"Guten Morgen, Fraulein," Francis said as he stepped inside, turning on his French charm at the sight of the petite blonde behind the front desk. "My, don't you look wonderful today?"
Roderich forced himself not to say anything. Less than a minute ago, Francis was going off on a rant about how he'd never, not in a million years, even if he was paid, date another woman. Who was he trying to fool? Everyone knew about the long list of ex-lovers, the six divorces, and his talent for flirting. Francis could talk all he wanted about how women were the root of all evil, but in the end, he'd go right back to trying to find himself another girlfriend.
"Danke, sir. What can I do for you?" the secretary asked, shrugging off Francis' compliment like it was nothing.
Francis lost his smile for a moment, a bit disappointed he hadn't made yet another woman fall at his feet. "You are holding a man here by the name of Ivan Braginsky, ja?"
"Yes, sir. And what do you want with him?"
"May we speak with him? It'll only take a minute," he said. "Unless, you would want me to take longer."
The secretary stole a glance at Roderich, who couldn't offer more than a shrug. Francis was going to be Francis, and unfortunately, some people had to put up with him more than others. "I'm sorry, but he's in the middle of an interrogation right now. You'll have to come back at a later time," she answered, twisting her ring in a vain attempt at stopping Francis.
"It's one question," Francis added, oblivious to the not-so-subtle hints the woman was trying to give him. Sometimes, Roderich couldn't tell if he was clueless or plain stupid. "Surely we can ask a question and leave."
"Not to be rude, sir, but you know nothing about interrogations. They cannot be interrupted, no matter how important of a question you have."
Francis pulled a folded Reichsmark from his pocket, slipping it into the front pocket of the woman's blouse. Roderich couldn't see exactly how much it was; from the look on her face, it wasn't pocket change. "Couldn't you please let us ask a little question? I'm sure they wouldn't mind, especially if it came from a doll like you," he purred, putting a finger under the woman's chin.
"Does the word 'no' mean nothing to you?" she asked as she pushed Francis' hand away, handing the Reichsmark back to him. "I'm afraid I can't accept your bribes. They are in the middle of a questioning, and you are simply going to have to wait."
"Francis, may I speak now?" Roderich stepped in front of the Frenchman, smiling at Francis' defeat. Someone needed to knock him off his romantic pedestal and destroy his ego once in a while. "Please excuse my friend, he's not right in the head," he continued, earning himself a cold glare from Francis. "And I know you're trying to do your job; however, you have to let us speak to Ivan."
"No means no. I can't interrupt an interrogation."
"I have four words for you, dear," Roderich said, going right to his final resort without bothering to mellow things out for the woman. "I work for Hitler. He wouldn't be pleased to find out someone was interfering with his work. Now, would you like to deny my orders again or do you want to let me see the man?"
The secretary looked up at Roderich, about to fire something back at him before fully understanding the four words. She silenced her comment, her whole demeanor changing with a sentence. Now she bore a friendly smile, taking the two back to the office where Ivan was being interrogated and even playing along with Francis' advances.
Roderich always found it hilarious how the words "work for" and "Hitler" combined in a sentence could make so many people change their opinions of him. Before he mentioned being in the Führer's presence nearly every week, most people wouldn't have given him a second glance. To Vienna, to Austria, to most of the Thousand Year Reich, Roderich was another face in the crowd, very rarely recognized for who he was. This meant they treated him like any other man; that is, until they learned about his job. And then everyone adored him and wanted to talk to him, acting like he was some sort of film star instead of a composer.
Four words can change so many people's minds.
"Wait here until I come get you," the secretary said, gently knocking on the office door. Before she could say anything, the door was thrown open and a man in Gestapo uniform held up a folder triumphantly.
"We broke Ivan!" the man cheered, waving the folder in the secretary's face. "We shattered him into a thousand pieces, Sofia! No one's ever made him talk before," he added in a normal voice. "We are the first people to ever get him to talk. And you know what's the best part? He doesn't know shit about anything we wanted! We wasted a whole day trying to get him to talk, and all we found out is that he has a dark past and a talent for memorizing things!"
"Could you be any less professional?" The secretary muttered, turning back to Francis and Roderich. "This is Kriminalkomissionar Hochstetter, one of the men in charge of investigating Colonel Braginsky. Please excuse his childish behaviours, he's not used to having guests."
Hochstetter? As in the man who Goebbels said was asking about me? Roderich asked himself. What the hell does he want with me? Is he part of Gilbert's "Crush Roderich" team? Knowing my luck, he's already got some mastermind plan against me. And then again, he looks a bit…dumb. How did he ever become a kriminalkomissionar? Must've cheated on the test.
"We have guests?" Hochstetter asked, oblivious to the two men standing right beside the secretary.
"Guten Tag," Francis said. Only then did Hochstetter notice them, his face going pink.
"Oh, God, sorry," Hochstetter apologized, giving them a sheepish grin. "I had no idea you were here. Albert Hochstetter, nice to…" he faltered, blue eyes studying Roderich. "You, you're that musician, von Wolffe?"
"Um, yes, I am Roderich von Wolffe. And this is my…friend, Christian Kleiner," he added, motioning to Francis.
"Why the pause?" Francis arched an eyebrow in question.
