughing, no doubt at something silly Irina had said, and Toris could only stand there. He could already see it :

This Ludwig was not the same.

He had known all along that this would happen.

Irina put her hand on Ludwig's stubbled cheek, and he leaned forward to place a kiss upon her forehead, murmuring smooth words that were so low Toris couldn't hear them.

Toris didn't recognize this man.

Ludwig had put on quite a bit of weight since he had left. His cheeks were full. His pale skin was white as ever, but not wan. He looked bright and alert, healthy, and for it was quite handsome. Looked younger then, looked his age. Some college kid, out on break and having fun.

Pale eyes turned, and locked onto his own.

"Hi, Toris. Miss me?"

He didn't recognize that voice. He didn't recognize that expression. Those eyes.

All the same, he knew it was Ludwig, and when he came inside and extended a hand, Toris took it, because not taking it somehow seemed a bit risky. "Hi, Ludwig," was all he said in the end, and Ludwig smiled. Hadn't seen that smile, either. Ludwig gave him a brisk handshake, clapped his shoulder in friendliness, and walked on.

Since when had Ludwig ever shaken Toris' hand? His Ludwig would have just run up to him and stared at him like a lost puppy, waiting for Toris to pity him and scoop him up and coddle him.

Some part of Toris had wanted to say, 'Welcome home, Ludwig! You look great. How many people have you killed so far?'

As he passed, Toris noted that Ludwig smelled different, too. Like Ivan. Yikes—no doubt they'd found something to do to pass the time on the train, so to speak, but to see Ludwig and smell Ivan was a gigantic mind-fuck.

Toris watched Ludwig go, and gave a sigh.

Well. Had been nice knowin' Ludwig, while he had been there. Dumb kid.

When the baggage was put away, later on, Toris watched as Raivis came running up to Ivan and Ludwig, saw their uniforms, and started blabbering away. Ludwig had no idea was Raivis was sayin', but it still agitated Toris when he smiled anyway, and promptly removed his cap and handed it to Raivis. The look on the his face was like someone had told him he had suddenly become a king, and when he shoved Ludwig's colonel's cap on his head, Toris was fairly certain that Ludwig had become Raivis' new idol.

Once, that thought might have pleased him. He might have said to himself, 'Thank god Raivis is lookin' up to a nice guy like Ludwig, instead of someone like Ivan.'

Now...

He stood there, brow low, and couldn't say why it bothered him so much to see the look of admiration upon Raivis' face. Unnerving. He realized that he wanted to pull Raivis aside and say, 'You should stay away from him.' He didn't know this Ludwig yet—he probably wasn't safe. It was like meeting someone for the first time, even though the look of them was the same.

How strange.

Ah, hell, Raivis didn't listen to him anyway. Little punk was just counting down the days until he could get his own damn uniform and go out with Ivan and Ludwig. Be like them.

For now, Toris would watch this Ludwig from afar, figure him out a little, and then act accordingly. Hopefully, this Ludwig was still an ocean apart from Ivan.

The next morning, he woke up, and set immediately to observation. Curiosity was the dominant feeling for now. If fear were needed, it would be obvious.

Ludwig walked differently, he noticed that right off. More confidently. His head was held higher and his stance was a little looser when he strode along, and he had stopped staring at the ground when he walked. Ludwig had been so clumsy before. His feet didn't waiver now.

He talked differently, too. A bit more eloquently. His Berlin accent had all but disappeared from his speech, and he stopped clipping off the ends of his words and using slang. He put his words together a bit more neatly, and seemed to think about what he said before he said it. Ludwig had just uttered whatever came to mind before, rather gruffly. Now, even though he was no doubt as smart as he had always been, he certainly sounded smarter.

Toris knew why.

Ludwig carried himself more gracefully, more elegantly, because doing so made Ivan look better. Upholding Ivan's image, no matter what. Everything Ludwig did now was for Ivan.

Over the next few days, Toris noticed that Ludwig did everything Ivan said, at the snap of a finger, without even thinking about it. Like a damn dog. When Ivan said 'sit', Ludwig sat. When Ivan told Ludwig to 'come', Ludwig came. When Ivan said 'stay', Ludwig looked like he coulda cried, but he stood still all the same. Toris was rather happy not knowing what Ludwig would do when Ivan commanded him to attack.

And, just like a dog, Ludwig looked over at Ivan with endless devotion, and Toris knew that, in Ludwig's eyes, Ivan was god. If Ludwig had had a tail, whenever Ivan looked at him it would have wagged so hard that it knocked down everything in its path.

Kinda sad.

He had seen it happening, he had known it would come to this, but it was still so disheartening, somehow, to see Ludwig so submissively complacent around Ivan, after having known the old Ludwig, who would've sooner punched Ivan in the face than smile at him.

The old Ludwig, who had been so proud. Brave.

This Ludwig was no doubt still proud and brave, but only in instances that were connected to Ivan. Ludwig was proud, yeah, proud when it came to standing at Ivan's side and pulling off the guise of a soldier with uncanny ease. Ludwig was brave, certainly, and would have bravely thrown himself in front of a car if it meant keeping Ivan's boots from being splashed.

Pitiful.

Being able to see these changes in Ludwig was kind of heartbreaking, in a way, because he could only sit there and look at Ludwig and just know that, if he had been an outsider, he would have been able to look at himself and see such differences. He was the same as Ludwig.

Days passed, and Toris kept waiting and waiting, and yet no matter how long he waited, the Ludwig that he had loved didn't come out. All the same, he waited, because admitting that that Ludwig was dead just hurt too damn much.

He waited.

The Ludwig that had called him brother had been so strong, he had lasted so long, he had given everything he had, and maybe it had been just too much and he had finally burnt out. Toris waited, still.

During the next two weeks, Toris never did catch a glimpse of his Ludwig, but he did meet two new Ludwigs.

The first one, the one that had walked through the door that day, might have been mistaken for the original Ludwig by one who hadn't known him very well. The first Ludwig was Ludwig. Just a little different. Toris had already taken note of most of his differences, but saw a few more here and there. This Ludwig drank more. Held his head up. Dressed neatly. Sometimes, he could be a little moody. He was still mostly friendly though, and Toris had yet to find a reason to avoid him.

Just wasn't the same as the old one.

The second Ludwig was Colonel Müller.

