Chapter 49
Sun and Moon
Driving again.
Summer was high, and Toris was driving again. All he ever did nowadays was drive. Every waking minute seemed to be spent behind the wheel of some vehicle. In whatever shape or form. Cars, trucks, planes, boats, didn't matter. Always driving, and always at the behest of someone else. Couldn't ever find a destination on his own.
And, always, someone was beside of him.
Pale hair, glinting silver in the sunlight above dark brunet. Gilbert's hair was ever growing longer, and the days were growing longer, too.
Summer.
Weeks now with Gilbert. Felt more like months. The longest of his life, too. Couldn't say they were exactly boring though, not with everything he had put himself through for this stupid man beside of him. Had done so much, had traveled so far, had seen everything there was to see in the world in a way, and yet that was really the first time that Toris could say he felt like he was on an actual adventure.
Adventure! Yeah, sure. Why not? A long, endless journey, danger and death lurking around every corner, sabotage and mystery and diamonds, had everything any movie could have ever wanted. Toris just wished that the ending wouldn't be a tragedy, although he of course knew that that was the only possible outcome.
Gilbert was oblivious, and summer was high.
Siberia was the most ruthless thing on the planet in winter, but in spring it burst into life, colorful and bright, and when summer came everything was green and beautiful. Blue skies above. Warm air. Humid and windy. High grass, swaying in the breeze. Butterflies in daylight and fireflies in night. The endless forests all around. Nothing new, not to Toris.
July.
This summer, Toris was just taking a little road-trip, was all.
And not alone.
No matter how many times Toris looked over, it was always to see Gilbert staring at him. Not in terror anymore. The fear had faded not too long after they had left that house. The way Gilbert stared at him now was different, and Toris couldn't really put his finger on it at first. Didn't think too much about it, really, with so many other pressing issues.
The main obstacle to them those days was just the route. Toris had sat there over his map and ran every possible ending through his head, and knew that Ivan was sitting there in his office doing the same. Toris tried to think like Ivan, as Ivan tried to think like Toris. Ivan was brilliant, but so was Toris, and Ivan, for all of him, was shaken up. Toris wasn't. So, really, Toris was trying to think like Ivan thinking like Toris.
Toris had the upper hand, Ivan knew it, and for that Ivan wasn't going to be operating at his best. Ivan was terrified of losing Ludwig, would be anxious and stressed, and for that would miss so much, just as he had been blinded by Eduard and had missed the endgame. So Toris, quite boldly, just called up some of his guys and sent them out.
There were only two ways to get to Mirny : the main highway which led to country roads, and the logging roads that cut all through the forests. By crossing the river in Lesosibirsk, Toris had left the main highway behind and had gone on the small country roads. From there, the only way would have been the logging roads.
Ivan knew that.
Ivan would also know that Toris couldn't take the highway, because of course he couldn't! It was the only road, the only one, and Toris wouldn't be stupid enough to use the one single road to come straight back home with Gilbert. Toris would use the logging roads, because there was no other choice.
And so Toris drove around a little as his guys checked the river to make sure it wasn't blocked off, as Gilbert sat ever clueless, and then he went right back the way he came, drove over the river, and went back down to the main highway. Ha, of course Toris would take the highway, because Ivan was so certain he wouldn't, because doing so was so stupid and obviously suicidal. Ivan thought Toris a coward, and would never think that Toris could have the balls to use the only road possible.
Toris drove, quite easily and confidently, using the highway as Ivan no doubt sent his men up and down those thousands of logging roads.
Bastard.
Toris, despite his confidence, also knew that Ivan might consider that possibility, if only fleetingly, and it was likely that Ivan would try to cover both roads. That was why Toris sent his men out to the main highway as lookouts, had them always going up and down and sideways, and every time they stopped, Toris went straight to a payphone and waited for the all-clear.
Slow going, though, at this rate, so slow. Impossible to test Ivan for more than a few hours a day, and Toris kept switching between the highway and the country roads, but never once touched the logging roads, and so the route was very out of the way.
Had to go so far out, damn near to Mongolia, and then go up and around.
Would take two months at this rate, to get there, and Toris' only concern then was that they would make it to the house too close to the end of September, too close to winter, and the route back would be so much harder as they got caught in the snow and ice.
...route back. Yeah, had to survive that long first.
Better just to focus on the present, and not their inevitable demise.
The entire perimeter of Mirny, though, would be carefully watched, and Toris stared up at night, arms behind his head, and plotted ways to get around Ivan and to the house with Gilbert. Gilbert was the main problem, really. Toris could have pulled this feat off on his own, he was sure, but Gilbert slowed him down, Gilbert was too dumb, too slow, too stubborn. Toris was forced to plan his entire movement around Gilbert, around what Gilbert could do, because otherwise the poor son of a bitch was dead.
Made it even harder, planning around Gilbert like that.
For now, though, summer was pretty and Toris was driving.
The ache in his chest was constant, that awful longing, because he missed Ivan.
Gilbert always sat quietly in the car, and stared at him.
To take his mind off of the fact that it was Gilbert and not Ivan, Toris usually just kept a bottle of vodka on hand in the car, and sometimes, when thinking and longing just got to be too much, Toris would grab it and put back a chug. He hadn't ever drank so much at home, because it had always been important to him to remain quite alert when Ivan was around. Hadn't drank as much after Eduard had left. Hadn't drank as much when Ludwig was around. But now it was just him and Gilbert, and Gilbert couldn't hurt him, so why the hell not? Didn't need to be constantly on his toes right now. He was always a few steps ahead of Ivan.
Gilbert, however, didn't quite seem to share his sentiments. Gilbert seemed quite alarmed, somehow, and would always look over at Toris when he was drinking as if something frightening were happening.
