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Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach followed the same routine every morning when he woke at precisely 06:30. He got out of bed, dressed, and ran around the house a few times, then showered, brushed his teeth, shaved and dressed for work. The routine had not been altered in all his adult years, Sunday through Saturday, rain, sleet or snow. Until one particular Monday...

"Gott in Himmel," Klaus muttered, glaring blearily at his chiming alarm clock. He'd *never* hit the snooze button, NEVER! But it was clearly 06:35 -- he had overslept by five minutes! And there was something terribly wrong with him... his eyes felt scratchy, his head ached and his whole body seemed weighed down with fatigue, such as he only experienced after a day of dealing with Dorian. His body clearly wanted to turn back over, snuggle back into the covers, and go back to sleep, but Klaus wasn't having any of it. He dragged himself out of bed, stripped off his pajamas and underwear, and pulled on fresh underwear and his jogging suit. Then he stumbled downstairs and out the door, intending to jog until he felt normal again.

He hadn't gone more than three steps before he was doubled up on the dew-soaked lawn, puking his guts up into the rose bushes.

"What is *wrong* with me?!?" he wondered. "I feel... sick! But I NEVER get sick! NEVER! This must be Dorian's fault somehow!!!"

He staggered to his feet, and managed one limping course around the house, then went back in to shower and get ready for work. He simply wouldn't *allow* himself to feel sick, and would go on about his day like normal. Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach did NOT get sick.

Klaus was feeling much more like himself by the time he got to the office. He was a little hungry, but he didn't care to risk eating anything until he'd successfully completed his "mind over matter" technique of healing himself. He stalked over to his desk and seated himself, glaring at those who were unwise enough to notice the greenish tinge to his face, or the lines of tension around his mouth. Klaus had turned down the offer of an office of his own, because he preferred to be able to watch over his men as they worked, but right about now he was regretting that decision. If he had an office of his own, he'd be able to rest his head on the desk for a minute.

"Major..." That was A, and a very tentative A at that, B peeking around the edge of a filing cabinet. "Are you... erm..." His nerve failed him and he couldn't follow through on asking the Major how he was, so he changed the subject. "Aren't you supposed to be in that security meeting this morning?" he blurted out edgily, paling as Klaus leveled a green-eyed glare upon him that was almost fit to strip the flesh from his puny bones.

"Of course I'm supposed to be in the security meeting," Klaus snapped, clenching his teeth as another wave of nausea swept over him. He was starting to feel worse than ever -- and he couldn't believe he'd forgotten about that meeting! It was crucial that he make a good impression! "Are you implying that I'd forget anything so important?"

Stuttering, pale, A mumbled, "Sorry, sir, sorry!" and scuttled for the hills, promptly followed by B. Maybe if he called his wife, she'd pack something really warm for him to wear to Alaska....

"Ah, now this looks delicious," the Commander in Chief said, beaming. Klaus managed something of a sickly smile in reply and tried not to inhale; the scent of the oyster stew was enough to make his gorge rise in the back of his throat. The meeting had gone well so far, but he was certain he wouldn't survive lunch! As his stomach roiled warningly, he grabbed up a breadstick and bit off a chunk of it quickly, hoping that the plain food would help. He chewed and swallowed slowly, waiting until his stomach had declared its willingness to accept the bread before taking another bite.

"Well, I must say I'm very impressed," the Commander in Chief said, still smiling broadly. Klaus turned to smile at him, and the sight of the man eating oyster stew was enough to make his stomach lurch. Desperately, he turned to his superior officer, who was watching him with a mildly alarmed expression.

"Eberbach? Is everything all right?" he asked, and Klaus tried to scoot his chair out and make a run for the bathroom, but the chair leg was stuck on the edge of the carpet, imprisoning him, and there was nothing he could do but helplessly empty the contents of his stomach into the Commander in Chief's lap.

The only thing that could make his day worse would be...

"Darling! Are you all right? What's happened to him?"

Dorian Red Gloria, Earl of Gloria and infamous art-thief Eroica, had just walked into the restaurant in time to see Klaus losing his lunch. He rushed forward to press the back of his hand to the German's forehead, checking for fever.

"Get your fucking hands off me, you fuh..." Klaus began, but fainted dead away before he could finish the customary endearment.

When he woke, it was to the distinctly acrid smell of alcohol and cough syrup -- not a pleasant combination on a *good* day, much less a bad one, as it reminded him most distinctly of physicals, which reminded him of fingers up his ass, which reminded him of...

"Where'z 'at vuggin' vaggot..." he mumbled, sitting up and promptly dropping back to lay down again as the world swam. He clapped a hand over his mouth in distress, nausea rising sharply and forcing him to close his eyes tightly to concentrate upon pretending that it wasn't there.

"I'm right here, darling," Dorian soothed, petting him with tentative touch, sweating just a bit. Klaus fainting was *never* a good sign, not without champagne! In fact, it seemed almost to be quite the precursor to distinctly *bad* things, and Dorian just wasn't sure that he was prepared for *distinctly bad things*. After all, James had been *particularly* whiny since the mission to Las Vegas, *demanding* his turn at 'doing it', and the thievery he'd attempted the night before had actually been *bungled*!

It was not, to put it simply, Dorian's *week*.

"Don't touch me," Klaus snapped, shrugging away from Dorian's soft, patting hand as though the blond's insidious faggotiness might rub off on him.

"Are you feeling better then, Darling?" Dorian asked, returning to the chair by Klaus's bed. After all, a grumpy Klaus was much more reassuring than a vomit-spattered unconscious one.

"I feel like four stacks of shit," Klaus muttered. "Where are my goddamned clothes?" A quick motion, two fingers mimicking the act of smoking, revealed his obvious need for a nicotine fix.

"Four stacks? Why would anyone stack shit?"


"Of course, darling," Dorian soothed, sweating slightly as the doctor slipped into the room.

"So sorry, Major Eberbach," the man with the walrus mustache harrumphed. "I'm afraid smoking would quite simply be out of the question at the moment."


Ohhhh, Dorian's ears were ringing and he *cringed* as Klaus sat up, turned alternately blue, then green, then red. "Darling, really, your blood pressure..."


"Yes, darling," Dorian laughed nervously, looking to the doctor for help. "Hehehe. He. He..."

The walrus mustache wriggled as the doctor moved closer, white labcoat stretched taut over an enormous belly. "I'm afraid young persons in your condition simply aren't allowed to smoke, Major. You aren't allowed to drink, either..."