"I really don't know if you qualify as a friend," Roderich said, turning back to Hochstetter. "Anyway, we've come to speak with a man you're holding, Colonel Braginsky. Would you care if we asked a few questions?"
"Oh, my God, this is perfect. Hey, Luddy, get out here! We have company!" Hochstetter called over his shoulder, ignoring Roderich's question.
"Tell the company they can burn in hell for all I care."
Roderich's breathing hitched, his mind going back to the incident with the streaks on his coat. That was the voice that made him paranoid, the voice he'd expect a soulless Gestapo man to have. No matter how friendly of terms they were on, Ludwig was still part of the police force and was clever enough to destroy him.
"I know you're tired, but do you know who I've got out here?" Hochstetter asked.
"Adolf Hitler?"
"Close. Roderich von Wolffe and Christian Kleiner."
There was a sharp squeak of a chair on wood floor, a warning muttered, and Ludwig Beilschmidt was standing in the doorway, tie undone and bangs down in front of his Aryan blue eyes.
"I am so sorry, I had no idea it was you, Herr von Wolffe," he stammered. "It's been a long night and I'm tired, and I wasn't thinking you'd be here."
"I can see that. So, may we speak with this Colonel Braginsky?" Roderich asked, trying his best to keep the fear out of his voice. He couldn't help it – there was something about Ludwig that felt so wrong.
"You want to speak with Ivan?" Ludwig almost smiled for a moment. "Sure you can. He was talking about you a while ago. Maybe you can catch up."
Roderich felt his heart stop – what did Ivan have to say about him? He knew more than Elizabeta did about Roderich's less-than-perfect past; too much for Roderich's liking. All Ivan had to do to destroy everything was say a sentence. Four damned words, the polar opposite of what Roderich used to get what he wanted.
"Roderich is a Jew."
It could be the end for me, Roderich said to himself, trying to regain his composure before speaking. Francis gave Roderich a nudge, reminding him to stick with the "amnesia" plan. Right, Roderich continued, I've got to pretend I've never met the man. Ludwig may know everything, however, I can't let him get to me first. For now, I'm going to go along with it and hope to God I can talk my way out of things.
"Why would he be talking about me?" Roderich asked. "I've never met him in my life."
Roderich waited for one of the two Gestapo men to say something, to accuse him and tell him he was going to die. Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration painted on his face with bright red.
"You say you haven't met him? But he was…" Ludwig looked back into the office, snarling a few curses at Ivan.
"Oh, great, he's lying again?" Hochstetter groaned, motioning for Roderich and Francis to follow him. "Come on, Ivan, I thought we went over this! Don't make me call Colonel Beilschmidt!"
Roderich had never been in a Gestapo man's office, so he wasn't quite sure what to expect. At first glance, it seemed like a normal office, with a big desk and plenty of paperwork, the picture of Adolf Hitler hung at the required height, a filing cabinet in the corner, and a bookshelf with about five books and several piles of wallets, jewelry, and watches. When he looked a bit closer, Roderich realized there was a whip on the desk, a pile of broken glass in the corner with bloody footprints leading out of it, deep scratches in the wood floor, dents in the walls, and of course, Ivan.
"Stop moping and answer these men's questions," Hochstetter snapped as he walked by, slapping Ivan on the back of the head.
Ivan glanced up at the two. Roderich held back a smile, reminding himself that Ivan was a stranger. Even though Ivan was bruised and bleeding, he was still Roderich's brother of sorts. It was close to impossible to meet his eyes and keep a straight face; he wanted to tell him everything and hear about Ivan's adventures as a wanted criminal so badly it hurt.
"Look at you, Roderich," Ivan said, his voice low and sad. "You're all grown up now."
"I'm sorry, but have we met before? I'd certainly remember someone like you." Roderich spoke in the most condescending tone he could force out of himself. He had to act like the Nazi aristocrat he wasn't, disgusted by anyone who didn't have German blood in their veins.
"What?"
"Have we met before? I don't meet many Slavs here in Vienna."
Ivan didn't reply for a moment, studying Roderich carefully. He looked to Francis for an answer, realizing what was going on. "You don't remember your own brother?" he asked, his voice showing the struggle to follow along with the game. Both of them wanted to talk to each other like siblings, not enemies. "I was with you until you were ten."
"Perhaps my mind has chosen not to remember whatever you call yourself. Where are you even from? Poland? Russia? Some lowly Slavic country, no doubt."
"And I see you've adjusted to Hitler's invasion quite well," Ivan added. "Just like I said yesterday – you're a Nazi pig."
"A rather rich pig at that. I'm working for the Führer, so I advise you to keep your jokes to a minimum," Roderich said, going over to the man. "Now, tell me, you Untermensch, do you know any Americans?"
"Americans? What does Hitler want with an American? Wait, don't tell me," Ivan scoffed. "He actually thinks he can get America to join him?"
"That isn't an answer. Do you know any Americans?"
"I'm not going to tell you shit," Ivan said, folding his arms over his chest. Roderich almost flinched at the scars covering his arms, scars that weren't there before.
"Answer the man or I'll call Gilbert again," Ludwig growled, putting his hand on the phone.