Not quite as friendly as the other, but he didn't make too many appearances, at least not within the house, so meeting Colonel Müller wasn't that big a deal. All you had to do was speak a little more politely, keep your posture a little straight, nod when expected to, and you survived an encounter with him with incredible ease. If you irritated him, he might send you stern looks of agitation, and he might snip a little, but that was all. He didn't drink as much as Ludwig, but was sterner and didn't laugh.

Colonel Müller wasn't all that bad. More like running into your boss on your day off. Unpleasant, but nothing to regret as long as you played your cards right.

Life went on.

In lieu of his Ludwig, Toris settled for the first new Ludwig, because, apart from being obsessed with Ivan, he wasn't too bad, and he was better than nothing. Brother.

Toris had assumed there were only two Ludwigs, but he soon found himself proven wrong. Actually, there were three. The third Ludwig had made an appearance only once. Just once. And Toris was damn grateful for that, because the third Ludwig was Ivan.

The morning he had come out, for the first time, had been a frightful experience.

Toris woke up to the sound of screaming.

He knew it was Ivan, just knew it. Going into one of those moods. By the time Toris got downstairs and tracked down the commotion, the screaming had stopped, but he opened the door all the same.

It hadn't been Ivan that was screaming, that much was obvious; Ivan was sitting quite nonchalantly at his desk, paper in hand, and was reading as though nothing was out of the ordinary. It was Ludwig, hair sticking up rather messily and dressed in Ivan's clothes, that was stomping back and forth, breathing through his mouth and very nearly fuming with anger. His pulse raced in his neck. Face flushed red. Hands clenched and teeth gritted.

Toris didn't know what had set Ludwig off. Maybe an unpleasant thought had crossed his mind. Maybe someone had slammed a door too hard. Maybe he had gotten something on his shirt. Maybe it had been nothing at all.

Ludwig stalked back and forth, jaw clamped and fists clenched and eyes swirling, and Toris could only stand there in the doorframe, somehow fascinated. Terrified, absolutely, but fascinated all the same. To see Ludwig, once gentle Ludwig, so consumed with wrath, was morbidly eye-catching.

Toris leaned himself against the frame, and watched. Ivan saw Toris there, and smirked, lifting his chin as if trying to tell Toris something. Toris just lifted his own chin in turn, not catching Ivan's gist, and watched Ludwig fume.

Ludwig stalked so hard and fast back and forth across the room that he nearly slammed into the walls.

Ivan finally glanced up from his paper at Ludwig, hardly concerned, and nearly leered when he drawled, 'Calm down. What are you gonna do about it, huh? Sit down before you hurt yourself.'

Toris had been damn-near stunned.

'Calm down.'

To hear those words coming from Ivan, to hear Ivan telling someone else to calm down, was like waking up one morning and realizing that his bed was up on the ceiling.

Ludwig, still so furious, turned around, bumped into the desk, and promptly shoved a mug and everything else right off of it in his rage. The glass shattered on the floor. Ludwig had turned then, maybe to cause more hell, and suddenly saw Toris leaning in the doorframe. A short stillness. Within that glimpse, that split-second, Toris had seen something terrifying in Ludwig's eyes. Midnight. A flash of lightning. The storm, swirling overhead.

Only a second, though.

Ludwig blinked, straightened up a little, took a great breath, and god help him, Ludwig had looked so confused suddenly. His eyes had cleared of the storm only to be replaced with fog. Ludwig stood there, still and quiet, so lost, and then he gave a sigh, as if something had been flipped on inside of his head and he was coming back down.

He finally lowered his shoulders, loosened his face, and had said, 'Hi, Toris.'

Toris had smiled at him, as best he could.

'Hey, Ludwig.'

He made sure to say Ludwig; the best way to keep Ludwig from being Ivan was to remind him of who he was.

There had been a short silence, and then Ludwig had walked over to the desk, leaned his back against it, and as his palms held up his weight, he swept his eyes over the room, brow scrunched in thought, and it was obvious that if he remembered being so angry, then he certainly didn't remember why. His glance caught sight of the shattered mug shortly after, and when he knelt down to pick it up, he looked up at Ivan and gave a weak, halfhearted smile, as though Ivan would somehow remind him of what he had been doing.

Confused.

Toris stood there, until Ivan reached down and put a huge hand on Ludwig's cheek, until Ludwig took Ivan's wrist and the smile grew stronger, and then he turned and walked away.

That was the only time the Ivan-Ludwig had come out, and Toris decided that it would be wise to do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Still...

When he thought about it, later on, the Ivan-Ludwig was still half Ludwig, and Ludwig was still, somewhere in there, a gentle soul. The darkness was there, but Toris couldn't say for certain that Ludwig would have harnessed it and acted upon it as Ivan did. Maybe the darkness was too quick—a match that was struck, but before Ludwig could start a fire it burned out and just left the scent of smoke.

Ludwig could form the darkness, sure he could, but he couldn't use it yet. How much longer would that last? The obvious answer was rather frightening—only until Ludwig killed someone. One murder was all it took, and the floodgates would open.

With every single day that went by, Toris lamented more and more.

Ludwig. He missed Ludwig. It was sadder, somehow, to miss someone so much when they were still very much in front of you, at least physically. To see Ludwig, and yet not.

Ludwig was gone.

It seemed that no matter how hard he tried to cling to brothers, he just kept losing them.

His fault—he shouldn't have let Ludwig go to Moscow.

Days passed.

Screaming.

Ivan was screaming.

Toris could hear it from downstairs, and found himself looking up at the ceiling. This time, it was Ivan. Toris could only wonder what poor Ludwig had done now, assuming he had done anything at all.

Ah, hell. Ivan was in one of those moods.

He thought about going up and being nosy again, but, honestly, he was too scared. Ludwig couldn't do anything with the darkness under the surface yet, but Ivan sure as hell could. And, anyway, if there was anyone that could withstand Ivan's night, then it was Ludwig. Ludwig, who Ivan adored.

So Toris just sat there, and listened.

The screams only lasted a few minutes. Ivan's voice, high-pitched and cracking with the effort of shrieking, and sometimes he heard a quiet, gentle murmur that was Ludwig. Hardly an argument; Ludwig would never dare to actually raise his voice and scream at Ivan, not Ivan. He no doubt gave his best effort to speak up and calm Ivan down, but he wouldn't ever argue. Nobody argued with Ivan and came out unscathed, not even Ludwig.