"What the *FUCK* are you talking about!?" Klaus growled even as Dorian shook his head and placed a hand on his shoulder, one which was quickly shaken off with a twitch.

"Now, darling," the Brit sighed, "let me handle this. Doctor, *do* tell. What's the matter with my darling Klaus?"

"H'rm. Well, yes. Your d-... the Major seems to be... er... how to put this delicately. Major, were you aware of the specific nature of the contract you signed with NATO?"

"I signed the standard contract," Klaus said. "Now give me a cigarette and get to the fucking point."

"Er... well, it wasn't exactly standard, you see. In your contract, you specifically agreed to be subject to NATO experimental medical procedures."

"Oh, my GOD! What have you done to my Darling?!?"

"*I* didn't do it! It was yourself, if you take my meaning," the doctor protested.

"We don't take your meaning," Klaus snapped. "Now just spit it out, whatever the fuck you're trying to say, and then give me my fucking clothes so I can have a fucking cigarette!!"

"As I told you, you simply can't smoke right now!" the astonishingly rotund doctor replied heatedly. "And those are *orders,* Major, so don't even think about doing otherwise! You signed a contract agreeing to be subject to NATO's medical department in the event-"

"What the FUCK does that have to do with my needing a FUCKING CIGARETTE!?!"

"It would be bad for the BABY!" the doctor shouted.

At that, Dorian broke into laughter. "Oh, how marvelous, what a splendid joke! Now, tell us, what's wrong with my darling Klaus?"

"Oh, it's no joke, Eroica. Indeed, it's all your own doing. He agreed to the medical procedure, he agreed that he wouldn't attempt sex with a man, it's all in the contract! And yet there you have it. Naughty, naughty, naughty, Major!"

Klaus was surprisingly silent, his face twisting slowly into an unrecognizable sort of expression -- unrecognizable for the simple fact that no one but Dorian had ever seen him smashed on half a bottle of champagne. Indeed, that face spoke much of clear, unmitigated horror. Horror. Horrified realization. "Y-you mean I'm...."

"Knocked up! Enceinte! Bearing! Pregnant! Preggers! With child! BOUNTIFUL!" the doctor beamed at him, positively glowing with *pride*.


And then...

He puked, before fainting dead away once again.

"Oh," Dorian said. "Dear."

Schloss Eberbach, the ancestral home of Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach, was one of the most exquisitely beautiful castles in all of Germany. Indeed, its lands were glorious, its people happy, and it was steeped in history and tradition - tradition in which *women* had children, and men remained downstairs drinking brandy and smoking cigars.

That was the tradition.

It was one tradition with which Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach patently agreed.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the rest of the world was utterly against him. From the moment his request for termination of the loathsome, repulsive parasite (and this time, he *didn't* mean Dorian!) had been denied to the moment at which he had discovered the entirety of the Alphabet had moved into Schloss Eberbach to keep watch on him, his life had not been his own. Even his hidden stash of smokes had been trashed from their place in his bedside table. The Mosele had been carefully locked away in the wine cellar. Any attempt to do something that he was not *supposed* to be doing (like smoking or running around the house or generally anything considered harmful to the nasty little leech sucking the right of life out of him) would eventually result in being tied down and *forced* to do only things that were good for him.

Worst of all...

Dominic had called *his father*!!!!!!!

"Lousy disloyal SON OF A BITCH!" he yelled sullenly, kicking over a plant and drawing Z's eyes to him. Those blue eyes just hadn't looked at him in quite the same way, not since that episode with the half-eaten underwear....

"What are you looking at?" Klaus snapped.

"Major, were you aware..."

"That my father's coming?"

"Er, no. That Eroica's men are moving in this morning."


"Now, Major. Don't forget your blood pressure..."

"There's nothing WRONG with my fucking blood pressure that a cigarette and a little PRIVACY wouldn't cure! And my gun. My gun would definitely make my blood pressure better." First he'd shoot Dorian, and then that obnoxiously, patronizingly smug doctor, and that would make him feel *much* better! And then, he'd take on anyone at NATO who'd even *thought* about making his life decisions for him!

"Major..." Z began, uncomfortably. /Damn, I'm in a tight spot!/ The Major was so *cranky* every time Z had the misfortune to have guard duty! It must be because he was blond...

"Darling!" a familiar voice called, interrupting whatever Klaus had been about to snarl. "And how's my beautiful bountiful German today?"

The sound of that delicious, golden voice travelled through the air and up Klaus's spine, slowly but surely raising every hair upon the back of his neck, even the hairs upon his arms as he turned around, green eyes glowing with a demonic light that seemed to declare Dorian's eminent date of *death* -- namely, within the next five seconds. "I am not..." he began in a low growl, "your MOTHERFUCKING BEAUTIFUL BOUNTIFUL GODDAMNED MOTHERFUCKING ANYTHING!!!"

"Ohhhh!!!!" James wailed from behind Dorian. "He's so UNGRATEFUL! I'd do anything, anything at all, my Lord, to be bountiful for YOU!"

It was simply *not* Dorian's *day*.

Perhaps, he decided, it was not going to be his *year*.

He sincerely hoped that his decade would get *better*.

Luckily enough, he was taking most of it in stride. Aside from the *dreadful* task of having someone pack everything up for their move from North Downs, and aside from the equally horrific sounds of James's week-long yelling-crying screaming fit, he had managed to pick up some rather *lovely* cigars on his way to Schloss Eberbach. Indeed, he'd even had each of them outfitted with lovely little satin bows, pink and blue with lots of little hearts embroidered all over them.

They were gaudy.

He adored them.

"Here, Z," he laughed a bit nervously, slipping loose from James's tight grasp and momentarily ignoring Klaus's bellowing. "Would you like a cigar?"


"YOU BROUGHT FUCKING CIGARS INTO MY GODDAMNED FUCKING HOUSE KNOWING I COULDN'T MOTHERFUCKING HAVE ONE!?!?!?!?!?!?!" Klaus bellowed.... and then, to his complete, utter, irredeemable shame, promptly burst into tears.

"D-Darling..." Dorian stammered, wide-eyed with shock. Klaus stamped a foot at him, gave him a withering glare through tear-silvered eyes, and stormed off to his room.

"I want a moment alone," he growled as Z dutifully trailed behind him.

"I'm sorry, Major, but you know I can't do that..."