"Fine, I'll talk." Ivan seemed to be almost scared now, watching Ludwig instead of Roderich. "I know one. Alfred Jones, a prisoner at Stalag XVIII-A. Not that he'd want to talk to a Nazi like you. You used to be good, Roderich. What happened?" He smiled, revealing a break in the perfect line of his teeth – did Ludwig or Hochstetter do that?
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened. Now, Ivan, vy raneny?" Roderich asked, his tone softening.
It was the tiny Russian Roderich could remember – most was lost in his childhood. But he distinctly remembered the words for "are you hurt?" They were the two words Roderich would ask Ivan when the boy woke up crying, when he came back from the shop with his hands covering his neck, when he showed up at the back door with a black eye.
Ivan's smirk faded away. "Da. Ochen', ochen' bol'no. Razbityy."
Roderich couldn't understand anything more than "da"; it was enough to tell him something was very wrong. Ivan's answer had always been a quick nyet, followed by silence.
"Good," Roderich growled, wishing he could say so much more. "I hope you stay that way."
Basch wasn't feeling sympathetic that morning. Even though Francis and Roderich had tried their best, they somehow managed to show up twenty minutes late. And no matter how many times they apologized, Basch still looked like he wanted to kill both of them.
"I gave you simple instructions," Basch said. "Show up at my house by eight. It is eight-twenty. I don't care what sort of half-assed excuses you've made up for me, because I'm not going to listen to them. I expect you to be on time tomorrow, Roderich. Or else…" He looked over at Francis, flashing a grin. "Je vais devoir le tuer."
Francis rolled his eyes. "Arrêtez d'être un tel enfant. Il était seulement vingt minutes, qui ne va pas te tuer."
"Je ne veux pas un homme qui est pas ponctuel, fin de l'histoire."
"I'm presuming you speak French as well?" Roderich asked Basch, cursing himself for never learning the language. He never thought it would be useful – then again, he never thought he'd be an alcoholic. This war was full of surprises.
"Italian and Romansch, too. And let me remind you that in my house, you speak when spoken to," Basch snapped.
"I am a grown man – I refuse to let you treat me like a child. I will speak whenever the hell I feel it's necessary."
"Oh, you think you're so much bigger than me. I highly doubt you're as mature as you've made yourself out to be," Basch said, pulling a loop of keys from his pocket. He handed them to Roderich, looking like he wanted to punch the man but couldn't. "Those are the keys to my house, the shop, and Francis' office. Lose them and you're dead."
"And why would you be trusting me with these when you don't even know me?" Roderich asked, looking over the three keys. At the base of each one was a tiny letter – H for house, S for shop, and O for office. He thought Basch was a disorganized sort of person, strangely enough, he appeared to be quite organized.
"I need to know I can trust you if I ever have to use you for something," Basch answered. "I'm giving you what we call in the adult world 'responsibility.' I know you don't have a lot of that, being Hitler's pet and all."
"I am not his 'pet,'" Roderich corrected, remembering why he hated Basch.
"Keep telling yourself that and it might come true. So, I'm trusting that you won't steal anything. It's the first step in a long process of me considering you as an acquaintance and not an enemy. And if I do find out that something has gone missing, Hitler's going to have a funeral to attend to. If he even would come to yours," Basch added.
"What do your passive-aggressive comments have to do with anything?"
"I'm giving you the truth. The truth hurts, von Wolffe. Lilli has all your instructions, don't you dare touch her, and I'll be back by four. She'll be watching you in place of myself, and don't think that she'll let you get away with things. And she may or may not have a gun on her, good luck figuring out. Lilli!" he called. The girl appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, finishing braiding one of her pigtails.
"Guten Morgen," she said in a shy voice, coming over to her brother's side. Instead of her usual dress, she was wearing beat-up overalls and a white t-shirt. Something was wrong about her – and not just the fact that she was in boy's clothing.
"Wait, it's Thursday, isn't it?" Roderich asked. "Shouldn't Lilli be in school?"
"Oh, no, Herr von Wolffe, I'm sick," Lilli replied without a hint of guilt in her voice. Wasn't she too good for that?
"If someone comes looking for her, you are to give them that response," Basch said. "As far as Vienna is concerned, Lilli Zwingli is sick. If they ask who you are, say you're watching her for me and that's it. If you have to be rude, fine by me. And if Ludwig comes over looking for me, give him directions to the Russian front."
"I take it you two aren't on good terms?"
Basch's smirk slipped into a frown. "And I take it Ludwig has you wrapped around his finger? Listen, I know you're trying to be a good Jewish Nazi, but Ludwig is manipulative. He doesn't care about anything except for work. I suggest you stay as far away from him as you can."
"I can take care of myself," Roderich said, hoping Basch wasn't right. If Ludwig really was oh-so-manipulative, how much did he get out of Ivan?
"Right. Auf Wiedersehen, Lilli," Basch said, giving the girl a hug. So he did have a compassionate side. "You can be as bad as you want today, whatever you have to do to make Roderich mad."
"Don't listen to him. You be good for Roderich, he's under a lot of stress." Francis ruffled the girl's hair, kissing her on the forehead.
"I'll be the best I can," Lilli assured them. "Auf Wiedersehen!"