Ludwig knew his place, like everyone else did, and just rode out the storm.

This was just a part of life here.

After a while, the screaming abruptly stopped, and there was a dull thud. Toris knew it was Ivan, wrenching back his fist and slamming it straight into the wall, no doubt somewhere very close to Ludwig's head. Toris could envision it up in his mind, and he was fairly certain that Ludwig, no matter how close Ivan's fist came, didn't flinch, and stood quite still. Eventually, Ivan would regain control of himself again, and even though there was probably a hole in the wall, Ludwig would just smile.

Ivan, coming out of that cloud, would turn his eyes down to Ludwig, and break into a beam, as if seeing Ludwig for the first time.

Later on, the door shut, and Toris could see, in his perhaps overactive mind, Ivan and Ludwig walking down the hall, hand in hand and crooning to each other like schoolgirls. As if nothing had happened.

Ludwig never flinched.

Because Ivan would never hit Ludwig. Maybe just because Ludwig wasn't afraid. Ludwig adored Ivan, as much as Ivan adored him.

Made him sick.

Toris watched them interact sometimes, and he couldn't really understand it. He couldn't understand what went through Ivan's mind when he touched Ludwig's cheek. He couldn't understand what went through Ludwig's head when he took Ivan's hand and brought it down to his lips to place a kiss on the palm. He couldn't understand what Ivan said when he leaned in and whispered in Ludwig's ear. He couldn't understand why Ludwig smiled and exhaled.

Ludwig and Ivan, somewhere back there, had created their own universe.

Toris wasn't in tune with them enough anymore to be able to see into it. He could see the light from the galaxies and stars, shining from a distance, but every time he tried to look deeper he was intercepted by a black hole or an asteroid field.

Whatever they did, whatever they said to each other, whatever went on in their minds, Toris couldn't understand anymore.

They had transcended him.

Static.

They created radiation, as much as any stars did, and the waves were starting to crash down upon the earth.

Pulsing.

Crying.

Ludwig was crying.

Toris walked through the halls one day, minding his own business, and when he passed by a door, he thought he heard the muffled sound of crying. He stopped in his tracks, turned his head back, and furrowed his brow. He listened, hard, and backtracked a little.

Sobbing.

A strange, eerie sound, within these silent, empty halls.

It didn't take him too long to pinpoint the sound. He leaned in towards the door in question, face tense in concentration, and he was certain. Behind the door, for whatever reason, Ludwig was crying. The sound was different, somehow, than what he remembered from when Ludwig had burst into tears in Ivan's office. He grabbed the doorknob, and had very nearly pushed it open when another sound stopped him short. Whispering. As much as he had recognized Ludwig's sobs, he recognized Ivan's whispering.

A shudder.

Ludwig crying was frightening on its own. Adding Ivan's whispering into the mix was damn beyond terrifying, and Toris wouldn't lie and say his heart hadn't been hammering as he had turned on his heel and bolted off.

Didn't wanna know.

He didn't know what they did in their spare time, he didn't know what unholy things Ivan whispered to Ludwig, he didn't know what muddled thoughts were trudging through Ludwig's head, and it made him a shitty human being but Toris was glad all the same that he didn't know. Keep it that way. If whatever Ivan was whispering was enough to make Ludwig break down into tears, then he didn't wanna know.

Maybe Ivan was tearing down another wall in Ludwig's head. Maybe Ivan was pinning Ludwig down on some surface and hurting him. Maybe Ivan had locked Ludwig in the closet.

...or, more probably, Ivan was crooning endless devotion, and Ludwig was crying because, for some godawful reason, Ludwig just loved Ivan that much.

Not knowing was better.

A horrible sensation; guilt. Ludwig crying like that.

Weeks passed. March was ending.

Ludwig was thriving.

One evening, after a day of being completely absent, Ludwig finally appeared, and when Toris saw him in the hall, he felt a horrible burst of something that was almost joy.

Ludwig was walking towards the kitchen, and Toris saw his state immediately. Limping a bit, clothes disheveled and hair rumpled, he stumbled through the halls, forehead and shirt soaked with sweat, blood stained his collar, and the bruises on his arms and face were obvious even from a distance. Black eye and split lip. Breathing through his mouth and wincing with every step he took.

Ivan had roughed him up. Ludwig?—Ivan never hit Ludwig.

And, god help him, Toris almost felt joy.

It was horrible, sure it was, but some terrible part of him wanted for Ivan to just beat Ludwig senseless one day for no reason so that Ludwig might understand a little the world he lived in. He wanted someone else to understand. He wanted Ludwig to understand. (Granted, since Ludwig had been around, taking all of Ivan's attention, Ivan hadn't even noticed Toris' presence, let alone lashed out at him, so maybe this was an instance on his part of looking the gift-horse in the mouth.)

Toris wasn't a good person by any means, had never pretended to be, and Toris smiled at the sight of a beaten Ludwig.

Rushing forward, he came to a halt before Ludwig, who smiled over at him calmly, and said, more eagerly than he meant to, "Wow, Ludwig! What happened to you? What did you do to make him so angry?"

Enthusiasm? Check.

A second of silence, and then Ludwig's smile widened and he laughed, voice deep and smooth and unconcerned, and finally said, "Angry? Nah. Nothing like that. Ivan's teaching me—oh, damn, what did he call it?"

Ludwig trailed off, thinking hard, and finally made a playful fist, punching Toris very gently on the chest.

Toris understood, and felt the first twinge of disappointment.

"Oh, you mean systema? He's teaching you, huh?"

Damn.

The way Ludwig said Ivan's name was almost as frightening as the way Ivan crooned Lyudovik. Utter adoration.

Of course Ivan would teach Ludwig the art of systema. Why wouldn't he? Ludwig was everything that Ivan had ever wanted; tall, handsome, strong, brave and loyal. Fearless. Ivan had already taught him to shoot—why not teach him hand-to-hand combat too? Why not teach him to knife fight? Ivan would be eager to have someone to spar with in his spare moments, if only to release some of that need for violence that lay within him, and Ludwig was probably just as eager to learn the art that KGB officers were trained in.

Talk about sneezing on the mountaintop.