"For God's sake!" Klaus sobbed. "At least let me have a LITTLE FUCKING DIGNITY!!!"

"Dear me," Dorian said faintly, hand pressed to his cheek as James continued to cry in the background. "Oh, my poor darling..."


"Yes, yes, I know, Jamesie-dear, and we'll think of *something*, but for just now, why don't you go and fetch that large pretty *box* in the front seat of the Lamborgini, won't you, sweet?" Dorian pleaded prettily. He was fortunate that James chose that moment to run off and blow his nose, for that gave him the opportunity to fetch the box from its spot beside the back door *himself*, as he'd actually brought it in *with* him. Thankful to have his cute (but aggravating) little accountant out of the way, he rapidly unwrapped every hard-edged little part of it and dragged out the largely overstuffed *duck*. Yes, indeed, Klaus wouldn't be terribly fond of a *bear* or any other such childish thing, but ducks... THOSE were manly enough creatures, weren't they? After all, men hunted them, shot them, stuffed them, things like that. Perhaps it wasn't as manly as, say, a *tiger*, or that lovely little elephant he'd seen, but it had *much* fewer sharp edges than either of those things had possessed -- indeed, just two little glass eyes and lots of very, very soft faux fur.

Thank God.

With a sigh, he trudged up the back stairs, heading directly for the second floor. This, of course, was not the floor upon which Klaus's bedroom habitually resided; but there was one room to which Klaus would run given such a traumatic reaction as *crying*.

The study.

Indeed, that was the place Klaus would go, where the air was faintly reminiscent of formerly smoked cigarettes and cigars, somehow reminiscent of better times, times in which he could get his own nicotine fix.

Dorian hoped most sincerely that there were no sharp objects close at hand.

"Darling?" he called, poking his head around the door.

"Go 'way, faggot." The reply was almost hopelessly muffled, and as Dorian peered around the door frame he saw his beloved Klaus curled up in an overstuffed chair, face buried in the cushioning softness.

"Darling! You aren't trying to asphyxiate yourself, are you?!?" Dorian cried, appalled.

"I told you to go away," Klaus sniffled, and pulled back to glare at him poisonously. "The chair smells like cigarettes. I can't smoke, but nobody can stop me from sitting in my own chair!"

"Oh, Darling," Dorian sighed. "Well, I've brought you something that might make you feel better..."

"My gun? My cigarettes? A do-it-yourself abortion kit?"

"Of course not, Darling, don't be ridiculous!" the Earl chided. "You don't mean such a thing! I didn't bring any of them, I'm afraid. No, I brought you... this."

That having been said, Dorian held out his duck. It was a lovely, *fluffy* sort of duck, made up of soft yellow plush with an equally downy bill, little white fuzz poking up from the top of its head. It was adorable. It was precious.

It really *pissed* Klaus off.

"What the *fuck* is that!?" he growled.

"It's your present, darling! A said that you were having trouble sleeping nights and so I thought..."


"Well," Dorian answered with injured dignity, clutching the duck, "once or twice..."

"You..." Storming over, Klaus snatched the duck away from him and promptly *swatted* him with it. The glass eyes struck him squarely between his own the first time it hit him. The second and third times, it most unfortunately landed on his nose, his cheekbone, and by the fourth, Klaus was well- accustomed to the location of those glass eyeballs. "YOU... GODDAMNED... FUCKING.... ~*FAGGOT*~!!! THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT! YOUR FUCKING FAULT I'M IN THIS FUCKING POSITION! YOU COULDN'T KEEP YOUR GODDAMNED FUCKING *PANTS* CLOSED...!"

"Well," Dorian replied meekly, "you *asked* me to do 'it', darling, and you *did* remind me about obey..."

"DON'T YOU FUCKING THROW THAT IN MY FUCKING FACE!" Klaus yelled. "You knew EXACTLY what you were fucking doing! And I'm going to fucking kill you for it! But first, I'm going to make you WISH you were fucking dead!"

"Hehehe. He. He," Dorian answered weakly.

"Major..." Z said softly, catching Klaus's wrist before he could inflict permanent damage with the by-now battered-looking duck. "Please, calm down. Beating Lord Gloria senseless with a duck could be bad for your health."

"Just a little!" Klaus pleaded. "Just until he loses consciousness!"

"No," Z said kindly but firmly, guiding Klaus away from his intended victim.

"Just a few contusions and abrasions!"

"Lunch time, Major. I think Cook has made some lovely minestrone for lunch. Won't that be tasty?"

"I hate minestrone."

"But it's good for the baby."


"Bundle of joy."

"Leech. Fucking tapeworm. Bane of my existence."

"Now, Major. I know you don't really mean that."

"You have no fucking clue, Z."


He *waddled*.

He waddled... a LOT.

"My, you're putting on weight, darling. It's so sweet!" Dorian sighed at the breakfast table, beaming at him from across the way.

"I want to put on weight!" James sobbed. "I want to be bountiful!"

Life was never dull at Schloss Eberbach.

"I am NOT putting on weight!" he snapped out, despite the fact that he had been forced to put on jogging pants that morning because none of his other pants (and, for that matter, none of the pants anywhere else in the house, even hidden in attic trunks) would fasten shut. "And I am anything but sweet, you goddamned idiot!"

"I just love it when you use such endearments, darling," Dorian sighed.

"I could be sweet," James whined.

"I'm sure you could, dear-heart," the blond thief agreed.

"Major," A said hesitantly; it had been his misfortune to draw Klaus-watching duty this morning.

"What!" Klaus snapped, turning to glare at him. A swallowed hard; after all, even though breakfast was a simple affair, he was certain that Klaus could use a spoon as a lethal weapon in a pinch.

"Er... well, that is, sir..."

"For God's sake, just spit it out!" Klaus growled. "Every-fucking-body except the faggot here can't seem to put two words together in my presence! It's fucking annoying!"

"I love you, too, Darling," Dorian said complacently.

"You're not eating, sir."


"It's important to maintain good nutrition, Major. Eating for two, and all that."



"I hear Alaska's cold this time of year."

"Hehehe. He. He..."

"He's right, Darling," Dorian said. "You really should eat up, you know. You need to keep your strength up."

With great dignity, Klaus lifted his head, pulled his shoulders back. "I'm not hungry," he declared stonily.

"I would eat for you if I was pregnant, Lord Gloria!" James wept.

"Yes, dear, I know. Klaus, if you don't eat, you know what will happen..." Dorian trailed off threateningly.