The weather was warm, and Toris had been driving while drinking that day. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, he hadn't shaved that morning, his hair was just tied up in an uncombed mess. Must have looked a wreck. Had nightmares the night before, and Ivan was too much in his mind. So he just put back swig after swig, and Gilbert just watched him with wide eyes and a low brow.
Finally, Gilbert muttered, carefully, "Are you sure you should be drinking...now?"
Toris barked a laugh at that.
Gilbert was a troublemaker, alright, always had been, but when everything was said and done, Gilbert was still a German, and it must have alarmed his (extremely) deep-seated sense of order, Russia. The way things were done out here must have been confusing to him on some level. Gilbert had spent a fair amount of time in jail, but for offenses that were considered just a part of everyday life out here. Never would have been put in jail for most of that stuff had he lived here. Gilbert was far out of his element, down the rabbit hole, and it was obvious. Gilbert did wrong and had always expected to be punished. To see people do wrong with no consequence was instinctively disconcerting to him.
Not to say that there weren't laws here, because obviously there were, and the police here loved shooting people, but no one fuckin' cared. About anything. Too much misery, too many people starving to death. No one cared about a drunk man driving.
Gilbert, by all rights, should have felt right at home.
Drunk driving was nothing out here. Everyone did it. Even women. Fighting was nothing. Being drunk in the middle of the street was nothing. Tripping on acid and falling into gutters was nothing. Bribery was nothing. So many things were nothing. Gilbert would have fit right in here had this been his place of birth, but it wasn't, and Gilbert looked alarmed.
So Toris finally took another swig, eyelids heavy and probably sneering, and said, so drolly, "Just keep an eye out for pedestrians and we'll be fine."
Gilbert's wide eyes and look of panic might have made Toris laugh any other time, but as it was he just felt sick.
Oh—missed Ivan so much, that miserable asshole, missed his mug. Missed his uniform, tucked away in the back. Had to wear regular clothes now, to avoid standing out, and that killed him. Felt too much like a normal man.
Just felt miserable, and that was a shame, too, because that would have been the first time in forever that something had made Toris laugh, Gilbert's look of utter horror. In some other life, in some other time, Toris might have enjoyed fucking with Gilbert, because the faces he could make were some of the best Toris had ever seen, even better than his little brother's.
Instead, Toris just scoffed, and kept his bleary eyes on the road.
Missed Ivan.
Toris held the bottle out to Gilbert, and said, "You should drink. It'll loosen you up."
Gilbert must have been going through some damn bad withdrawal, surely, because he hadn't drank anything in the weeks Toris had been with him. Hadn't been able to get his hands on any acid or pills. Must have been unpleasant for him, to be so sober.
Toris was actually shocked when Gilbert turned his head away, and just said, after a hesitation, "No, thanks."
Couldn't help but look over at Gilbert then, but Gilbert had turned his eyes to the window, staring away and very clearly trying not to look at the bottle. Toris understood then that Gilbert was trying damn hard not to drink. Had he kicked his habit? Well—would have been a little hard not to, he supposed, during his journey. Toris might have felt a little bad, just a little, and was quick to put the bottle on the floorboard and out of sight.
No sense in tormenting him. Maybe having him clearheaded was better.
They drove and drove, and then they drove some more, and by the time Toris felt safe enough to make the next stop, Gilbert had been fidgeting for hours on end, with what was either an extreme need for a bathroom or an attempt to stave off a massive cramp. Toris didn't care much about Gilbert's discomfort, and pulled the car into the drive of a nameless little hotel. Just like with the highway, Ivan thought Toris was too smart to use hotels; Toris was just smart enough to know that Ivan wouldn't expect him to.
Safe, Toris assumed, for now.
He was confident these days, bolstered by Gilbert's anxiety and uncertainty of his companion. Gilbert was afraid of Toris and yet followed him blindly, and that made Toris feel pretty damn good about himself. Had complete control over Gilbert, over life and death, and so even though he was cast out of Ivan's world, Toris could cling to some kind of power.
Loved power, always had, and for that Toris enjoyed Gilbert.
As soon as the car stopped, Gilbert leapt upright and starting kicking his leg out. Cramp, after all. Toris watched him shaking his leg, and thought he smiled a little. Gilbert was amusing to him, somehow, no matter what he did, and maybe that was because Toris was drinking more lately. Gilbert felt more like a dog to him than a man, and Toris found him humorous.
Probably shouldn't have smiled at him.
Gilbert kept on staring at him, kept on looking at him, and when Toris passed him by, Gilbert had opened his mouth as if to speak, and yet nothing came out. Toris, ignoring Gilbert as easily as Ivan had ignored him, began the walk up to the rickety door.
And that was when something exceedingly strange happened, and entirely at random.
Toris heard a shuffle to the side, there was a blur, and he realized that Gilbert had trotted ahead of him to reach the hotel door first. His automatic assumption was that tired Gilbert was ready to hit the hay, so it startled him a bit when Gilbert yanked open the door and then stood there, staring at Toris rather intently.
The fuck? The hell was he doing? Had his brain just suddenly stopped working mid-event?
Toris fell still for a second, confused, and said, rather sharply, "What's wrong?"
Gilbert shifted his weight, pushed out his lips, and turned his eyes to the open door. A long, almost pathetic stare, and Toris wished to god he hadn't thought it, but damn if Gilbert hadn't looked like a lost, miserable little puppy then, waiting for someone to come save him. As if Gilbert was trying to do something helpful and was instead finding himself looking a fool.
"Nothing," Gilbert finally grumbled. "I was just openin' it for ya, was all."
Oh.
Wait, what? Opening the door for him? No one had opened a door for him in ten years. He had always been the one grabbing handles and holding doors for other people. Always. Hadn't ever had someone stop and do that for him outside of a car, except for maybe once or twice with Feliks.
Surreal.