"Hey, Roderich, if I'm not back by four, go ahead and go by yourself. I may have to work late tonight, depending on how much I get done," Francis said. "You'll be fine, right?"
"If he doesn't kill me the second I arrive."
"Where the hell are you two going?" Basch asked.
"Exactly where you said." Francis gave Roderich a worn-out smile, following Basch out the door. "We're going to hell tonight. Or Roderich's going to brave it all by himself."
"You can stay there, for all I care," Basch muttered, glaring at Roderich one last time for good measures. And then he slammed the door, leaving Roderich and Lilli alone.
"Herr von Wolffe? You're not actually going to hell, are you?" Lilli asked, looking up at Roderich.
"It's a figure of speech. I'm not going to be eternally damned or anything like that," he replied. "And you can call me Roderich."
Lilli shook her head. "It feels impolite. So, where is hell?"
"In a town called Wolfsburg, otherwise known as the sole place in Austria with a real American. Anyway, what sort of torture has Basch planned for me today?"
"The first thing is to fix the broken railings on the porch. I can help you if you want," Lilli offered.
"Aren't you supposed to be sick?"
The girl shrugged, leading Roderich outside. She motioned to a pile of planks and nails, grabbing a hammer from the bench against the wall. "No one I know lives around here. If anyone sees me, you can lie, right?"
"I'm not the best liar in the world, but I can try," Roderich said, going over to the ruined railing. He could tell Basch had broken them – things didn't naturally snap in at an almost perfect angle. The real question was if he broke them out of anger or intentionally smashed them so Roderich would have more work.
Roderich never really was one for physical labour; he almost always found a way out of it. Fixing the railings was more of Roderich attempting to do something, Lilli laughing, Roderich getting embarrassed, and Lilli fixing his mistakes. His rails were crooked, while Lilli's were perfectly vertical. He was ashamed having a young girl correct him, and then he remembered he could be working under Basch's supervision. At least Lilli wasn't threatening to murder him every five seconds.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Lilli said in a quiet voice, keeping her focus on the plank.
"How personal?"
"I've heard Basch talking, and he hasn't told me yet, but you…are you really Jewish?" Lilli glanced over at Roderich, trying to see if he was angry. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"What, I don't look like a Jew to you? Is my nose too small? I don't have a beard? I'm not out for the ruin of mankind?" Roderich laughed half-heartedly, making the girl smile.
"No. You seem…not Jewish? I guess what I'm trying to say is that you don't seem any different than the rest of us."
"There's the thing – I'm not different. Sure, meeting Hitler is different, but outwardly, I'm the same as everyone else. My religion doesn't separate me from any other man in Vienna. It's a shame some people try to tear us apart with little details like different religions. They try to make Jewish people out to be villains, however, not every single one of them is evil. Some people are inherently bad, no matter what their race. There's plenty of evil Germans and Catholics, why single Jewish people out? In the end, we're all going to die, so why make such a fuss about religion or sexuality or skin colour now? It's not worth the effort."
Lilli kept quiet for a moment; Roderich hoped he hadn't said too much again. He tended to go off on tangents, especially when talking about sensitive things. "You're really smart, Herr von Wolffe," she said with a smile. "I wish my brother was as bright as you."
"I'm terribly sorry you have to put up with him every day." Roderich sighed, feeling genuinely sorry for the sweet girl. She deserved much better than Basch.
"He's not so bad when you get to know him," Lilli added. "He's a special kind of person. It takes him a long time to warm up to people. It's worth staying with him, though, because he will protect you at any costs. It might take him a while longer to warm up to you, but I'm sure he'll like you eventually."
"Ja, when I'm dead."
"Hey, can you say anything in Yiddish?" Lilli asked, taking the hammer from Roderich's hands to fix yet another crooked plank.
"It's been a long time since I spoke it, and I never really was any good at it," Roderich admitted.
"I don't mind. I can't understand it, so you could say something wrong and I wouldn't know."
Roderich thought back to the countless hours he'd spent learning the language, trying to come up with something. He'd abandoned Yiddish years ago, long before he abandoned his last name. Only a few prayers came to mind, ones he'd said thousands of times. "May mir zen der tog ven mlkhmh aun bladshed ufhern ven a groys shlum vet arumnemen di gantse velt," he said in a soft voice.
"See, it wasn't that bad." Lilli flashed him a grin. "Do you know what any of that means?"
"May we see the day when war and bloodshed cease, when a great peace will embrace the whole world," Roderich translated. "There's a lot more to the prayer; like I said, I was a bad kid and never paid attention, so most of it is completely lost."
"That's perfect," Lilli whispered, Roderich not sure if she was talking about the Yiddish or the railings. "…Are you scared, Herr von Wolffe? Of being found out?"
"I am. Who isn't scared of the future? The thing is, I'm not afraid of dying. If they kill me when they find out I'm not a von Wolffe but an Edelstein, so be it. Death isn't the monster we've all made it out to be. What terrifies me is the thought that they'd keep me alive."
"You're scared of living?"
"Shouldn't we all be? At least death is certain," Roderich said. "You're either dead or you're not. There's no in between. And when you're alive, nothing is for sure. One minute everything's fine, the next…"
"It's all over," Lilli finished.
"You're a clever girl, Lilli."
It was hard being alone.