Klaus's shoulders slumped. "Ja, ja, ja. You'll bring in the needles and the IV bags and the strait jacket..."

"That's right, darling. Now, be a good boy and eat your eggs. Cook put *lots* of cheese in it, just what you need for good protein, hmmm?"

"I don't want it," the black-haired man sniffled childishly. The fact of the matter was that he feared constipation, a most unpleasant possibility in his condition. Indeed, lately there seemed to be a great amount of cheese in everything he ate, and the fear of being stopped up was almost as great as the horrifying knowledge of what those people would DO to him if that happened!

"Well," Dorian said reasonably, "is there something else you would rather have?"

"My cigarettes," Klaus sniffled. "Pants that button. A gun. A castration kit..."

"For yourself!?" A asked, startled.

"FUCK no!" Klaus cried. "For EROICA!!!"

"Hehehe. He. He," Dorian declared.

"But then *I* could never get pregnant!!!" James sobbed.

"You can have it," Klaus snapped.

"Oh, no, no, Darling. James would only produce *short* children!"

"WAAAAAH! You don't love me any more!" James wailed, and ran out of the room.

"That was an incredibly insensitive thing for you to say," Klaus managed to say before bursting into tears.

"Just what the Devil is going on here?"

Everyone in the room gasped in horror and turned to face the owner of the voice -- the Senior von dem Eberbach.

"Hehehe. He. He..." Klaus said. /Damn! We're in a tight spot!/

"Well, you see..." Dorian began nervously. "Ah... A?"

"Hehehe. He. He..." A replied. /Damn! We're in a tight spot!/

"Who are these men?" Klaus's father demanded. "Klaus. What is going on here? And have you been putting on weight?"

"I am *not* putting on weight!" Klaus replied, miffed.

"But, Darling, just this morning you couldn't even get your pants on," Dorian piped up.

"Darling?!?" the elder Eberbach echoed. "COULDN'T GET YOUR PANTS *ON*?!?"

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!" Klaus howled. "BUT FIRST I'M GOING TO FUCKING MAKE YOU FUCKING WISH YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD!!!" With that, Klaus burst into tears for the second time that morning, and ran out of the room at a quick waddle, with A hot on his heels.

"Hehehe. He. He..." Dorian chuckled weakly, finding himself alone in the room with Klaus's frightening father. /Damn! We're in a tight spot!/

"Now, then," the older man said with the same vicious smile Dorian was most familiar with as being Klaus's. "Perhaps, sir, *you* can offer some explanation of this morning's events, ja?"


It was DEFINITELY not going to be Dorian's year.

It was late in the third trimester that James brought it home.

The suit.

The FAT suit.

"See?" he beamed, quite pleased with himself. "Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it magnificent!? Isn't it just bloody PERFECT!?!?! And NATO even paid for it! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

So... perhaps the maniacal chuckle was a bit overdone.

"Yes, but what *is* it?" Dorian asked, blinking at it in confusion. It looked rather like someone had stuffed a great big round... THING with soft material for whatever purpose and he didn't know quite what to make of *that*.

"It's my *pregnant* suit," James said with all possible dignity. "If you won't do 'it' to me, too, then I'll just do it *this* way!"

Dear, oh, dear.

Between Klaus's father moving in, Klaus's constant crying, and the yammering of thieves, Alphabets and his weeping James, it was quite a wonder that Dorian had any hair left at all. Indeed, he was thinking of shaving it all off and moving to Borneo or some other god-awful out of the way place where no one would find him except that Klaus inevitably *would*. "So you're going to wear it," Dorian declared, deadpan.

"Yes, " James said happily. "I'm going to be pregnant, too!"

"Just bloody marvelous," he sighed. /Jamesie already acts as if he is, anyway.../ Well, with all of the crying and such, at any rate.

Just then, Klaus walked into the room. He took one look at James in the pregnant suit and burst into tears.

"You're all making fun of me!" he wailed, and waddled away just as fast as his swollen feet would carry him. "You're cruel! I want my FUCKING life back!"

/Hm,/ Dorian thought privately. /I can't wait until we get our *fucking* life back, either,/ he mused, thinking of all the naughty things he hadn't had the chance to teach Klaus... yet.

"And you can stop smirking!" Klaus shrieked over his shoulder. After all, eight months along or no, he was still virginally paranoid enough to *know* when that pervert's eyes were on his ass.

"Of course, darling," Dorian soothed, standing to follow him, lightly laying a hand on Klaus's shoulder. "Jamesie doesn't mean to make fun of you, you know..."

"I don't CARE!" came the wail, tears nearly *spouting* off of Klaus's face as he waddled along. "Don't touch me, you damned queer!"

Blue eyes rolled as B glanced at him nervously -- obviously, the poor Alphabet had lost the day's draw and was now forced to watch over the pregnant Klaus for the day. "Of course, darling. How are you feeling, then?" THAT brought a suspicious pause, Klaus going strangely silent for a moment. "Klaus, darling??"

"I feel fine," he huffed. "Leave me alone!"

"Well," B began tentatively, "I think he might be having trouble..." His voice dropped to a trepidatious whisper. "Going *potty*."

Klaus paused, turned beet-red, and grabbed B by his collar. "HOW DARE YOU SLANDER ME?!? How fucking DARE you? I'll feed you to the Polar Bears in Alaska!!!"

"B-but Major... you haven't gone all day!"

"Darling! Is that true?"

"No," Klaus said, releasing B with a huff. B fell to the floor in a heap, feeling immensely grateful to Dorian for distracting the rotund German. After all, lifting heavy weights like agents was undoubtedly bad for the baby!

"Darling..." Dorian said warningly.

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Klaus snapped, teeth clenched in pure aggravation. "I went this morning, same as always!"

"Hmmm. P was on duty this morning, wasn't he, B?"

"Y-yes, Lord Gloria," B stammered out shakily.

That golden head nodded solemnly. "Well, then. I suppose we can always just ask P, then, couldn't we? He'd have emptied the little output container if Darling *went*, wouldn't he?"

"Y-yes, Lord Gloria," B repeated calmly.

"I would potty for you!" James wailed. "I would potty every DAY for you! Going poo is easy!"

"Don't TALK about such things!" Klaus yelled, heated color creeping up in his face. "The solid thing is not something one should discuss!!"

"It's just *poo*," James sniffled, shaking his head.