A short shuffle of Gilbert's feet, a look of what could have been embarrassment, and Toris did the only thing he could do, as Gilbert started twitching in anxiety; he stepped forward, and walked through the door. What else could he do?
Gilbert looked like he woulda keeled over dead from humiliation if Toris hadn't. As if this were the first time in his miserable life he had ever bothered to open a door for anyone, and would have been absolutely mortified if he had looked stupid doing it. Honestly, Toris would gladly have let him keel over dead, but this entire venture would be pointless if he did so. So he walked through the door instead, and heard Gilbert's shaky exhale.
Felt a little strange, crossing that threshold. Not exactly unpleasant. That old sense of power.
Still, though, when they were inside, Toris turned back to Gilbert and said, very sternly, "Don't ever open a door for me unless I'm in uniform. Ever."
People talked out here. They weren't in Berlin anymore. Gilbert needed to get that through his thick skull. Didn't matter if he was just trying to be polite, 'cause the last thing they needed was to be forced to keep driving because they got kicked out of a hotel before they could even check in.
Immediately, Gilbert squeaked, in fear, "Okay."
Looking back on it, maybe Toris should have just stood there until Gilbert had had no choice but to dart through the door first and pretend that that was what he had intended to do all along.
Toris left Gilbert behind, tipsy and feeling extremely agitated suddenly, and when he flopped stomach-first down on his bed, he heard Gilbert's clunky footsteps behind him. Didn't bother looking up at him, didn't know what to say to him, and so Toris just closed his eyes and wondered what Ivan was up to.
Pitiful.
Gilbert sat down on his own bed shortly after, cross-legged and arms folded, and he stared at Toris. Every time Toris turned his head for the rest of the day, it seemed that Gilbert was always staring at him. Honest to god, it was starting to get on Toris' damn nerves. The hell was he looking at? Gilbert had stared at him since the first day they had set out, and every single day it irritated Toris just a little bit more. His patience, already so thin, was ever waning.
The whole damn day, Gilbert just rested his chin in his palm, sitting there on his bed, and stared at him.
Eventually, agitated Toris sent him a glare, and finally asked, "What is it?"
Gilbert glanced away, quickly, although hardly abashed, and shrugged a shoulder.
"Then knock it off. Look at something else."
A crinkle of Gilbert's brow, and eventually he lowered his eyes. But he didn't move, and kept in that same stance, body facing Toris, and Toris couldn't really even imagine what was going on in Gilbert's head then. The poor bastard had gone crazy a long time ago, and probably wasn't really even lucid anymore.
Before long, though, Gilbert's eyes raised back up, and he resumed his staring.
Annoyed, Toris finally sat up on the bed, shirt wrinkled and still looking like hell, and he swung his legs over the edge as he forced Gilbert's gaze and asked, harshly, "You got some kinda problem?"
Didn't even know why it bothered him so much or why he was shouting at Gilbert. A last-ditch effort, perhaps, to keep that little bit of control he had.
Toris sent Gilbert his best glare, his most dangerous look, but Gilbert didn't really seem too bothered, and somehow, Toris found that a little hurtful; the first taste of life without Ivan, he realized. No one was going to be scared of him anymore, not really, because he was a nobody again. Damn. Felt alarmingly vulnerable, suddenly. So used to being in charge of other nobodies. Used to being someone. Missed the feeling.
Wanted Gilbert to be terrified of him, and yet that time Gilbert didn't look away. His fault, probably, for first not shooting the son of a bitch and then for smiling at him and then for walking through that damn door like an idiot.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Gilbert said, "Thank you. For everything."
Ah—shit.
A long stare, and then Toris exhaled and turned his head away. Goddamn, hated this feeling, he really did, was so sick of pitying Gilbert. Wished he would have just shot him like he was supposed to, because then he wouldn't be sitting here now realizing that he felt so sorry for him. Hated caring about other people, and Gilbert was steadily worming his way in, just like Eduard and Ludwig had. The worst feeling imaginable, because he knew that Gilbert was an absolute goner and didn't want to get attached to him. Nothing good would come of it, nothing, and Toris knew it.
Just couldn't ever seem to help it.
They sat there in silence, Toris went to fetch Gilbert food, and when he came back, Toris was painfully aware that Gilbert sat up straight and breathed through his mouth and clenched the blanket. Relieved, as he was every single day, that Toris had really come back. Every time Toris left Gilbert alone, he came back to that same reaction, and it made his fuckin' chest hurt. That look.
If Toris had just up and left, Gilbert would have sat there on that bed and waited and waited, not moving a muscle at all until he finally fell over and died. Gilbert's shot sanity and mind seemed to force him utterly still when someone wasn't around. So terrified to be alone in this land that it was as if Gilbert's body literally seized up when he was left alone.
Gilbert relaxed the moment Toris threw the food down on his lap, staring away at him as he always did, and this time Toris couldn't really bring himself to bitch at him.
Seemed that his best efforts to put Gilbert in line were completely overridden by the fact that, at the end of the day, Toris was still taking Gilbert to Ludwig. As long as that was Toris' purpose for staying around, Gilbert would never truly fear him.
Sad.
Toris looked everywhere but at Gilbert until the sun started setting, and yet it was only inevitable that Toris eventually caught his eyes. That time, Gilbert seemed to be a little more alert, a little aware, a little more alive than he usually was these days, leaning forward just a bit as he stared over at Toris.
Toris opened his mouth, but was cut off.
Gilbert suddenly said, gruffly, "You know, you got real pretty eyes. I just noticed."
A rush of adrenaline. Ivan's voice in his head, as he had crooned to Eduard.
'You have pretty eyes, did you know?'
Had always wanted to be spoken to like that.
Just not by a nobody like Gilbert. Had wanted Ivan to say things like that. Not Gilbert, and so Toris scoffed, turned his head, and went right back to drinking. Didn't say another word to Gilbert for the rest of the night, and wished the bastard would never have said anything at all, because after that he could only think of Ivan. Again.
