"Why are you wearing that?"

Tino jumped, turning around on his heel and laughing. "Oh, Berwald, I didn't see you! You almost scared the life out of me," Tino shook his head, hand resting over his heart. "Why aren't you asleep, it's almost—"

Berwald stood from the couch, taking a step forward. "Tino, why are you wearin' that?" His accent was getting thicker, and every word out of his mouth sounded like it pained him.

Tino popped his lips, frowning. "Berwald, you told me you didn't—"

"I don't," Berwald cut in. "Why'd you come home wearin' that?"

Tino looked down at his gloves, thinking. They were nice gloves, thick for when Tino slipped with his knife when he was working. He had gotten them in a nice, tan leather, but they had been stained dark by blood. He should get something in black next time, though he hated the color.

"Well, I couldn't go home," Tino explained gently, tugging his gloves off, "I would have changed before I came over, but they have these… Investigators. I think they have my house pegged."

Berwald stood in the center of the room, fists clenched. "How close are you?"

Tino tugged off his shirt, grimacing. "Close to what, Berwald?"

"How close are you t' bein' caught?"

Tino kicked off his pants, then collected his clothing. "That's a good question, actually. I've been careful—I always am, don't worry!—but well, I can't keep going after politicians, can I? After that German one, people have been crazy. Oh," Tino paused on his way to the kitchen, "You got a tree! We still have three weeks to go! Can I help you decorate it?"

Berwald followed after Tino, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "Tino…"

Tino stopped abruptly, turning to face Berwald. The taller man took a step back, eyes flicking downwards before meeting Tino's eyes again. The shorter man smiled, clothes under one arm, feeling chilly in his boxers.

"Berwald, I can either tell you about my work, or you have to stop asking." He looked down at his feet. "One of them lived."

Berwald's breath hitched.

Tino shook his head, smiling at his feet. "I got him right in the lung," he reached up to demonstrate, "right there. It collapses the lung. But that angry man… He lived. I don't know his condition, but I'm going to have to try and fix this."

Berwald swallowed. "You have t' leave."

Tino looked up, laughing. "Oh, no, not yet! Just a few more, Berwald, then I'm quitting for good. We could go to Finland, they have really good schools there. Did you get more eggs? Or maybe pancakes…"

Tino began to raid the fridge, handing Berwald his bloodied clothes.

Berwald looked at the clothes in his hands, then back to Tino. He repeated this action. "You're takin' me with you?"

Tino snorted, nearly banging his head as he looked up from the fridge. "Of course, Berwald! What would you do if I left you here, huh?" Tino stuck his tongue out. "Besides, I couldn't have you telling on me."

Berwald set aside the clothes on the counter. "I would never." He watched Tino from behind, arms crossed. "Who's hirin' you?"

Tino pulled out the carton of eggs Berwald kept handy. "I can't tell you that!"

"Who's next?"

Tino found a frying pan. "Hm… Should I give you a hint?"

Berwald tilted his head, amused, despite himself.

Tino set the frying pan and eggs down, running into Berwald's room. Berwald craned his neck to catch a peak of Tino in his dark bedroom. The shorter man ran back, wearing one of Berwald's jackets. He stood in front of Berwald, smoothing out his face.

"America!" Tino exclaimed, giving Berwald a thumbs up and grinning so wide it looked painful.

Berwald blinked. "Really?"

Tino laughed, turning on the stove. "You didn't hear it from me! Poor Mr. Jones."

Berwald stood, starting to make toast. "When?"

Tino snuggled into Berwald's jacket, enjoying the warmth it brought him. He should definitely find some spare clothes to keep at this apartment. He would have to visit one of his safe-houses to find some extra—with his house being surrounded by police force and all—but he could manage.

"Christmas. I guess he lives alone. That's pretty sad, huh?" Tino cracked an egg. "I feel bad that he's going to be alone the last night he's alive—and on Christmas. We should do something special that night."

"I have somethin'."

Tino looked at Berwald, looking absolutely delighted. The assassin loved Christmas more than he'd care to admit. "Really? What were you thinkin'?"

Berwald shook his head, buttering both sides of some toast for Tino. "It's a surprise. Just…" He sighed.

Berwald sometimes did that; it was the saddest sigh Tino had ever heard. Berwald was never very good with his words, but the dexterity and feeling conveyed in the little things he did was both endearing and heart wrenching. Tino hated that sigh more than he hated screaming or prying fingernails off.

"I'll change before I visit." Tino flipped the eggs.

Berwald abandoned the toast. He strode over to the shorter man and hugged him from behind, burying his face in Tino's shoulder. Tino laughed, reaching up to pet Berwald's hair.

"Why can't we just leave?" Berwald mumbled.

Tino honestly didn't know himself.