Dorian sighed. /Bora Bora is nice this time of year.../ "Jamesie, my sweet, let's not be *vulgar*," he murmured. "We'll simply ask P. After all, P will know..."

"And I came on right after him!" B prompted.

"I used one of the other bathrooms!" Klaus said hurriedly. "Not the one with the pilgrim's hat! So there's no need to ask P about it."

"Darling, why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"

"I have no idea what you mean," Klaus said uncomfortably, turning his face away.

"Really, darling... I'd never expect you to fib to me," Dorian answered, face faintly disappointed.

"'m... not *fibbing*!" Klaus lied right through his teeth, lower lip pouting out as he rubbed his lower belly. It *did* rather ache, but what did they expect with all of the *cheese* they'd been feeding him!?!?

"I would use the pilgrim's hat!" James sighed, patting his artificially rounded belly. "Shall I, Lord Gloria?"

"Thank you all the same, Jamesie, no. I suppose we'll just have to talk to P, then, to get a straight answer.. B, has he gone into any other loo this morning since you've been watching?"

"No, sir," B said, wincing as the color in Klaus's face rose.

By this point, the Major was wondering if things could *get* more humiliating. Bad enough to have his house filled with people, patronizing him, leering at him, watching his every move like a hawk to prevent injury to the parasite that had taken over his entire fucking life. Worse to have them examining his... bodily output on a daily basis to determine that all was well with the little worm. But this! Discussing the whole thing right in front of him -- why, it was simply more than he could bear! And he knew, he just *knew*, what they were going to want to do to him, and he'd rather *DIE*!

"Then it should be a simple matter to determine the facts," Dorian said, with a smile that could only be considered menacing, considering what Klaus knew of Dorian's proclivities. "Right, *Darling*? And we'll get you fixed right up, so you'll be feeling better in no time."

"I FUCKING HATE *ALL* OF YOU!" Klaus bellowed suddenly, completely humiliated as he stamped one swollen foot in ire and Dorian and the others all smiled indulgently (except James, whose smile looked rather more like a triumphant smirk, but that's an entirely different story). Those fucking condescending assholes! They might as well pat him on the head! "AND IF YOU EVEN *THINK* ABOUT TOUCHING MY ASS, I'LL RIP YOUR INTESTINES OUT THROUGH YOUR ASSHOLE AND STRANGLE YOU WITH THEM!!!"

"What's going on out here?" a deep voice asked behind him, and Klaus's eyes widened in horror, the color draining from his face in a rush. Not his father! Anything but that!

"My poor Darling seems to be suffering from a minor bout of constipation," Dorian said sweetly. "Nothing to be concerned about."

"Constipation?" the elder Eberbach grunted. "Nonsense. He's a German. Just push with vigor, son. You'll be right as rain in no time."

Oh, God. It *could* get worse!

"Perhaps he needs a *suppository*," James offered, smile virtuously angelic despite the demonic gleam lighting up his eyes. "Those always set me right!! *I* would never suffer constipation and worry you, Lord Gloria!"

The conversation was almost too much for poor B, his tightly curled hair frizzing out from his head in little spikes as Klaus's hands came up to cover his face. "Um," he began tentatively, "maybe we should get some other opinions..."

"Why, that sounds just *marvelous*," Dorian agreed. "Do be a good boy and go fetch the other Alphabets, won't you? We can have a little talk with P, discuss what must be done...."

"DAMMIT, I WON'T DISCUSS THIS!" Klaus yelled, stomping his foot again.

"Dammit, you will," Dorian responded coolly with a smile. "I think a nice enema would do you *wonders*, darling."

"GAH!" Klaus declared, turning and waddling off as fast as he could go -- which wasn't very fast, for Dorian and Graf Eberbach kept up with him easily, James waddling along behind him clutching his pregnant-suited belly.

"Where do you think you're going, Darling?" Dorian asked, lengthening his stride to match that of the mother-to-be as he huffed and puffed his way down the hallway.

"AWAY from you!"

"Ah, the restroom. Wise idea, son. No sense putting these things off, you know," Graf Eberbach commented, as Klaus rushed into the bathroom -- the one room in the house where he was afforded even a modicum of privacy -- and slammed the door in the faces of those who followed him.

"We'll be right out here, Darling!" Dorian called. "Forming a backup plan, in case you're still unable to go!"

"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" Klaus screeched. "Don't stand out there LISTENING!!!" He kicked the door for good measure and crossed his arms with a huff. He'd probably curl up in the bathtub and take a nap, if he didn't *know* they'd just pick the lock to get at him, and then gang up on him and do nasty things to him! It was almost enough to make a grown man cry!

"Poor Darling; he's been so temperamental during this pregnancy," he heard Dorian's voice saying through the door.

"I AM NOT TEMPERAMENTAL! I'M TERMINALLY PISSED OFF! Now GO AWAY, YOU- YOU- GO AWAY!!!" That last statement had lacked impact, but what was a beleaguered pregnant man to do? It wasn't as if he could say 'fucking faggots' when his *father* was out there!

The sound of other voices joining the circus outside of his bathroom door came, then, and he just knew he was going to die of mortification if he didn't die of anger first!

"I heard Major Eberbach can't go potty!" said one voice.

"Has he tried suppositories?"

"No, no, he should simply push it out with *vigor*! He's a strong, healthy German man! Surely he can do that!!"

"Maybe we should be feeding him bran cereal first thing in the morning?"

"Well, perhaps an enema would help, but who'd want to do *that* to the *Major*?"

Dorian cleared his throat. "Perhaps Darling could better potty if we weren't so *loud*," he noted.

"I'm not going to do *anything* if you're all going to stand out there and *LISTEN* to it, you FUCKING MORONS! Now GO AWAY!!!"

"Hm. 'Temperamental' is one word for it," the elder Eberbach said.

"Well, that's Darling, you know," Dorian replied. "He always has had such a temper..."

"GO THE FUCK ***AWAY***!!!"

"Now, Darling, try to push without *straining,*" Dorian called through the door. "You don't want to raise your blood pressure!"

"If you people don't leave me the fuck alone, my blood pressure will SKYROCKET! DO YOU HEAR ME? MY VEINS WILL *EXPLODE* AND IT WILL BE ***ALL YOUR FAULT***!!!"

Several whispers were heard through the doors and then silence. It didn't last long before a voice raised softly. "Darling? How are things... you know... coming out in there?"


"Well," Dorian said, "THAT answers quite a lot."