Ludwig tried to tell himself that he was strong; he would be fine all by himself. Time and again he repeated those words to himself when he left his native Baden; once he was in Vienna, everything would fall back into order. Surely, being alone couldn't be that bad. It would be nice to have some quiet, he told himself. Then when he came home to an empty house every night, he realized how much he needed someone. He missed having someone waiting for him, someone to talk to and laugh with.
A long time ago, he used to have someone. Of course, that someone had to go join the war effort, make his parents proud and all that. He forgot about his younger brother, leaving him to fend for himself.
They'd been together through everything, Gilbert and Ludwig. Through their mother's death, Gilbert's motorcycle wreck that nearly killed him, their father's slow slip into insanity, they'd always had each other. They were the one constant in the other's life, the one thing that would never change. Without Gilbert, Ludwig didn't know what to do with himself.
He tried to be happy for his brother, Ludwig really tried. And on the outside, he was. Gilbert was finally successful, he had a wife, he wasn't getting into bar fights every Saturday. What wasn't there to be happy about? But inside, Ludwig felt angry, jealous, hurt, and above all, empty. Life without Gilbert was dull, leaving Ludwig with no reason to want to get up in the morning other than knowing he had to go to work and take care of his dog.
Were work and his dog the lone things he was living for? Ludwig would've liked to think he had something else in his life – if only that wasn't a lie. There was nothing left for him in Vienna, save for the Gestapo. His whole life was focused on crime now. That and digging up old papers for Gilbert, which wasn't exactly exciting.
These were the thoughts that attacked Ludwig as he sat on his front porch, too exhausted to fall asleep. He wanted to sleep so badly, and yet, his body refused it.
"It isn't fair, Berlitz," Ludwig said, stroking the German shepherd's white fur. "Gilbert gets all the fun. And what do I get? Criminals and headaches."
Berlitz whined, putting his head in Ludwig's lap. He looked up at his master with his cloudy eyes, lowering his ears.
"Sometimes, it's hard to find the motivation to keep going. After you're gone, I don't know what's going to get me up in the morning. If investigation keeps going at this pace, I can tell you I certainly won't want to go to work. Do you know what I had to do last night? I practically beat a man to death. Although, this man is some sort of anomaly that doesn't feel pain," Ludwig added, thinking back to all the things he'd done to Ivan. He could still hear the man's fingers snap – Ivan didn't cry out. He laughed.
"Do you think I'm going straight to Hell?" Ludwig asked Berlitz. "I know I'm bad, but is what I'm doing really that awful compared to what they're doing in Leningrad? We've all got a little bit of evil in us, surely it isn't just me. As a matter of fact, I'm one of the better ones at the office.
"It's tough to be 'good' now. What even is good anymore? What I'm doing is wrong, what the Russians are doing is wrong, what everyone else is doing is wrong. Don't tell anyone," he said, lowering his voice, "but I sometimes I wonder if we're fighting on the wrong side of the war."
Berlitz wagged his tail, licking at Ludwig's face. Was that a sign of approval? Ludwig could never be sure with Berlitz – he always seemed rather opinionated for a dog.
"What would I do without you?" Ludwig asked, scratching the old dog behind his ear. "You know more of my secrets than my own brother. Mostly because you can't trust Gilbert with anything. He'd sell me out for one Reichspfennig, that bastard. He never could keep a secret for long. It was hell when he was seeing Elizabeta; every day he was calling me, begging for my help. What could I do? He got himself into that mess.
"I can't believe he got mixed up with a married woman, though. I knew Gilbert was one for adventure, but that's too adventurous for him. I guess it ended up working out in the end and everyone was happy, except for Roderich."
Berlitz's ears suddenly perked up. He looked at the street, mouth curled into a snarl.
"Calm down, there's no one there," Ludwig said in a gentle voice, grabbing Berlitz's collar. If he ran off, Ludwig wasn't sure he could find his way home.
Berlitz kept growling, his legs bent and ready to chase after whatever was out there.
Ludwig put a hand on his pistol, the paranoia creeping back in. Working with the Gestapo made him distrustful of everything, this doubt often keeping him up at night worrying someone was out for him. And Berlitz didn't normally growl – he was a friendly spirit who wasn't anywhere near as suspicious as his master.
And then he saw who was putting Berlitz on edge.
Roderich von Wolffe was walking home, looking down at the sidewalk with his coat pull tight over his chest. He looked to be just as wary as Ludwig was, if not more. What was there for him to be afraid of?
Unless he's hiding something.
"Guten Tag, Herr von Wolffe," Ludwig called. Roderich instantly tensed up, turning to face Ludwig.
"Oh, Guten Tag, Herr Beilschmidt," he stammered.
"It must've been quite the surprise to see Colonel Braginsky this morning," Ludwig said, trying to pull Roderich into a conversation.
Roderich nodded. "I'd nearly forgotten about him, thank you so much for reminding me. Well, now, I better be going."
"Where are you off to in such a rush?"
"I'm going to Wolfsburg."
Was that the reason for his worry? "Not to see Elizabeta, are you?" Ludwig asked. "Gilbert isn't on leave."
"I know that. This is strictly for business. I was working all day, you see, painting and all that, and I can't go in these clothes…" Roderich trailed off, the colour disappearing from his face.