Weren't Ludwig and Ivan already unstable enough together? Did Ludwig really need to become even more dangerous? More aggressive? Did Ivan need to take what was already a loaded rifle and saw the safety off? Was it necessary to turn Ludwig into a lethal weapon? Obviously, Ivan thought so.

He should have known. This would cause an avalanche, eventually.

There was little to be done about it, though, and Toris could only observe Ludwig's black eye, and ask, "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yeah," came Ludwig's cool response, as he reached up and wiped his split lip with an absent hand, and his smile seemed unshakeable, despite the bruises. "I'm just not very good yet. Obviously. But I'll get it!"

Toris' heart sank. Ludwig would get it. Ludwig seemed to get everything.

"Oh," was his dumb response, and his disappointment was mingled with envy.

Ivan had never tried to teach Toris, not really. Had knocked him around a few times, playfully, when in a rare good mood, but had never given it true effort. Toris had had to learn everything he knew on his own. Toris had had to go out into the world and find other men to fight, because Ivan didn't consider Toris worth the time it took to teach.

Finally, Toris managed to say, tersely, "Well, keep at it."

"I will."

Maybe, if nothing else, Ludwig would one day get a shot in and give Ivan a black eye, and maybe that would make everything alright somehow, in the end.

The next day, when he heard a scuffle from within a room, Toris could only imagine Ivan, slashing away with knife in hand, trying to spur a bruised Ludwig into moving faster. Somehow, up in his head, Ludwig was still smiling, even as the knife came too close. Strands of blond, drifting to the floor. Ludwig's hand, not getting out of the path fast enough.

Afterwards, when Ludwig was bruised and bleeding, Ivan probably shoved him against the wall, ran a soothing hand up and down his cheek, and threw out cooed words of affection and admiration.

He could hear Ivan's silvery voice in his head.

'Poor thing! Look at you. I'm sorry I went so rough on you, but you're doing so well! Here, I'll make it feel better—'

And Ludwig just smiled away, as blood trickled down his palm. When Ivan kissed him, he lifted up his bloody hand to Ivan's cheek, and turned Ivan's pale stubble red.

Worse when he let his mind wander like that.

The whole damn thought terrified him a little, and he made a point of casting it aside.

Even if he didn't think about it, though, the effect of Ivan's training was obvious. Every time he looked at Ludwig, it seemed, he was healthier. The wan, skinny Ludwig that had frequented this house in the beginning was long gone. Through his shirts, Toris could see the muscle forming. He filled Ivan's shirts in much better than he had before. His shoulders and neck were firmer. His thighs were thicker. The veins on the backs of his hands were more visible beneath the skin.

A tiger, that had somehow found its way out of the forest and into the house.

Ludwig was strong. Ludwig was fast. Ludwig was smart. Ludwig was bold. Ludwig was fearless.

Ludwig was dangerous.

When Ludwig came around, Toris realized that he was always wide-awake. Ludwig stepping into the room was better than a few cups of coffee, because the rush of adrenaline kept him on his toes. Best to be sharp-eyed and fully aware around Ludwig. Just in case.

Coulda kicked Ludwig's ass if it had come to that, because Ludwig was still a dumb kid, sure, but wasn't looking forward to the tussle, nor Ivan's bullet after.

Inside the house, for the most part, Ludwig was still Ludwig, and Toris didn't feel as if Ludwig would ever hurt him, not him, but if something agitated Ludwig or if he woke up in a bad mood, then maybe the ice thinned a bit. Ludwig wouldn't hurt Raivis, because Raivis adored him, and he wouldn't hurt Irina, because Irina was bound to Ivan by blood.

Toris wasn't sure where he found himself in this new Ludwig's affections.

Did this silkier Ludwig still think of him as a brother? So long Ludwig had sought him out, so long Toris had rejected him. Did Ludwig remember that? The Ivan-Ludwig might not love him as much as Ludwig did, nor quite as much as Colonel Müller.

Careful steps. Tiptoeing around.

An odd feeling, this anxiety, because Toris was used to owning everyone and everything except Ivan. Had never feared anyone but Ivan, because Toris could have killed anyone he wanted to. Being scared of this young newcomer was extremely unpleasant, if only because Toris wasn't entirely certain, if worse came to worst, who would come out on top. Ivan training Ludwig personally gave Ludwig an edge that Toris would never have.

For all it mattered. If Ludwig ever did start a fight with Toris, what could he do? Toris wasn't sure that punching Ludwig and beating him into place would go over well with Ivan. Fighting Ludwig would have been like fighting Ivan, and Toris would never dare. Would have had to just grit his teeth and put up with it.

For now, that possibility seemed far off.

Toris knew it would be best to avoid Ludwig altogether, but he couldn't seem to do it. He still loved Ludwig. Too painful, to let him go. Ludwig had been Toris' responsibility.

Days later, Ludwig stood in front of the mirror, glossing himself into neat perfection for the day, and when he turned around, he put his hands on his hips and said, quickly, "Toris."

It hit Toris then, like a ton of fuckin' bricks, that he had snapped his head over and said, immediately, "Yes?" as much as he ever had when being addressed by Ivan. Better not to antagonize him.

Ludwig just smiled at him, every strand of hair perfectly in place, and he asked, "Who am I?"

For a moment, Toris had the mind to open his mouth and say, 'Ivan.'

Because that was mostly what he saw now when he looked at Ludwig. A lither, paler, gentler Ivan.

Gentler? Yeah. Sure. Maybe. But still Ivan.

In the end, Toris just said, "You're Ludwig."

And Ludwig just smiled all the wider, and replied, "Thanks. I forget sometimes."

As if they were having a completely normal conversation.

Ludwig didn't know who he was anymore, and sometimes Toris didn't, either. Today, though, Ludwig was Ludwig. Tomorrow, depending on the mood, he would be Colonel Müller. The day after, maybe something would agitate him and he would be Ivan.

Toris couldn't say that he really cared for any one of them. The only Ludwig he had ever liked no longer made any appearances, and no matter how long he kept trying to wait, it was obvious that he wasn't going to come back. That Ludwig had died off, somewhere in the snow.

All the same, of the three, this Ludwig was likely the most amicable. So Toris reached over, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and gave him a shake.

"Come on. I'm gonna put you to work on my papers. How's that sound?"

Ludwig just smiled.

He led Ludwig down the hall, and it crossed his mind that, if he had answered Ludwig's question with Ivan's name, then Ludwig probably would have burst into tears of happiness.