Being complimented at long last, by someone he didn't care at all about. Guessed it was better than nothing, but only by a hair.
Tried so hard not to get comfortable around Gilbert, not to care about him, not to let his guard down. In that, he was steadily failing, as he failed in everything.
The days passed. Weeks passed. Toris stopped drinking altogether, not only because of Gilbert's discomfort but also for his own, because with Gilbert suddenly acting like that Toris wanted to make sure that he was the clearheaded one.
For all the good it did.
Gilbert kept staring at him, and sometimes, when Toris was out in space, he realized that he was staring right back at Gilbert. Hard not to, being stuck with him and having to see him every second.
Seemed that every time Toris looked up, he noticed something new about Gilbert. Saw something he hadn't seen before, some new little detail. Gilbert was instantly eye-catching, of course, for his lack of pigment, but Toris noticed other things here and there. Little sunspots across his neck and cheek. Gilbert's large hands. Scars here and there over his arms, some very old and some newer, and one down his forehead over his eyebrow.
The most fascinating thing that Toris noticed were Gilbert's eyes. Rather, that Gilbert's red eyes were actually blue. Noticed it one day, and now he couldn't stop staring. Absolutely hypnotized him, and Toris had even turned it into a bit of a game, because god knew he didn't have anything else to do except wallow in self-pity. Watching them constantly to see them shift color in the light. Seeing what color light caused which shade.
Hadn't realized that Gilbert's eyes were a pale, pale blue, and they only shone out red in the light because the lack of pigment in Gilbert made the blood behind the irises more prominent than the irises themselves. That was what turned Gilbert's eyes red in the light. Hadn't noticed until Toris had just glanced at him one night, in nothing but low moonlight, as Gilbert had been ever staring at him. Lo and behold, the bastard suddenly had blue eyes, silvery in the moon.
Had Toris still been a kid, he would have just said, 'Cool.'
Gilbert was truly unique, no denying that. How many people could really say that they knew an albino?
It seemed that more and more, with every day that passed, Toris found Gilbert a little less unappealing. It helped, of course, that Gilbert was being generally well taken care of now. Was eating well, wasn't crying himself senseless every day, wasn't alone and half-dead and hopeless.
Actually, with Gilbert having put on so much weight this past month and a half, with his pale skin losing that yellow hue, with that dye steadily fading out of his hair day by day, Gilbert looked a bit handsome. Go figure. Guess there was something there after all. Had looked so god-awful when Toris first crossed paths with him that seeing him healthy was a bit remarkable.
He wasn't a bad-looking guy. Not the worst Toris had ever seen. Certainly could never compete with his little brother, not by any means, and yet Gilbert had his own charm about him. Hadn't noticed it before, really, the sharp angle of Gilbert's jaw or the straight bridge of his nose. The shape of his eyes and how his cheeks were rounder now that he wasn't gaunt. Always interesting to Toris, anyway, to see non-Slavic features. Had been out here so long.
Maybe Gilbert thought the same about Toris.
Maybe Gilbert was thinking that Toris, having spilled his soul and shed his uniform, wasn't as frightening and unapproachable and unpleasant.
Must have been, really, because one morning, Toris neglected to tie back his hair, and went the entire day with it down, for once. Gilbert had stared at him as he always did, and sometime during the drive, Gilbert had looked over and said, 'You look so different with your hair down.'
Toris had just gave an uninterested, 'Hm!'
Became a little more interested when Gilbert added, in a lower voice, 'You look nice like that.'
Unease.
Felt like Gilbert was trying to squirm closer and closer to him, and Toris was a little scared of that because, aside from not wanting to get attached to Gilbert, he was fairly certain that Gilbert had lost his marbles and was just looking at Toris and seeing Ludwig.
Wondered if Gilbert really even knew who Toris was and where they were.
Toris, for his part, was happier not knowing, and so he didn't pry, didn't ask questions, and didn't try to reciprocate any of that attention Gilbert was trying so desperately to give and receive. Lonely bastard just wanted someone, anyone, and Toris understood that, he did, but Toris had been burned too many times by caring. Was stubbornly clinging to his determination, and wouldn't give Gilbert the time of day, just wouldn't.
No matter how hard Gilbert tried.
More days passed.
July was close to ending.
So far so good, on the road at least, but Toris' head was a different story. Now that he had let out his entire history to the air, Toris found his dreams to be far more unpleasant. Buried memories, rushing up to the surface. So many things he had let himself forget.
Hated, more than anything, seeing Feliks' face.
Those awful dreams he had.
Standing there on one side of a river, Feliks on the other, that water rushing white between them, wanting so, so badly to cross and yet having no means to do so. Just staring at each other across the way, and when Toris looked down, he was always holding a gun, pointing it at Feliks' chest. No matter how hard he tried to put it down, he couldn't, and Feliks just stared at him, looking so sad and defeated. That awful look on his face that day, the last expression Toris had ever seen.
A gunshot.
He jumped upright, cold-sweating, and was in utter panic because he could still feel the gun in his hand and something had touched him. Fuckin' Feliks, probably, come to haunt his sorry ass like he deserved, for striking him down when Feliks had only done exactly what Toris would have done had the situation been reversed.
A movement at his side, and when he looked over, it wasn't Feliks' green eyes he saw.
Rather, Gilbert was there, under the blanket and beside of him, and Toris stared at him like an imbecile, breathing through his mouth and trying to calm down. Gilbert just stared away at him, on his side and curled up, and it took Toris a long time to gather himself up enough to bark, harshly, "What the fuck are you doing?"
Gilbert just stared at him, and whispered, gruffly, "I couldn't sleep."
So what?
"Get out," Toris commanded, immediately, but Gilbert just lied there, and Toris reached up to shove his shoulder, harder than he meant to. Gilbert was pushed back, but made no effort to move on his own.