"You don't have a job." Ludwig got up, keeping a firm grip on Berlitz's collar. He went over to Roderich, holding Berlitz back so there wasn't a fatality. "Where are you working now?"
"Before I tell you anything, you have to understand that everything is a horrible mistake. None of this was meant to happen. I didn't go up to this man and ask for a job," Roderich explained hurriedly.
"Where the hell are you working?"
"I made a mistake a few days ago," Roderich said, eyeing Berlitz. "And that mistake ended with me owing a lot to Basch Zwingli. I realize you two have a grudge or something, but I am not part of anything he's doing. All Basch is having me do is fix his house. If it's any consolation, I hate him, too."
"Basch Zwingli?" Ludwig echoed, hoping he'd heard right.
"Ja. Short, angry, blond, with a cute sister? Anyway, he thinks he owns me right now, and I have this 'debt' to work off. I'm not part of whatever you think he's doing, I promise."
"I'm just amazed you somehow got screwed up with him," Ludwig said. "He's a rather interesting character, but I could never see him with you."
"I can't see myself with him. If you're not going to arrest me, can I go? I've got to get to Wolfsburg," Roderich said, a bit of colour coming back into his face. "I'm terribly sorry for any trouble I've caused you."
"No, you haven't done anything. Auf Wiedersehen."
"Auf Wiedersehen."
Ludwig watched the man until he reached the corner, smiling at how easily manipulated some people could be. Basch would have Roderich working for him in no time, and Roderich would never know it. He'd think he was still paying off his debts. It was a gutsy move, using Roderich like that. Basch must've thought he was pretty smart for coming up with such a plan.
"It's sad, Berlitz," Ludwig said as he went back inside. Berlitz followed him into the living room, laying down at the man's feet. "Some people truly are innocent, but they get mixed up with the wrong people. Roderich's a good man; down on his luck, but mostly good. Shame he'll have to be arrested with Basch."
Berlitz yipped happily.
"What sort of promotion do you think they'll give me, arresting a Resistance leader and Hitler's Beethoven?"
Gilbert looked over the letter once more, making sure he wasn't misreading something or skipping over a line. The words were exactly the same as when he'd read them the past eight times; neat, looping cursive in perfect lines. He wanted to believe it was a joke, but Ludwig wasn't the joking type. Perhaps it was a mistake, a mistranslation? No, that would mean Ludwig – the perfect human being – would actually have to make an error.
He wasn't sure what to think anymore. Part of him was in denial, and the other part of him felt like he knew it all along. The whole idea was outlandish to begin with, however, the more Gilbert thought it over, the more it made sense.
Once again, Gilbert found himself rereading the paragraph Ludwig circled in red ink.
"I have reason to believe Colonel Braginsky is homosexual," Ludwig wrote in his flawless cursive. "You may have already figured this out, as you know him better than I do. Regardless, he seems to be very closeted about his behaviours. Hochstetter wasn't able to get any direct answers, we think his 'partner' of sorts is Toris Laurinaitis. Toris, on the other hand, wants no part of this relationship. Or maybe he does, again, I haven't actually met him. And I'm not saying you should separate the two – it is your prison camp – but you may want to consider it."
Gilbert put the letter down on his desk, holding his head. How could I have missed something as big as Ivan's sexuality? he asked himself. For God's sake, I've put up with the man every damn day for the past year! I know him better than I know my wife! Shouldn't it all have been obvious? No, he's a secretive kind of bastard.
"Gilbert? I have Toris, do you want me to send him in?" Elizabeta called from the other room.
"Bitte."
Elizabeta pushed open the door, giving Toris an encouraging nudge. He came into the office, looking like a lost puppy. Gilbert already knew the first thing out of his mouth would be an apology just by looking at him.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't even know what I did this time," Toris said, exactly as Gilbert suspected. "Is this about Raivis? Please don't get mad at him, sir. He's fourteen, he doesn't know any better."
"Sit down," Gilbert ordered. Toris immediately complied, seeming much more submissive than usual.
"Please don't put him in solitary, he has an abandonment problem. Raivis can't handle being alone for long periods of time," Toris added like a worried mother. "He gets scared."
"This isn't about Galante. This is about you."
"Me?" Toris asked.
"And you're not in trouble, either." Gilbert paused for a moment, looking for the right words to use. "I need you to answer a few questions honestly, no matter what the answer may be. I promise I won't use anything against you."
Toris tucked a stray strand of his dark hair behind his ear, his face already growing red. "So you've found out about Ivan, haven't you?"
"I must say, I was…startled," Gilbert said, amazed that Toris already knew what he was going to say. Was he prepared for this conversation?
"Everyone is. They think I'm 'too innocent' or 'too good.' And no one ever suspects Ivan."
"Well, then, I guess I won't have to ease into things for you. All I want is honest answers. You do have a right to refuse to answer, as well. And no matter what you say, you still have my respect. Now, are you and Colonel Braginsky in a romantic relationship?"
Toris shrugged. "I say it isn't one, he may say it is, we're not sure at this point."
"I won't tell Braginsky any of this – you can give me the honest answer."
"It's more of a possessive friendship than anything, if that makes sense. I don't think there's love involved. Of course, I could be wrong," Toris said. "I tend to be wrong about a lot of things."