They sat down soon after, alone together, and Toris might have enjoyed having a moment with Ludwig if he hadn't noticed something.

It occurred to Toris then that Ludwig sat differently than he once had. Taking a seat at the desk, he leaned over and placed his elbows on the table, feet crossed underneath him and face loose, seemingly happy to engage in whatever Toris had in store for him. He picked up the pen from the table without a second thought.

Before, Ludwig had leaned back in his chair, hands tucked in his lap and feet splayed, always looking around in case he would need to make an escape. He sat easily now, and took the papers that Toris handed him with a smile. Too eager. Why that bothered him, he couldn't say. So much about this Ludwig bothered him.

All the same, he showed Ludwig what to do, and let him try his hand at it. All he had to do was put his signature at the bottom. That was all. Nothing grand. Toris probably shouldn't've—letting Ludwig play around with the paperwork might have just bolstered him more.

Too late.

Whatever the consequences, Toris found that he was glad to have Ludwig away from Ivan for a while.

Pens, scratching paper. Ludwig worked very diligently, and sometimes Toris looked over to see him biting his lip or poking his tongue out, as he scrutinized something with intensity. For all the good it would do. Ludwig couldn't read Russian, but seemed happy to slap his signature on stuff all the same. He must have loved writing his new name, because he blazed through the pile quickly.

"What's this, Toris?" Ludwig suddenly asked, and Toris took the pen from his mouth and leaned over.

Ludwig saw numbers, and was interested.

"Ah. Nothin' important. Just budgets. Look, see that one? That's the current budget for the tanks. And that one there is the budget for the bullets. That one's for field doctors. See? All you do is just round them out and make sure that you're keeping everything even and not blowin' your budget. If you want to give more funds to one, you gotta take away from another. Get it?"

Ludwig nodded his head, and said, surely, "Yeah, I get it."

With that, Ludwig took the pen, and carried on. The rest of the time went smoothly, as Ludwig chatted with him and laughed like all was well in the world, and, hell, Toris had found himself laughing a little bit there too.

Afterwards, though, when the work was done and Ludwig was being dragged around by Raivis (his colonel's cap down on Raivis' head), Toris shuffled through the papers, and felt his brow lower a little.

Ludwig had changed Ivan's budget.

Bastard had taken a good thirty percent of the medical budget and given it over to ammunitions. At the bottom, in neat writing, was a scribble :

'The Red Army doesn't get sick—put some of the doctors back in uniform.'

Toris stared at the paper for a long time, before forcing his eyes away and tucking it within in the others. Couldn't say why he felt a little irritable afterwards.

Had he thought that this Ludwig was the most amicable? A mistake, perhaps.

To people he knew, really knew, to everyone in this household, this Ludwig was harmless—that was true. All one had to do was lift his head and see the way that Ludwig treated Irina, like she was a fuckin' queen, to see the way he had suddenly become Raivis' new idol, to see the way that Ludwig coddled even the cat, and there would be no doubt that Ludwig was a perfect gentleman. Sweet. But all it would take was one look at that little note on that page to realize that, to anyone who happened to be outside the door, to anyone whose name Ludwig did not know, this Ludwig was just as unpredictable and dangerous as the Ivan-Ludwig was.

Darkness.

Maybe...

He forced the thought down.

Nah. Better not to mull on it.

Sometimes, though, when he couldn't help it, when he found his mind wandering, Toris considered that maybe Ludwig, in the right conditions, was more dangerous than Ivan. That if Ivan really could tap into Ludwig's darkness, that maybe it would be a midnight to Ivan's dusk. That horrifying glimpse of it that day, in Ludwig's eyes.

Ludwig was—had been—so nice. So nice. It was the nicest people, perhaps, the ones who were willing to let others take advantage of them, the ones that bit their tongue and put themselves in precarious situations, the ones who were constantly giving and giving and giving, who were the ones that were the most dangerous when they finally snapped.

He might have been right.

One evening, as they sat in the foyer, Ludwig and Ivan were sitting together as Toris scribbled away on some papers, and Ivan, whispering something Toris couldn't hear, had turned Ludwig's attention to the map hanging on the wall. Toris watched as Ivan prodded Ludwig on with another whisper, and Ludwig suddenly stood up.

Ivan smiled.

"What would you like to do?"

About what? Nope; didn't wanna know.

Ludwig looked over the map, one hand in his pocket, and Toris watched as he tilted his head. The swirling of darkness in his eyes was fairly evident.

Suddenly, Ludwig said, "I'd like to redraw these damn borders, is what I'd like to do."

Ivan looked up, leered a little, and only responded, "Well, I'll take that to Brezhnev. Last time I checked, colonels and generals weren't allowed to split up countries."

Ludwig just clicked his tongue, eyes still scanning the map, and heaved a sigh. Toris glanced up from his papers, and for some reason, he smiled at the sight of huffy Ludwig, lamenting the fact that he didn't actually own the world like Ivan told him he did.

Ha—look at Zeus over there, forging his fuckin' thunderbolts. Couldn't throw 'em yet, though, so why bother?

What had happened in Moscow after he had left? What had flipped the switch?

Ludwig was gone.

With a shake of his head, Toris could only return to his work and listen to Ludwig muttering under his breath. It did occur to him, though, that no matter how many times Ludwig looked that map over, never once did his eyes fly over to Germany. Not once did he glance at Berlin.

As if, somehow, Germany just didn't exist anymore.

The skies kept getting more turbulent.

Restless.

Ivan was restless.

One morning, Ivan called Toris into his office.

Toris noticed immediately that Ludwig wasn't there. Being alone with Ivan, after so long, was a rather alarming sensation. Ivan only ever wanted to be around Ludwig these days, so the fact that Toris found himself standing here alone in the office with Ivan was enough to have the hairs on his neck standing on end.

What had he done this time? His mind had only been half-working lately.

As it turned out, he had done nothing at all.

Ivan just looked up at him, eyes lidded with weariness and looking a little rough, and said, "There's a meeting in Yakutsk. Nothing big, just a few conversations on upcoming drills and the whatnot, changing a few rules here and there. I can't say that I find myself particularly inclined to go. So. I'm sending you in my stead. Just remind them that I don't like anyone fuckin' around with the protocols I've got set in my sections and you'll do fine. Make a good impression like you always do."