Gilbert's face crumpled for an awful second, looking hurt and somehow far too close to crying, and he just whispered, as Toris stared him angrily down, "Can I just stay? I won't bother you."
Hell no, no fuckin' way, and maybe Toris was so angry then because he had dreamt of Feliks, maybe he was so angry because he so frequently thought of Ivan, maybe he was angry because Eduard was dead, maybe he was angry because Ludwig was gonna fuckin' shoot Gilbert, or maybe, maybe...
Maybe he was so angry then because, god, he was so lonely, so lonely, and he was starting to care about Gilbert. Trying so hard, and every day it worked less and less, and for that Toris was furious. Maybe he was angry because the part of him that he had lost long ago wanted to grab Gilbert and cry into his hair. He was afraid, so scared, and that made him angry.
Instead of just getting up and going to the other bed like he could have, Toris lashed out, because that was what he had always done, that was what he was used to, and he pulled himself up at the waist, raised his foot, and kicked Gilbert in the chest and out of his bed, with far more force than he ever really needed to use. Would be surprised if he hadn't broken a rib in there.
When Gilbert fell out of the bed with a painful thud, he just scooted himself back to the other bed and sat there, sitting upright, one knee up and the other leg splayed, palms on the floor, and when Gilbert hung his head and sucked in air, Toris felt like the shittiest man on the planet.
Goddammit.
Eventually, Gilbert uttered, thickly, "Sorry. I'm just— I'm scared. I'm so scared, 'cause I feel sometimes like I'm never gonna get him back. I feel like you're just taking me out there to die. That I'll never see him again, and I— I don't wanna be alone. I don't wanna die alone."
Gilbert pulled his other leg up, crossed his arms over his knees, buried his head, and said nothing more.
Toris sat there, tangled in the blanket, breathing yet through his mouth, brow crinkled and hands clenched, and didn't know why he felt so bad then. Didn't know why he felt so horrible, so terrible, didn't know why he was letting Gilbert shake him up like this when nothing else could. Why he felt so upset all of a sudden. Why he couldn't breathe, why his chest was so tight.
Why he cared at all about this man.
Why he didn't want Gilbert to die.
Why he felt far too close to crying. Why his breath was hitching, why he was swallowing, why he had to blink so fast.
Just sat there and stared at Gilbert for what felt like eternity.
Gilbert sat in that same spot for the rest of the night, and so did Toris. Didn't sleep. Couldn't, even if he had tried to, because he felt so miserably guilty. The worst feeling. Had liked it so much better when he hadn't been using his conscience. Gilbert brought up too many old feelings.
When dawn broke through the window, Toris had realized that he had almost mimicked Gilbert's posture, as he sat up in bed and wrapped his arms around his knees, chin rested and staring away at the wall. Didn't move, didn't speak, because he didn't want to wake Gilbert up. Didn't want to see him or talk to him, because he felt so damn bad.
He couldn't figure out who was more pitiful suddenly.
The sun rose higher, and when Gilbert didn't move, Toris had no choice but to get up and carry on. Couldn't stop looking down at him, though, couldn't stop thinking about what he could have done instead, rather than kick Gilbert down to the floor.
Had forgotten how to interact with people without violence.
Gilbert stirred later, when Toris came back with food, and Gilbert turned his head, resting it on his arms and staring up at the window. That time, he didn't stare at Toris, didn't look at him at all. And even though that was what Toris had wanted, what he really needed to carry on with a clear head, somehow Toris couldn't stand it. Couldn't fuckin' stand it, couldn't, and it was as if he had gone back to that awful realm of mist suddenly, because his feet were moving of their own accord and he didn't feel entirely in control of his actions.
He knelt down on one knee before Gilbert, and reached out to rest his hand on Gilbert's shoulder.
A long, awful silence.
Took a while before Gilbert finally turned his head and looked at Toris, and the expression on his face broke whatever heart Toris had left.
Had seen Gilbert at his absolute worst, nearly dead and so demoralized, had seen him look worse than any other man ever had, and yet somehow Toris could say that he was looking at Gilbert at his lowest moment then. Physically, Gilbert was at a prime. But not in his head, not then.
Just that look on his face.
As if Gilbert had realized suddenly and out of nowhere that he wasn't coming back with Ludwig. As if everything had shut down within him for it, because the notion of not having Ludwig was just too much for his heart and mind to handle. As if Gilbert's spirit had gotten kicked right out of him the moment he had hit the floor.
Had never seen anyone look so lost.
Gilbert stared at Toris, eyes bleary and brow scrunched, eyes flitting over Toris' face as they ever filled with water, and then Gilbert said, in a breaking whisper, "I think I'm ready."
Caught in Gilbert's eyes, Toris could only settle down onto his other knee and ask, weakly, "For what?"
Gilbert didn't have to the strength, it seemed, to lift his head at all, still resting it there on his arms, and he just replied, so listlessly, "To die. I'm ready. I just want to see him once, before I do. Just once. I just wanna see him one more time before I die. Can you make that happen?"
Oh—
Couldn't breathe suddenly, because his chest had locked and his jaw had clamped up.
Had never heard or seen anything more utterly pitiful. Gilbert had accepted it, had accepted his fate, and somehow, even though that was the way it needed to be, Toris realized he couldn't stand seeing it. Gilbert would die, and he knew it and so did Toris, but somehow seeing it there at last on his face was just too hard to stomach.
Couldn't carry on like that, not that way. Wouldn't have been able to get up in the morning and start the car with Gilbert looking like that. Shit; knew then, in that moment, that he fuckin' failed again, again, because he cared about Gilbert. Cared about him, didn't want him to die, didn't want him to give up, and Toris hated himself for letting that happen.
Happened all the same, and there wasn't anything Toris could really do about it.