P nodded. "He didn't go potty this morning..."

"Now that you mention it," T offered, "he didn't go potty yesterday, either."

"Does anyone recall when Major last went potty?" Z whispered.

Thoughtfully, A checked the flip-chart beside the door. "Says here that the last time was *Wednesday*."

"But it's *Friday afternoon*!" Dorian protested. "No one noticed he wasn't... you know..."

"Going *poo*," James offered with a solemn nod.


"Darling, I am *not* leaving until I'm sure you're all right!"


"I also promised to cherish you in sickness and in health, Darling. Though I must say you're not making it very easy!"

The unmistakable sound of sobbing carried through the door, and Dorian sighed, feeling like a heel. Klaus was so *sensitive* these days!

"Klaus, Darling," he called, "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean that."


"Just push with vigor, son!" the Graf Eberbach called. "With VIGOR!"


With a little motion, Dorian indicated that they should all be very quiet. "There, darling. Everyone's gone but me. How are you feeling?"

"GO AWA~AY!" Klaus wailed, sniffling. He was no closer to pottying than he'd been an hour ago, and misery was definitely overwhelming him. Oh, they were listening!!!!

"Darling, I think this has gone on long enough. Now, either you get serious, or I'll break in there myself and *help* you! And don't think I won't do it! Do you hear me, Darling?"

"Don't come in here!" Klaus sniffled, and then Dorian heard the sound of no longer-baggy sweatpants sliding to the floor. "I just want you to go away!" Klaus said mournfully. "How am I supposed to do this, when I know you're *listening*?"

"Would it help if I put my hands over my ears and hummed?"


"All right, Darling!" Oh, he was exasperated, but at least the Alphabet and Klaus's father and even *James* were remaining quiet! "I'll come back in fifteen minutes, then, and see, all right? And if you're still having problems..."


There were definite solutions!!

"Why can't you just go AWAY!?" Klaus wailed.

"Fifteen minutes!" Dorian promised cheerfully, shooing everyone into the hallway while he remained behind to wait...

And wait...

And wait.



"Darling! Your fifteen minutes are *UP*!! They were up twenty minutes ago! Now, open this door, darling! Vigorous or not, there's a time at which one must simply face *facts* and do the *unpleasant* *deed*!!!"

"NEVER!!!" Klaus bellowed, loudly enough to shake the rafters of the sturdy building. "I WANT MY FIFTEEN MINUTES! *WITHOUT* YOU STANDING OUT THERE LISTENING!!!"

"Darling, we don't always get what we want in life," Dorian said firmly, and picked the lock to the bathroom door, slipping into the room faster than you could say 'fucking faggot'.

Klaus shrieked like a girl. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE *DOING*?!?!?!?!?!"

"Do you suppose Lord Gloria's all right?" James asked worriedly, clutching at his overstuffed tummy nervously. From the other side of the closed bathroom door, assorted sounds of blood-curdling screams and other mayhem could be heard.

"For God's sake, if you're going to make my life a complete fucking HELL, just go ahead and do it already!" Klaus snapped. "WAIT! WAIT! NOT *THAT* 'IT'!!!"

"Darling, if you would just hold still, this would be a lot easier for both of us!"



There was a gasp of sheer, unadulterated horror at the suggestion. "You... you wouldn't..."

"There, now. See how easy that was?"

"I fucking hate you."

"Oh, yes, I think so," B answered. "I'm sure Lord Gloria will be just fine."

"I'm just not so sure about Major Eberbach," A muttered.

"Well," Z agreed, "so much for German vigor."

James sighed. "I wish *I* had Lord Gloria's hands on me like that..." THAT gained him quite a few very odd looks! "What!?"

Klaus's father cleared his throat. "Well, it would seem the matter will be taken care of shortly. Disburse!" It was as good as a direct order from Klaus himself, for all but James went tumbling along to his duties. "Well?" the older man asked.

"I'll just wait right here!" James answered cheerfully, wobbling as he sat his pregnant-suited-self down on the floor.

"Yes. Well." The man cleared his throat. "Quite."

"There, now, darling. Aren't you glad I came in to help you?"

"I wish I was dead..." Klaus whimpered miserably.

Dinner that evening was a somber affair. Klaus, humiliated beyond what he could bear, sobbed openly throughout the entire meal while his hateful, wretched cohorts continued discussing his bowels.

"Well, now, the Major's certainly feeling better tonight, don't you think?" A asked, nodding firmly despite the fact that Klaus was crying. They'd all become accustomed to *that*.

"It's always a relief to... well... when you haven't been able to," Z agreed.

"I know *I'm* relieved when I manage to... well. You know," P agreed.

"Go poo," James answered cheerfully, enjoying his meal quite a lot. /Mmmm. Cheese.../

"I- fucking- hate- all- of- you!" Klaus gasped between sobs, burying his face in his hands.

"Darling, eat your dinner," Dorian said, aware of the absolutely awe-struck looks the Alphabet kept giving him. After all, how many people had actually *touched* the ass of Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach and lived to tell the tale? And who could blame him if a smile tugged irrepressibly at the corners of his mouth, despite his best efforts to control it?

"No," Klaus said sullenly.

"Darling, we've been over this before. You have to eat to keep your strength up. Now, I want to see you make all-gone with that food." His tone of voice was stern enough to make Klaus cringe, but the German didn't back down.

"I said NO!" Klaus snapped, dashing tears from his eyes and glaring balefully at anyone unfortunate enough to meet his gaze. "It has *cheese* on it, and I'm not eating it! You can tell Cook that I'm never eating cheese again as long as I fucking LIVE!"

"I *like* cheese!" James cried. "I'll eat cheese for you, Lord Gloriaa~aa!!!"

"Yes, I know, Jamesie. Klaus, darling, *WHY* won't you eat your dinner?"

"Because!" Klaus sniffled, scowling. "Cheese makes it so that you... so that you...."

"Can't go?" Z offered.

"That's true," P said. "It does make it difficult to go sometimes when you're..."

"Oh," A agreed. "My wife..."


"Wahhh!!" James sobbed. "But I *LOVE* cheese!!!"

"THEN YOU'LL HAVE TO GO SOMEWHERE ***ELSE*** TO EAT IT!!!" Klaus bellowed, and took a deep breath, preparing to blister that idiot accountant's ears with a string of profanity such as the world had never known.

All that came out was a tiny squeak. "Oh!"