Meh—couldn't say he was looking forward to driving a week in this ice, nor was he much interested in these boring meetings, but Ivan was telling him, not asking him, so his decision had already been made.

Of course Ivan didn't want to go. Doing so might mean parting with Ludwig, and god forbid that Ivan spend five fuckin' days without Ludwig licking his boots. Torture, no doubt.

So Toris just said, "Sure."

Ivan fell still, resting his forehead against a balled fist, and Toris observed him a little.

He had gotten so used to seeing Ivan in that constant elation of being around Ludwig that he had almost forgotten what a normal Ivan looked like. Not so love-struck, now, sitting here in his office alone and in a less than giddy mood.

Tired, irritable, loving to wear his uniform and have control but loathing having to actually put in work and meeting hours for it, unshaved and uncombed, clothes wrinkled and collar unbuttoned, brow creased and pale lashes long over his eyes as he squinted, the weather-worn freckles visible in a light dusting beneath his eyes and over the bridge of his nose. The line in his forehead from years of frowning.

Looking his age, without Ludwig here to make him light up like a little kid.

His voice was different, too, but maybe that was just because when Ivan spoke in German all he did was croon and murmur, and when he spoke in Russian he spoke normally. His voice was higher in Russian than it was in German, and yet somehow it was more frightening as well. Ivan was semi-fluent in German by now, but not so much that he could speak quite as eloquently as he could otherwise, and it was always a little strange to hear him muttering to Ludwig, using simple words that most college kids studying a language would have learned in their second-year class, and then to see him turn around, revert back into Russian, and remember how fuckin' smart he was when he started talking.

Around Ludwig, Ivan was a hyper teenager. Alone, he was a thirty-eight year old man with a nasty temper. The shadowed side of the moon.

When Ludwig wasn't around, Ivan was just Ivan, and Ivan was always a breath away from agitation.

Huh.

Ludwig might have become something of a bullet-proof vest for this household, because when Ludwig was around Ivan, there seemed to be a much greater threshold for Ivan's patience and sanity.

"Where's Ludwig?" Toris asked, suddenly, and Ivan ran a rough hand through his messy hair.

"Asleep still."

Unusual.

Another one of those horrible images flashed in his head. Ludwig was probably worn out, alright, maybe after a long day of learning systema that had turned into a long night of something perhaps a bit rougher, and when Ludwig finally did crawl out of bed, he'd be as bruised and bloody as he was when he walked out of the room after a spar. He grimaced a little, and tried to think of other things.

Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut.

Ivan peered up at him suddenly, the circles under his eyes obvious, and the look he sent Toris was full of almost as much distaste as the images in his head made Toris feel.

"You've been spending a lot of time with him, lately," came the low mutter, and Toris shifted a little, trying very hard to keep still and straight as Ivan stared him down. "Every time I look up I see your mug around him. Why's that? You certainly weren't so interested in keeping an eye on him when that was exactly what I told you to do."

Damn.

The sad thing was that it was true. When Ivan had told him to watch over Ludwig, he had refused. Now that his Ludwig was gone, Toris stayed with him as much as possible. He had lost one Ludwig because of his stubbornness. Losing the only amicable Ludwig left to the Ivan-Ludwig was a terrifying notion.

He couldn't very well say that, though, so he opened his mouth and said, as coolly as possible, "He's my friend."

Wrong answer.

A silence, as Ivan stared up at him, a breathless half-leer on his face, and then he threw back his head, and laughed. A high-pitched cackle, breaking every so often with the effort as his voice hadn't warmed up enough yet for this, sometimes becoming so damn eager that his voice died altogether and just a wheeze came out, and Toris couldn't help but clench his fists and shiver a little.

Ivan's laugh. A terrifying sound.

When Ivan finally spoke, when he finally got his laughter under control, when his shoulders stopped shaking, when he lowered his head and rested his forehead back down on his palms, when he gave a few more chuckles as he tried to gather himself, when he finally spoke, his words stung worse than any punch could.

"Friend! Your friend? Ha, Toris! Oh, Toris, you're so—Wh-who would be friends with you? You're so fuckin' pitiful, Toris, no one would ever want to be friends with you!" Another burst of breathless laughter. "You think he's your friend! Oh, oh, Toris, I can't even—! That Ludwig—oh, god, you make me laugh—that Ludwig would ever be friends with you! Ludwig, as brave as he is, friends with a coward like you! You're a riot, Toris, you bastard, you're hilarious when you wanna be, you know! Oh, I can't breathe anymore, you son of a bitch, you're so—"

Ivan trailed off, unable to speak anymore, and just wheezed out his last few laughs.

Toris, despite the ache in his chest and his trembling hands, just said, weakly, "Ha."

Well. There went his pride. That one had hurt, that much was certain. All he could do was wait for Ivan to stop giggling, and try not to think about it too much.

In the end, Ivan was right. Always was. He was no match for Ludwig, not for Ludwig, and maybe any friendship he had known had been all in his head. If Ludwig had called him friend, once, then the new Ludwig might not mean it quite as honestly.

He was a coward, in one way or another.

Afterwards, when Ivan settled down and shook his head, turning a sneering smile back down to the desk, he sighed a little, and seemed keen to keep speaking about Ludwig.

"Ah, hell. Maybe you should try to be friends with him. He can teach you a couple of things. He's gotten so much better. Can't you see how much he's improved? He'll be everything I ever wanted." Ivan grabbed a pen and started tapping it restlessly on the desk, suddenly looking a bit brighter.

Toris squirmed.

Everything Ivan had ever wanted.

Weakly, Toris managed to whisper, "For what?"

Ivan smiled, almost dreamily, and when he spoke, he neatly dismissed Toris' inquiry, instead murmuring, "It's there. It's right there. I can see it." He reached up, and clenched his fingers the air, as though trying to grab smoke. "I just haven't touched it yet. But I can see it. He just needs one more push. It's there. It's always been there. He just couldn't ever tap into it. But I can get it out of him. Just one more push, and that will be that. I'll have him."

Have him.

"What's there?" Toris asked, even though he really didn't want to know.

Ivan elaborated, far too cheerily and almost breathlessly, "Darkness. It's there, just underneath. Can't you see it, too? It's there. I'll get it. I'll get it, no matter what I have to do. Once he really learns that there aren't any rules anymore. Anymore boundaries. I'll have him." Ivan snapped his fingers, as if trying to signify the last snapping of the restraints in Ludwig's mind. "Can't you see it?"