"So, do you believe Braginsky is homosexual?" Gilbert asked.
"I don't know, to be honest. He's just sort of…Ivan? He's never told me about any romances with anyone else. And sometimes he tries to be romantic with me, but it's mostly joking stuff, never serious. Again, I could be misreading everything. I'm kind of oblivious to things like this."
"And are you…you know?"
"In love with him?" Toris finished. He gave Gilbert a tired smile, like he'd been asked the same question time and time again. "No. No I'm not. This started out as a friendship, and I intend to end it that way."
"But are you gay too?" Gilbert said, feeling horrible for asking such a rude question.
"Me?" Toris almost laughed, his green eyes gleaming. "Nobody's ever asked about me. Um…I don't think I am. No, maybe…Can you be slightly homosexual? Like not 'technically' in love with another man, but you think he's cute? No, no, no, I'm definitely heterosexual. But then again…" he faltered, trying to make up his mind. "I definitely like women. I think."
"I can see why no one ever asks you," Gilbert muttered. "This should just be a yes or no question."
"Oh, um, no? I really can't answer that; I've never actually loved someone. I'd like to think I'm heterosexual, if that makes any difference."
"Please be serious with this question. Do you want me to remove you from Barrack Two?" Gilbert asked.
Toris' smile was gone in an instant. "No. I have to stay there."
"Toris, I don't want Braginsky to hurt you or use you. If something is going on, tell me."
"I can't leave, though. I have to take care of Raivis, and make sure Eduard isn't coming up with a stupid escape plan, and keep Alfred in line. We're like a family, you see, and I'm in charge of making sure no one gets hurt. And I can suffer through a few more years with Ivan," Toris reassured him. "I'll be fine."
"If you say so. If you ever want out, come talk to me," Gilbert said, folding up Ludwig's letter and burying it under the ever growing pile of papers on his desk. He'd like to leave it there and forget about the whole ordeal, but someday he'd finally do his work and find the letter again.
"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else you'd like to ask me?"
Gilbert thought for a moment, making sure he hadn't missed anything. "No, I can't think of anything else. Would you tell Elizabeta to send Colonel Braginsky in?"
"Yes, sir."
Ivan came in soon after Toris left, keeping strangely quiet. Gilbert waited for him to say something, to make some joke about the Gestapo, but he was silent. He sat down, keeping his eyes focused on the floor. Again, Gilbert waited for a smile or a rude comment.
Nothing.
Who was this man sitting in front of him? He certainly wasn't Colonel Braginsky, Gilbert decided. He wasn't smiling, laughing, joking, doing anything Ivan normally did. This man was quiet; unnervingly, deathly quiet. His eyes were empty without their playful twinkle. His fingers were rusted with dried blood, held straight by splints and white tape. Everything about him looked broken. Nose, fingers, wit, spirit.
"Welcome back," Gilbert said, hoping that would prompt a response.
"Would you skip to the part where you make me wish I was dead?" Ivan asked in a dull voice. Where was the life?
"So, tell me about your Gestapo visit."
Ivan looked up, his eyes pleading for pity. "Please, Herr Commandant. Get it over with."
"What did they do to you in Vienna?" Gilbert asked. He'd thought it would feel good to see Ivan so defeated – but it felt terrible. He wasn't expecting Ivan to be this beaten.
"Don't you want to call me any names?" Ivan sounded desperate now, asking to be insulted. "Don't you want to see me fall apart again?"
"You and I both know I live for your suffering. However, even I have standards. Give me a few days or so, and then I'll start insulting you. Right now, I want answers. Where did you send that file to?"
"Vienna," Ivan muttered, picking at the loose strings of his scarf.
"Why?"
"I felt like it. Come on, sir, don't you want to call me out?" He sighed, glancing back up at Gilbert. "You know you want to remind me how I'm such a gay, sex crazed demon. Would you just say it already?!"
"I wasn't going to say that," Gilbert snapped. "And who the hell called you that?"
"Your brother's friend. Your brother said worse. Most of it was about my relationship with Toris. Your brother told me I should kill myself."
And only then did it make sense. Gilbert figured out how they got Ivan to snap – why didn't he think of it first? He'd tried using Toris as leverage in the past, but he never used him correctly. Ludwig and Hochstetter must've built upon the two's relationship instead of going right to threatening to murder Toris.
"To answer your question, no, I've never had sex with Toris. Hell, I've never even kissed him. But you people are so damned twisted, you'd do anything to see me break," Ivan muttered. "You'd make up all these lies about me just to see me snap. And now you've done it. I can't even look at Toris the same way."
"You brought this all upon yourself when you stole that file," Gilbert reminded him. "So stop trying to play victim here. Next time you want to steal something, make sure it's worth it. Ludwig's sending all that information right back to me – your pretend mission was worthless."
"I'm not playing victim."
"Yes, you are."
"Can you give me my sentence so I can go back to my insignificant life?"
"You want a sentence?" Gilbert growled. "Fifteen days in solitary, all privileges revoked for two months, and you sure as hell aren't going to see Toris for a long time."