"Oh, Darling, now you've gone and yelled yourself hoarse," Dorian said wearily. "You really shouldn't carry on so; it's bad for your blood pressure."


"I'm glad you're beginning to see reason. While we're having a civilized conversation-"

"Oh! Oh! OH!"

"Oh oh oh???" James asked, blinking visibly.

"Oh oh OH!!!" Klaus cried!

"Oh oh OH!!" Z echoed.

"Oh...oh...oh?? Is it some sort of new code?" A asked worriedly, peering at Klaus as he yelled again.

"OH! OH!! OOOHHH!!!"

"OH!" Dorian yelped as comprehension dawned. Unfortunately, the realization that Klaus was having the baby drove every rational thought from the Earl's head; the best he could manage, in his efforts to explain, was to wave his arms frantically and bellow, "OH! OH!! OOOHHH!!!"

"OH, it's time!" James howled, clutching at his stuffed belly. "It's time, it's time!!"

"It's time!" the Alphabets yelled, and everyone jumped up from the table and ran out the door.

Klaus glared after them and laboriously hauled himself to his feet, then waddled along behind them, clutching at his belly.

He got to the front door in time to see all 27 cars peel rubber on their way to the hospital; the car bearing Dorian, James and the elder Klaus suddenly screeched to a halt, causing the Alphabets' cars to pile up in a huge mess at the foot of the driveway. Dorian scrambled out of the car and ran back to the house.

"Darling, what are you *doing?*" he asked. "Don't you know it's time to go to the hospital?"

"OH!" Klaus agreed, gritting his teeth as another contraction ripped through him. Dorian scooped him up and carried him to the car.

"Put me down! That's not dignified!" Klaus snarled, but another contraction shut him up.

"Dignified or not, Darling, I want to get you there *before* the baby's born," Dorian said, his own teeth clenched as, with a massive effort, he managed to get the mother-to-be into the car. He wasn't built for lifting and carrying heavy objects -- only small, stealable ones!

With a groan, he settled into the front seat of the car. "Ohhh, I think I hurt myself!"

"Oh!" cried Klaus. "Oh, oh... OHHHH!!"

"OHHHH!!" wailed James.

Klaus's father, like any conscientious Eberbach man, kept his mouth shut and *drove*, heading down good German roads at breakneck speeds, the car chorus keeping him entertained sans benefit of the radio.



"Oh, oh, OOOOOOHHHH!!!"

By the time he pulled up to the emergency room (creating a pile-up of already battered vehicles once again and destroying all of the work that had gone into getting them apart!), he was *entirely* grateful to stop the car. "All right," Graf Eberbach sighed. "Everyone out!"

"Ohhhhh!!" Dorian groaned. "I've pulled something awful. I can't get out..."

"MOTHER... OHHHH!!" Klaus bellowed. "Get me out of here, you bastard! NOOOOWWW!!!"

Luckily for Graf Eberbach, a pair of orderlies rushed out to help. The two
of them carefully lifted Dorian into a wheelchair, then started towards the

"NOT HIM, YOU BUNGLING @#*%^@#$* MORONS!" Klaus bellowed. "***ME***!!!"

The orderlies jumped fearfully (a common reaction to a truly pissed-off Klaus, pregnant or not!), yanked Dorian out of the wheelchair, and lifted Klaus into it, then wheeled him in through the sliding doors. For his part, Klaus continued bellowing curses fit to curl hair and peel paint. Dorian, white faced with pain, limped after them, determined not to lose sight of his... er... emotionally distraught darling.

"Hn," the elder Eberbach grunted, and shifted the car into park, leaving it in the middle of the emergency drive-thru lane with a mess of Alphabet cars piled up in accordion folds behind it. Without so much as a glance toward the chaos of Alphabets trying to pry each other out of mangled automobiles, he stalked into the hospital, following the sound of his son's voice.

"W-wait for me!" James wailed. "Lord GLOOO~OOORIA!!!" When no orderlies or wheelchairs seemed to be forthcoming, the teary-eyed accountant scrambled out of the car on his own, still clutching at the belly of his pregnant suit and pausing every now and then to wail as if having contractions.

"Multi-car pile-up!" That came from off to James's left, and suddenly an entire *horde* of paramedics ran past, knocking him flat over onto his back and making him wail even louder.


So much for the appearance of pregnancy.

Inside, the nurse at the desk peeked at the papers. "This says you're male. You can't be an expectant mother and be a *man*."


"Oh," Dorian whimpered, turning pale as his back spasmed. "Ohhhh!!!!"

"This man needs a bed!" the woman yelled as she stood up, and the orderlies who'd dumped Dorian out of the chair hurried back towards them, promptly starting to wheel Klaus back. "Not *that* man! *THIS* man!"

"But Nurse..." one of them began.

"No buts! Or I'll show you the meaning of butt. Capice??" she said, giving them the evil eye.

"YES, NURSE RATCHETT!" both orderlies cried. After all, they'd *heard* about what had happened to poor Orderly MacDonald... it was rumored that the man lived in terror of brooms and mops to this very day!

Klaus glared at the orderlies, all but daring them to try to pull him out of the wheelchair. "I DEMAND DRUGS!" he thundered.

"No!" Nurse Ratchett snapped. "You're clearly an addict who will do *anything* to get a fix, even pretend to be a pregnant woman! Now, clear the way for the *real* patients, or I'll call the police!"

"*CALL* THE FUCKING POLICE!" Klaus shrieked, his voice escalating into a remarkably high register for such a (normally) macho man. "CALL NATO! CALL WHOEVER THE FUCK YOU HAVE TO, YOU NARROW-MINDED FUCKING NINNY! JUST GET ME A FUCKING DOCTOR WHO HAS A FUCKING CLUE ABOUT FUCKING PREGNANT ***MEN!!!***"

"Darling, I'd rather you didn't see a doctor who fucks pregnant men," Dorian chided, managing an amused smile despite his own crippling pain. It was lucky for him that a contraction hit just at that moment, because otherwise Klaus would have *worse* than murdered him!

"A! B! Z!" Klaus howled.

"It's 'A, B, C'," Nurse Ratchett replied with asperity. "And reciting the alphabet isn't going to get you any drugs, either."


The three agents in question were just being wheeled in at the time, and they scrambled out of their wheelchairs to adopt something approximating attention stance in front of the pregnant man.