God.

He could see it. He had seen it more than ever lately, something churning in Ludwig's eyes. Something strange underneath the calm and serenity. Something moving just underneath the surface of the water. Ripples. That look. He could see it, maybe not as well as Ivan could, but he could see it all the same.

He did not want to admit it. The concept was too goddamn horrifying.

"No, I can't," Toris finally lied, and Ivan sent him a look of mild annoyance.

"Ah," Ivan spat, dismissively, "You don't know anything, Toris. You wouldn't ever understand Ludwig's mind anyhow. Such things are beyond you. You can't even comprehend the purpose of the machine, let alone hope to figure out how the parts work."

The machine?

Ludwig was becoming Ivan's machine. For what, he didn't know, and he didn't really want to imagine.

Maybe Ivan could see the potential within Ludwig to wreak havoc on the world, and maybe in some way Ivan hoped that with Ludwig by his side they could become gods. Take over the word. Ascend into legends. Become stories that grandmothers told children to get them to behave so they wouldn't see eyes in the closet.

Toris knew it was risky, he knew he shouldn't, but he just couldn't help it.

He opened his mouth, and said, "I think you'll break it before you get it working like you want it to."

Before, such a comment would have earned him another broken bone or maybe something worse.

Now, Ivan stared at him for a moment, and then closed his eyes.

"Toris," Ivan said, and now he was rubbing his temple in agitation, "You're getting on my nerves. Go. I don't care where you go, just go somewhere. I'm sick of looking at you, I really am. Just go somewhere. Don't be late to that fucking meeting or I'll shoot you. Get out of here. Go on."

Once upon a time, Ivan might have grabbed his collar and smacked him across the face and then kick him out of the room quite literally, and now he just sat there, not even giving the effort to abuse him. Somehow, this was worse. It felt more dangerous now, as if Ivan had become so detached to anything but Ludwig that shooting any one of them wouldn't have been a big deal.

Shoot him? The hell—Ivan hadn't threatened to shoot Toris in ten goddamn years. Ivan had never spoken to him like this, not this, not so coldly and distantly, as if Toris wasn't really there at all. Ivan had always been so angry with Toris, had always screamed at him and fought with him. Had never just looked at Toris and then just shrugged a shoulder.

Maybe Ludwig wasn't protection after all—maybe he would be the crack in the dam. Because now, Toris wasn't even worth the time to knock around, and that was scary as hell somehow. How sad, how pitiful, that he almost wished Ivan would have grabbed his shoulder and shoved him out by force.

Ludwig.

All of Ivan's energy went to Ludwig now, to oiling that machine, to stoke the fire and try to wring every last drop of sanity from Ludwig's head. Toris could see the darkness as well as Ivan could, but Ivan could see past it and was excited by something else. To Ivan, Ludwig had suddenly become everything, because Ivan was everything to Ludwig. To Ivan, there was nothing on earth that compared to Ludwig because, as far as Ludwig was concerned, Ivan had absolute power over everything.

Buncha fuckin' psychos.

This entire household was full of psychos. Ivan was insane. Ludwig was getting there fast. Irina was complacent with Ivan's insanity, so that made her crazy, too. Raivis adored Ivan and Ludwig, knowing full well what they did, and that made him crazier than Irina.

And himself?

Hell, he was the devil's right hand. He knew everything he did was wrong, he knew it, and he still did it.

The others didn't seem aware of the consequences of their actions. Ivan thought he was always right, and so everyone else was in the wrong. Ludwig thought Ivan was always right, and so it was okay. Irina thought Ivan couldn't help it, and so it wasn't his fault. Raivis thought they were allowed to do such things, because the army said they could, and so it wasn't bad.

They lived in their own worlds, with their own rules. They were crazy, sure, but Toris knew what he did was wrong. He knew that there was still very much a broader world with broader rules. He knew everything he did was very much illegal. Morally incomprehensible. And he still did it. They did it because they thought they were right. Toris just did it because he liked to. What did that make him?

Toris was the worst of them all.

If they were sociopaths, then maybe he was the psychopath. They didn't really seem to have much of what could ever be considered a conscience. Maybe Ludwig had had one, not too long ago, but not anymore. Toris did have a conscience, but he just didn't listen to it when he didn't feel like it.

He was the worst.

So he just went to sleep, got ready in the morning, took the car, and went to Ivan's meeting, pretending like he was one of them, and did everything Ivan told him to do. He always did, no matter how many people it hurt.

He was the craziest, perhaps.

At any point in time, on any given day, at any hour, Toris could have taken the car, started driving, and not stop until he was in the West. He could have left. He could have fled. He could have run away.

He didn't.

Because he was a coward—living here was easier. It was easier to have someone do everything for you and just have to do whatever they said in return. It was easier to break rules than it was to follow them. It was easier to hurt people than it was to be patient with them. It was easier to have someone hand him an identity rather than build his own.

Ivan's world was easier.

So he stayed.

Above all of that, though, Toris didn't leave because he was addicted to the power. Out there, he was no one. Here, he was second only to Ivan, and ruled the entire world beneath them. Power corrupted, alright, and Toris was beyond repair. Loved the power, loved knowing that he could do anything at all, and so he stayed.

And that made him the worst.

When Toris came back days later, in the hour before dawn, he shut the door, took off his coat, and walked back inside this house, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Nothing really was. When he pulled off his boots, a step caught his attention, and he looked up to see Ludwig, walking out of the kitchen to see who was there.

Ludwig caught sight of him, still half-asleep, and smiled.

"Hi, Toris. Glad you're back. I missed you."

They weren't friends; Ivan said so.

All the same, if he couldn't truly be friends with Ludwig, then he could still try to be brothers, even if it had to be with a dangerous Ludwig. Giving Ludwig up, even though it wasn't the same one, was too hard, so he settled for this one instead.

"Oh, yeah?" Toris said with a smile, as he came forward. "You can come with me next time."

Hardly. Ivan would never allow that.

Still, Ludwig smiled at him, subdued and calm and friendly as he came out of sleep, and Toris could see that he was clenching a book to his chest.

"You're up early," he said, and Ludwig rolled his head around, cracking his neck as he kept smiling.