That was when Toris started outright lying to Gilbert.
Toris was an absolute realist by nature. Had been shaped that way. Looked at everything with as much detachment as possible, because hope and optimism hadn't gotten him anywhere the past eleven years of his life. In this instance, especially, optimism was completely useless.
Yeah, he knew it was stupid, but he still started lying to Gilbert anyway, because seeing Gilbert looking like that made Toris' throat clutch up. Couldn't stand it, that feeling of always being on the verge of tears, that awful sting in his eyes.
When Gilbert came out of the bathroom, shirtless and damp-haired, Toris could see the ugly bruise there on his ribcage from where Toris had kicked him, and he couldn't stand that, either.
Hated it, and so Toris pulled Gilbert up to his feet every morning, and lied straight to his face.
He yanked Gilbert out of bed, stood up him straight, grabbed his arms, shook him to rouse him, and when Gilbert finally lifted his heavy head to meet Toris' gaze, Toris would ask, "Ready to go get Ludwig?"
Changed 'Ready to go?' to 'Ready to go get Ludwig?'
Made Gilbert wake up a little more, just a little, and Gilbert would stare at Toris for a long while, miserably, and then would nod his head. Toris just clapped his shoulder, and tried to spur him on. Spent the whole day, every day, lying through his teeth to that stupid son of a bitch.
When they got in the car, Toris would say, 'Great weather, huh? You and Ludwig can catch the last bit of fall together.'
When they ate, Toris would say, 'When you get Ludwig, we can all go out to eat somewhere and I can show you some real Russian food.'
Before they slept, Toris would say, 'Rest up. You're gonna need your energy to show Ludwig around the sights.'
And Toris began almost every single conversation with, 'When we're back in Berlin...'
Took a week or so, but steadily, at Toris' stupid, obvious lies, Gilbert started to perk up a little, came back from that precipice, and Toris was damn glad for it. Gilbert had to know that Toris was just pulling his string, was just saying anything at all, and he yet he didn't seem to care.
Hell, Gilbert probably wanted to be lied to.
In the meanwhile, as Gilbert came around, Toris tried his damn best to plan everything out. Trying to figure out what the hell happened once they got back to Mirny. How they would put everyone up and away long enough to get to Ludwig. Toris knew that Ludwig wouldn't be hauled away, but if they could get him alone, then maybe it could finally be beaten through Gilbert's thick head that Ludwig was gone and wasn't coming back, and maybe they could turn and run and escape unscathed. If Ludwig didn't try to shoot them, anyway.
Lying to Gilbert with his voice, and picking apart the truth in his head.
Didn't want Gilbert to die, but he wanted himself to die even less, and spent every free minute trying to think of ways to make that happen. It wasn't so easy. Dying, although it was always the possibility that his rational mind came back to, was kept very low on Toris' list of things to do. Trying very hard to plan all of this in a way that left room for survival, and it was one of the hardest puzzles that Toris had ever tried to piece together.
Above all else, Toris didn't tell Gilbert that their plan at no point actually involved ever having Ludwig with them, that Toris had never once planned anything more than getting Gilbert to realize the truth without dying and then turning tail.
Toris' plan had consisted of getting Gilbert to Ludwig and then getting Gilbert the hell away from Ludwig before Ludwig could shoot him, and he didn't tell Gilbert that. As far as dumb Gilbert knew, Toris really was going to steal Ludwig away for him. Gilbert didn't need to hear Toris' concerns, because he wouldn't have listened to them. Until Gilbert came face to face with Ludwig, until Gilbert could see with his own eyes, he wouldn't listen. It was the only way, and Toris hated Gilbert for it.
Anyway...
Gilbert, in the back of his mind, knew the truth. That break in him weeks prior had proved it. Deep down, Gilbert knew, and so Toris wasn't going to say it.
Just pretend.
The next morning, Toris grabbed Gilbert to pull him up and give him that good little Ludwig pep talk, but this time Gilbert's head wasn't hanging and he met Toris' gaze easily. Still, dutifully, Toris asked, "Ready to go get Ludwig?"
Gilbert just gave a strange smile, a half-smile really, and didn't say a word. Just stared away at Toris as he had before Toris had kicked him, and Toris was damn glad for that. Gilbert had stepped away from that ledge, it seemed, and Toris' guilt abated at last.
About time.
He clapped Gilbert's shoulder as he often did nowadays, but that time, Gilbert's hand quickly flew up and covered his own. Toris didn't really know why he didn't pull away, why he just stood there and stared at Gilbert as Gilbert gripped his hand.
He was falling apart, it seemed. Undone.
They were driving again, soon, and Toris kept on glancing over at Gilbert, glancing and glancing, and hell, he didn't know why he did that either, because, as always, Gilbert was just staring at him.
An hour down the road, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, Gilbert said, "Pull over."
It startled Toris so much that he actually obeyed, hitting the brakes and pulling onto the side of the country road, and he only stopped because Gilbert had never once asked him to. Thought that something must have been wrong, thought that maybe Gilbert was hurt, or maybe he just needed to go to the bathroom, whatever, but Toris stopped all the same.
He stared over at Gilbert, expectantly, but Gilbert didn't move. Made no motion at all to open the car door, instead choosing to stare at Toris.
A twinge of irritation, annoyance, and Toris finally griped, "Well? What do you want, huh?"
Damn, was Gilbert ever staring at him in that moment, quite pryingly. Couldn't say that he had ever seen Gilbert stare at him quite that hard. Made him almost nervous, go figure. Could see a little, in that stare, how Gilbert had been able to dominate Ludwig and boss him around, when he looked like that.
Toris, agitated, pressed, sternly, "What's the matter with you? How much time do you think we can waste, you—"
His sentence found itself completely unfinished, when Gilbert grabbed the seat of the car in one hand, swung himself forward, and kissed him very abruptly.