"Find the pot-bellied Chief and inform him that I am in the middle of a fucking medical emergency, and if the fucking NATO doctors want to conclude their fucking experiment for which they have used *MY BODY* against my will, they had better fucking well get here YESTER-FUCKING-DAY!"

"Yes, SIR!!" All three men cried, promptly turning around and smacking into one another face first before falling to the floor with a thud.

It was enough to make a pregnant man cry!

"Ohhh!" Dorian groaned, a particular vicious spasm twisting the muscle he'd pulled in his back. He was promptly joined by Klaus in the midst of another contraction.

"Oh, oh, OOOOHHHH!!!!"

"What's all of this racket!?" a doctor demanded, coming up behind Nurse Ratchett. "Oh! It's *you*, Major Eberbach! My God, woman, why didn't you tell me Major Eberbach was here!?"

A close look at the man revealed that he was the doctor who had let Klaus know he was pregnant, and while Klaus still wanted to kill him, he was also *very* relieved! "YOU MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE, I WANT DRUU~UUUGS! THIS HUU-OH!!!"

"Oh, I'm afraid that's out of the question," the doctor replied. "With an unusual pregnancy like this, it could prove harmful to the-"


"Now, Darling, remember your blood pressure," Dorian said, blanching as Klaus turned to face him.

"And YOU!" Klaus bellowed. "As soon as I get my hands on you, I'm going to RIP YOUR BALLS OFF AND BOIL THEM IN MOTOR OIL!"

"Hehehe. He. He," Dorian replied lamely. "M-motor oil?"

"MOTOR OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!!" Klaus groaned, clutching at his belly.

"All right, folks! Stop standing around and get to work!" Nurse Ratchett snapped. "I want both of these men up in room 214 ASAP!"

"No, no, Major Eberbach needs to be in a *birthing room*," the doctor insisted.

"I won't.. Oohhh!! Leave my darling!" Dorian gasped, reaching back to try and touch the knotted muscles that were killing him.

"OHHHH!!!" Klaus groaned.

"Ohhhh!!" Dorian chorused.

"Put them BOTH in birthing chamber B!" the nurse snapped. /God knows they both sound like they're about to have a baby!/

"What about me~e!?" came a wail from nearby, James waddling down the hall with his pregnant suit on.

"You...." She eyed him, nodded. "I know just what to do with *YOU*..."

Thus it was that a few short minutes later, Klaus and Dorian were hustled into birthing chamber B, stripped down and stuffed into drafty, flimsy hospital gowns, and settled onto tables designed to be as humiliatingly uncomfortable as possible. In Klaus's case, it had been necessary to *bind* him to the table and the stirrups that held his legs spread, a fact which had brought a frighteningly genuine smile to Nurse Ratchett's face. Dorian was more gently manhandled onto his table, and, since he wasn't giving birth or in need of gynecological examination, was permitted to lie quietly with some modicum of dignity.

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL *ALL* OF YOU!!!" Klaus howled, straining against the tough restraints until they creaked as another powerful contraction tightened his belly. "***ALL*** OF YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME?!?! I'M GOING TO REMEMBER YOUR NAMES AND FACES AND I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU AND RIP YOU OPEN LIKE A FUCKING BAG OF FUCKING WET GROCERIES AND DANCE ON YOUR STICKY FUCKING BO~ONES! ***DO YOU HEAR ME***?!?!?!?!?!"

"Darling, I think everyone in a five-mile radius hears you," Dorian groaned; the hard table wasn't doing anything for his back, which was arched at an agonized degree till only his shoulders and hip-bones made contact with the tough padding beneath him.


"I'd rather not!" Dorian snapped, his temper finally fraying under the strain of intense agony and nine months of bitchy Klaus and no sex. "I like them just where they are, thank you very much!"



Klaus gaped at Dorian, astonished, and then burst into tears.


Funny. Dorian had never realized *just* how much Klaus sounded like James until that moment!

"Hush that bawling! Visit the patient in room 224!" Nurse Ratchett bawled from the doorway. "And don't forget to take that mop with you! Mr. Tsubarov couldn't keep down lunch -- damn that tuna yecht!"


Ohh, Dorian's life was *HELL*!!! "I'm moving to BORNEOOOOOOHHHHH!" he cried.

"OOOHHHH!!!" Klaus yelled.

"Well, well, how's the mother-to-be?" the doctor said cheerfully as he walked into the room. Klaus was, by that point, too far gone in pain to object to the absolutely degrading position he was in or the offensively patronizing tone of voice the doctor had the nerve to use on him.

"GET IT OUT! GET IT ***OUT***!!!" he shrieked.

"Now, now, settle down," the doctor said in what was probably meant to be a soothing tone. "These things take time, you know. I've delivered hundreds of babies, and believe me, they never come out until they're ready."


"Well, what do you know?" the doctor said, peering between Klaus's widespread knees even as the Major strained to close them. "Looks like it's time already. Nurse, do you have my catcher's mitt handy?"


Klaus screamed loudly enough to straighten Dorian's hair, and a few moments later the doctor straightened, holding a giant cigarette in his arms. "Well, now. Congratulations to the new mother! Do you want to hold your baby?"

"Oh, Klaus!" Dorian said, giving him the warmest puppy-eyed gaze ever. "I'm so proud of you!"


Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach woke screaming, and he was already sitting ramrod straight in the hospital bed by the time his eyes snapped open.

"Darling! Are you all right?" Dorian asked, wide-eyed.

"Don't touch me," Klaus snapped, shrugging away from Dorian's soft, patting hand as though the blond's insidious faggotiness might rub off on him.

"Are you feeling better then, Darling?" Dorian asked, returning to the chair by Klaus's bed. After all, a grumpy Klaus was much more reassuring than a vomit-spattered unconscious one.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Klaus demanded, shuddering, confused.

"Well, Darling, you passed out at the restaurant..."

At that moment, a doctor with a fat walrus mustache came into the exam room. "Good news, Major Eberbach, good news!"

"AAHHHHH!!!!" Klaus yelled, getting up to run and promptly passing clean out on the floor.

"Oh, *DARLING*," Dorian sighed. "Really."

"Hm. And to think, I was only going to tell him he had a twenty-four hour flu bug!" the doctor harrumphed. "Not much of a man, is he!?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Dorian said, smirking at the sight of his darling sprawled out on the floor with his hospital gown twisted around his waist -- a sight which recalled fond memories of strawberry-flavored edible panties and one very pissed-off German. "Believe me, he's *all* man."

All man, indeed!

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