"Couldn't sleep."

Nothing out of the ordinary.

That hit Toris—that nothing appeared out of the ordinary, because Ludwig suddenly looked at home in this place.

That hadn't been obvious before.

Ludwig looked like he belonged here now. Standing there in the dim light, Ivan's shirt slung over his shoulders, hair sticking upright from its time on the pillow, eyes bleary and heavy, pale and sleepy, a serene smile on his face, stance passive and easy-going, and Toris realized that Ludwig looked like he had lived here all along. Like he owned the place. Like this had always been his home. Like that had always been his bed. Like Ivan's shirts had always been at his disposal.

Even in the darkness, Toris could see the pale blue bruise on the side of Ludwig's neck.

Ludwig lived here, now, and it was painfully obvious.

One of them, now.

"What's this?" Toris suddenly asked, perhaps a bit boldly, as he reached out and snatched the book from Ludwig's hands.

If it had been Colonel Müller, he wouldn't have dared, and if it had been the Ivan-Ludwig, he would have gone straight back outside and sat in the car until he was gone. But now it was just Ludwig, and if he was offended by Toris wrenching the book from his hands, then he didn't say anything.

The placid smile stood strong.

Ludwig looked so sure of himself all the time nowadays. So confident. Ivan had stoked him, alright. Not too much longer, and maybe that machine really would sputter to life.

Those horrible images crept into his head yet again, as Ludwig smiled at him easily, and he could only imagine Ivan lying there in the bed, hands behind his head, staring up at a Ludwig that was sitting on his chest, whispering god only knew what, and by the end of Ivan's little pep-talk, it was Ludwig who reached down, kissed Ivan on the lips, and pulled out a gun.

Hell, maybe they just sat upstairs and took turns pulling the trigger to see who was braver.

Maybe Ludwig had spent so much time giving that he decided it was time to start taking.

The wheels were grinding. Just a few more modifications. A few more wires to rip out.

Toris looked down, suddenly, at the book in his hand, and felt a little disheartened. A Russian dictionary. Figured. Not Ludwig. Not Ludwig at all.

Lyudovik.

"Well," Toris began, voice clipped and low as he stared at the book, "I see you're trying to learn Russian."

He flipped it open, for whatever reason, and kind of wished he hadn't.

Ludwig just stood there. Toris was glad he didn't say, 'Well, you wouldn't teach me, so I have to learn myself.'

He should have taken care of Ludwig before. Too late now, and instead he found himself staring into these pages. On the edges of the book, Ludwig had tried to scribble out sentences and words in Cyrillic, and the writing was pretty bad. Awful, actually. Who could ever get the hang of an entirely new alphabet right off? Ludwig did his best. And, like everything else, in the end, Ludwig would get it.

Just letters, practiced here and there.

After a few pages, the scribbles changed. Private little notes that had been meant for no one. The inner workings of Ludwig's head, poured on paper. Helpful language notes mixed suddenly with random thoughts.

Unease.

'D looks like weird A.'

'Home.'

'p = r'

'Memory.'

'Ludwig', in clumsy Cyrillic.

A comparison of Ivan's name in both Latin and Cyrillic.

'Home, home, home.'

'Together.'

Toris was fully aware then that he shouldn't have been reading these, and yet he couldn't seem to stop himself. He couldn't close the damn book, and kept on flipping. With every page, with every flick of his thumb, the scribbled thoughts became somehow more depressing. More private. He felt suddenly as though he were intruding on something exceedingly personal.

Oh. Ludwig.

'Learn how to say, 'I'm sorry.''

'Forever.'

'I can't remember anything. Why?'

'B = v.'

The pages turned. The writing became sloppier.

'Who am I?'

'You promised.'

'Liar.'

The letters were barely discernable now; just angry scratches on the paper. At points, the pen had pierced the paper all the way through. Rage, in written form.

'Who am I?'

'I can't go back,' in incorrect Russian.

'Who am I?'

'Liar.'

'Who am I?'

'Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.'

An entire page full of that word.

And then, at the bottom of the very last page, there was a great black scribble, as though Ludwig had written something and had been so upset with how it looked that he had tried to get rid of it in a fit of embarrassment.

But Toris could still see the clumsy Cyrillic letters beneath the ink.

'Ya tebya lyublyu.'

I love you.

His head hurt.

Remorse, mingled with fear.

With a furrowed brow, Toris closed the book, feeling anxious for some reason, and held it out. Ludwig took it immediately, and Toris had very nearly started backing off. It hit him harder than he thought it would. The realization that Ludwig scared him. Toris could have burst into tears then, had he still been capable of it.

Ludwig scared him.

They weren't friends.

This new Ludwig had little care for friendship, so absorbed in Ivan that maybe there just wasn't room for anyone else up in his head. Ludwig had forgotten Berlin. Ludwig had forgotten Gilbert. The former world was gone to Ludwig. It was hard to reconcile that frightening scribbling with the tranquil smile that Ludwig was still sending him. Knowing what was just under the surface.

Ivan and Ludwig should never have encountered each other. It was just like lighting up gas, and Toris wasn't certain that the Soviet Union itself could have withstood the explosion.

They sat together at the kitchen table afterwards, the book set on the edge, and Toris just glanced at it from time to time, and could feel the creeping tide. The smell of Ivan on Ludwig was unnerving, as Ivan's shirt hung loosely over his skin.

It wasn't fair. Not fair. Ludwig was gone. That little shred of him, that powdered glass, just wasn't enough. Just a little glimmer, in the midst of a vast ocean. Not enough.

Beyond it all, though, maybe Toris wasn't mourning Ludwig for Ludwig's sake. Mourned Ludwig because Ludwig had been the only window into the outside world. Mourned Ludwig because seeing Ludwig as he had been was the only way for Toris to see his past self, to see what he too had once been. Mourned Ludwig because Toris didn't have sentiments and emotions and morals, and had fed off of Ludwig's.

As always, Toris only cared about himself, and for that he mourned Ludwig.

The morning passed, as Ludwig smiled at Toris and Toris just stared at Ludwig longingly.

It was around that time, holding Ludwig's funeral in his head and composing a eulogy, that Toris realized that he had been so sidetracked by Ludwig these past months that he had been forgetting to do his damn job, and make sure that Gilbert was staying well within the boundaries of Berlin.