Ah. Well. Hadn't expected that.
So stunned and taken aback was Toris that all he could really do was sit there like an idiot and let Gilbert kiss him. Flabbergasted, absolutely, so shocked and dazed that he was pretty sure his heart had actually stopped there for a second. Pitiful—hadn't been kissed in ten damn years.
Gilbert pulled back as abruptly as he had pushed forward, leaned his arm up on the windowsill, staring away at Toris as Toris gaped open-mouthed at him, and then Gilbert lifted up his chin and waved his hand.
"What are you stopping for, huh? What's the matter with you? How much time do you think we can waste?"
That son of a—
Absolutely the worst sort of man, the worst, Ludwig shoulda drowned the bastard a long time ago, and somehow still Toris thought he might have been smiling. Goddammit. He opened his mouth, realized there was nothing he could say that wouldn't make him feel foolish, so Toris just scoffed and started driving again.
Anxious and restless, suddenly, and Toris hated himself for being so damn excited when they finally stopped for the day. Not because he cared that much about Gilbert, of course not, but because it felt pretty damn good to think about something other than how Ivan was going to kill him. Nice to have a distraction to loosen the feel of Ivan's noose. When Gilbert stared at him, suddenly, Toris thought just a little bit less about the feel of Ivan's gun pressing into his stomach.
For his part, when they stopped Gilbert leapt right out of the car, looking around and seeming alert and wide-awake and somehow calm, and it was oddly Gilbert then who started leading the way. As if so bolstered that he didn't mind taking charge for a while. Toris, dumbly, just followed him, glaring half-heartedly at his back.
...hard to stay mad at him, honestly.
Not when Gilbert was paying Toris so much attention, at any rate. Toris was extremely self-centered, extremely egotistical, thought he was better than everyone else, had never denied that, and so Gilbert giving him affection was satisfying.
He knew that Gilbert was trying to keep his mind on anything, anything at all, other than the inevitable horror waiting out in the middle of Siberia. Hard to be excited by the attention. Gilbert was lonely. Had gone insane. Gilbert wanted Ludwig; that was all. As it had been with Ivan, so it was with Gilbert. Ludwig, Ludwig, Ludwig. All day and all night.
And hell, in some twisted, awful way, Toris wanted Ivan. He had wanted to hear those words, get that attention from Ivan, and Gilbert wanted it to be Ludwig sitting there beside of him. Had wanted Ivan to be the one to look at him like that, but it was Gilbert, and there was nothing Toris could do about it.
Toris wondered, briefly, if Gilbert was even really attracted to men at all. Certainly wasn't like Ivan. But then, Toris was fairly certain that Ludwig hadn't been attracted to men either, not really, but had been seduced all the same by insanity and power. Power had that effect on some people, and insanity did others in, and Gilbert was pretty crazy. Isolated from the world and completely alone. Toris was the only one nearby to get love from, and that was what it all came down to in the end.
It was what it was.
Stepping into that room then, though, was a bit awkward, at least on Toris' part. Gilbert went straight to the bed and flopped down on it, and seemed as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Huh.
Toris watched Gilbert out of the corner of his eye, suspiciously, and Gilbert seemed to be quite aware of that. Wondered if Gilbert was choking, or if Gilbert was hoping that Toris would come to him. Hoped to god Gilbert knew better than that, because even if Toris had been absolutely suffering he would never have lifted his hand. Woulda keeled over dead first. Had too much pride for that, far too much.
As expected, and as it should have been, Gilbert cracked first.
Night.
Toris was settled down in bed, arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling as he always did, still plotting his movements, and there was a creak from the other bed, and then a step on the floor. Toris didn't move a muscle, didn't look over, didn't bother, because somehow he already knew. Sure enough, a movement beside of him, the mattress sank a little, the blanket was pulled up, and, as he had once before, Gilbert squirmed under his blanket and curled up beside of him.
This time, instead of kicking him, Toris didn't move at all, arms still behind his head and feeling hardly bothered. Gilbert, on the other hand, seemed to be the nervous one, as he lied there on his side, staring at Toris and not moving much. Toris couldn't really blame him; probably worried that Toris' foot was gonna connect with his face this time.
But Gilbert crept closer and closer, and Toris didn't move. Could feel Gilbert's warmth, so close, and didn't move. Gilbert, a little bolstered by Toris' stillness, was finally right next to him, head underneath Toris' elbow and staring away.
How long had it been since he'd had someone in his bed that wanted to be there? Those parties didn't count, those times he had taken out his anger on soldiers underneath him. Hardly counted.
Gilbert's left hand raised up, suddenly, carefully, and just barely rested there atop Toris' chest.
Had some nerve, Gilbert, would give him that.
Toris finally moved then, only to lower his eyes to Gilbert's hand and study it. Oh yeah—
"I'm surprised you didn't lose that damn thing," he suddenly whispered, without thought, as Gilbert's fingers brushed over him.
A somewhat bland response.
"Almost did."
"Can you move it?"
Hadn't even really paid attention up until then. Had almost forgotten all about it, honestly, because he'd seen Ivan do so much worse than grinding someone's broken bone right into their muscle and tendons.
Gilbert tried to make a fist, and couldn't, not with that hand. Couldn't seem to get his fingers closed all the way, and that wasn't at all surprising.
Toris said nothing more, turning his eyes back upward.
Gilbert let his hand fall more heavily atop Toris' chest, now that Toris hadn't snapped his bone all over again, and then he asked, a bit apprehensively, "Say, where's your gun?"
Ha; what Gilbert meant to say was, 'You're not gonna shoot me, are ya?'
No. He wasn't going to shoot Gilbert, because if he had wanted to it would have been done already.
Didn't really want to give up any control, either, so Toris settled the matter somewhat with a firm, "I don't need a gun to kill you. So don't worry about it."