"Oh, already playing off the 'Ivan's a gay man' card, aren't we? Guess what, I don't need to see anyone. I can live the rest of my life alone. Or I can end it myself like the bastard you call a brother suggested. There's an idea." Ivan gave him a faked smile, showing off a blank space between his front tooth and canine.
Gilbert tried his best not to laugh, but how could he not? Ivan looked like a child, innocent and clueless and strangely faultless. It didn't fit his personality at all.
"Laughing at a man at his wit's end," Ivan snarled. "That's what you Nazis have come to."
"You look like you're five, who wouldn't laugh? And besides, no one can commit suicide here without written permission from Berlin and Moscow, in your case."
Ivan stood up, his intact hand clenched into a fist. "Watch me. Watch me find a way to kill myself."
"You'll get over it soon, and then go back to being you. Someone will talk you out of it, it'll be painfully dramatic, lots of tears and all that heartbreaking stuff. I have no doubt that you'll be fine come October," Gilbert said, waving Ivan off. "Have fun in solitary confinement."
Ivan didn't bother to say anything else when the guard came in and grabbed him, only giving Gilbert glares.
"That went well," Elizabeta called after the door slammed closed.
"He said he's going to kill himself," Gilbert replied, still smiling at the thought of Ivan's missing tooth.
"Really?"
Gilbert got up, going out into the adjoining room. "What," he said, leaning up against the door frame, "are you worried?"
"He's a very determined person and he just might."
"Don't you worry your pretty little head. Ivan will be perfectly…" Gilbert trailed off, watching a polished black Horch pull into the main yard. It wasn't a staff car – no, there would've been Nazi flags and a driver, but the man was by himself. "Hey, was anyone supposed to visit us today?"
"Not that I was aware of," Elizabeta answered, glancing out the window.
"Probably some jackass general thinking he can tell me what to do," Gilbert mumbled. He went out to the front porch, Elizabeta following close behind.
The man who got out of the car looked professional, to say the least. He stood tall and was well dressed, indigo eyes hidden behind glasses. His dark hair framed his pale face, a stray strand making a curl. He looked like the kind of man described in romance novels, dark and mysterious and not quite perfect. Gilbert could tell he was some sort of Nazi elite, but who?
"Heil Hitler," the man said, giving Gilbert the relaxed salute reserved for acquaintances and again, the leaders of the Third Reich. That man must've thought he was something special.
"Heil Hitler," Gilbert said.
The man came up to the two, giving them the look Gilbert used with his prisoners, the "you-are-lower-than-me" look. "Pleasure to see you again, Frau Beilschmidt. I can see your standards have gone down since we last spoke." His voice was just as condescending as his expression.
"Same could be said for you," Elizabeta replied with an uncharacteristic edge to her voice. "I've heard you've taken up drowning your sorrows in beer."
"Who isn't at this point? Still beats having Snowflake over here for a husband," he shot back, gesturing to Gilbert.
"Drunk."
"I'd rather be an alcoholic than a backstabbing cheat like you," the man said with a smile.
"Excuse you, but that's my wife you're talking about," Gilbert snarled, stepping between the two. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my camp and talking shit?"
"You must be the infamous Colonel Beilschmidt," he said. "And you're so much better than me? Have you ever been out in the sun?"
Gilbert grabbed the man by his collar, wishing he could break his pretty face. "You have two seconds to get out of here before I murder you."
"Murder me?" The man started laughing, as if Gilbert really wouldn't kill him. "Oh, my, you'd have the Führer out for your ugly hide."
Gilbert pushed the man away from him, cradling the pistol he kept in his pocket. "Who the hell are you?"
The man stuck out his hand. "My name is Roderich von Wolffe. And believe me, I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."
A/N: Shame, I couldn't find any real history notes this time around. Don't worry, though, the next chapter has a TON of explanations behind it. You'll get your history fix.
Translation notes:
Untermensch – literally "under person" in German. Used to describe the "inferior people" like Jews, Roma, Slavs, and black people.
Da. Ochen', ochen' bol'no. Razbityy – Yes. Very, very hurt. Broken.
Je vais devoir le tuer – I'd have to kill him.
Arrêtez d'être un tel enfant. Il était seulement vingt minutes, qui ne va pas te tuer – Stop being such a child. It was only twenty minutes, which isn't going to kill you.
Je ne veux pas un homme qui est pas ponctuel, fin de l'histoire – I don't want a man who isn't punctual, end of story.
Shout out to my awesome Jewish uncle, who helped with the Yiddish. If you can read Yiddish and something isn't right with my translations, my uncle is 70, he can't remember a whole lot.
And again, I can barely speak German. I don't know any foreign languages, so all my stuff comes from Google Translate and a few unreliable sources. Thank you for understanding.
Oh, boy, there were a lot of new reviewers/followers! Thank you to Resistant Raisin, booklover4816, GoneInASecond, Chizu5645, EllaAwkward, idrinkwaterjuicesoda, gaubong708, mk109, Nyxzia, CitizenofHedwigpolis, SaoirseParisa, Swing-Stole-My-Heart, and Comix and Co! I feel really popular right now!
I haven't said this in a while, but I hope all you guys are doing well. I'd be sincerely worried if something happened to you. I know, I'm such a mom friend, but you wonderful people are the sole reason I'm still working on this story.
See you all next chapter!