A slow, dumb, "Oh," which was obviously in reality more of a silent, 'Holy shit'.
It was true. Could have snapped Gilbert's neck as easily as Ivan had snapped his hand. Coulda killed Gilbert in a hundred ways that didn't involve a gun at all. Gilbert was a little bigger than Toris in his frame, but wouldn't have stood a chance.
A long silence, that hand still there, and Gilbert didn't move for a little while. Toris wondered if maybe he had scared him. Hated to say that he might have regretted it if Gilbert suddenly backed off, pathetic as that was. But maybe Gilbert was a little braver than Toris actually gave him credit for, because suddenly that hand on his chest crept up to his neck, as Gilbert crawled over, and the next thing Toris really knew Gilbert was halfway on top of him, head resting on Toris' chest above his heart and clinging to him.
Damn.
Toris just lied there yet, arms still behind his head, because to be quite frank he didn't really know what to do. Gilbert's head was still quite the mystery to him. Felt kinda sorry for him, if he were honest, though, and maybe that was why Toris finally exhaled through his nose and brought his arm down to throw it around Gilbert's shoulders. Poor bastard. Had probably been dying to cling to somebody for years, since he had lost Ludwig long ago.
And even though Toris knew, deep down, that they were both just using each other for their own purposes, it didn't really matter much anymore when Gilbert suddenly pushed himself up, hung over Toris, and kissed him again. He still pressed up and took hold of Gilbert's neck all the same. Didn't care anymore, at that point, because they were both miserable jerks and only wound up hurting everyone they cared about, so maybe they were sort of meant for each other in a sad way.
A hand on his face.
Just as before, Toris got caught up in that stupid whirlwind, let himself fall to Gilbert's eyes as easily as he had fallen for Feliks'.
When Gilbert realized that he wasn't going to be killed in any sort of way, gun or no, he seemed bolstered, confident, seemed to find a little bit of that arrogance and assurance he had once had, because he had grabbed Toris and yanked him upright to pull his shirt off before Toris could really figure out what was happening.
Ah, shit, was he really gonna do this? Worried that this would make him even more attached to Gilbert than he already was, worried that it would cloud his judgment when the time came, worried that he would end up setting himself back.
Despite his mind giving him many reasons why he should once more kick Gilbert out of his bed, Toris' body had other ideas, and after a good while of struggling with each others' clothes and then rolling each other over, it was somehow Gilbert who wound up pinning Toris down.
But only because Toris had let him, in the end. Let Gilbert have that little bit of control, because Toris felt like it, and maybe because he was just trying to relive a little bit of what life had been like back when he had actually been with someone that had cared about him.
That long forgotten feel of someone running fingers through his hair.
Fell to Gilbert then, because he had spent the last ten years hoping to fall to Ivan and never succeeding.
Felt so strange, being underneath someone like that, felt so odd submitting to Gilbert and letting him fall between his legs, felt very foreign in some way to put his hands on Gilbert's back and take hold. So strange because, really, Toris was used to fucking people over, to dominating and hurting and being in absolute control, and maybe for that to he let Gilbert take charge.
A little comforting, even, to let someone else take over.
Ten years with no rest at all, endless misery and anger, and suddenly Gilbert's face was pressed into his neck and his nails were digging into Gilbert's shoulder blades.
Had forgotten what it was like to let his guard down.
But he did that night with Gilbert, of all people, let Gilbert pant in his ear and let himself grab a handful of Gilbert's hair. Let himself get tangled in Gilbert for hours that night, because he was so tired of being ignored and alone. Let Gilbert collapse on top of him and kiss him, sweating and trembling with exertion, and let himself run a hand over Gilbert's cheek.
He may have been crazy, but Gilbert was, too, and for that Toris felt oddly comfortable with him. Still, though...
As Gilbert's chin dug into his collar, still between his legs and breathing heavily, Toris stared at the ceiling, and he wanted to say, 'Don't you dare get attached to me.'
He didn't.
He didn't want Gilbert to get attached to him, but above that, he was too scared that Gilbert would scoff and say, 'Don't worry about that. Who could get attached to you?' So long, having Ivan dismiss him over and over. Didn't want to be dismissed by Gilbert, not someone like Gilbert, because that really might have killed the last of his pride.
So he stayed quiet, as Gilbert drifted into sleep there above him, and listened to the somewhat soothing sound of Gilbert's breathing. The comfort of a weight above him. That feeling.
Power was great, it really was, and diamonds were even better. Owning the world. Owning people. Being able to do anything he wanted and get away with it. Knowing that he had control over life and death for so many people, countless people. Being in charge of scores of men. That was all great.
Somehow, though...
It just couldn't really compete with the feel of another person. Touching someone. Having someone under his palms. Having someone look at him and see him. Reaching out and sensing the warmth of a human being. The rather mesmerizing sensation of a heartbeat against his own. The scent of someone different.
Love ran the world as much as diamonds did, and even Ivan fell to it. That was why all of this had ever happened, after all, because a man like Ivan had fallen in love. No one was immune to that feeling, and everybody tried to cling to it. Ivan crushed the entire world beneath his boot and felt absolutely nothing, not a thing, but when Ivan had turned his head and looked at Eduard, he had been unable to see anything else. Ivan shackled and set fire to the entire USSR with no second thought and no remorse, but when Ivan saw Ludwig walk by, it was Ivan who was suddenly helpless and immobile.
Human nature.
When Gilbert inhaled and woke up later and squirmed off of him, he was very quick to throw his arm over Toris' chest and pull him in. And Toris, god help him, leaned his head to the side and pressed it into Gilbert's.
Couldn't escape that feeling.
Before long, both he and Gilbert were very likely to be lying next to Eduard instead of each other, so maybe Gilbert was right, for once.
Why spend those last precious moments alive alone?
They weren't good people.