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Author's Chapter Notes:

Notes: I know I said I wasn't going to do anything more with this, but I couldn't help myself. It demanded to be written. :) In the hopes of helping keep storylines straight, I've named my "Dorian" John Maxwell. :) Once again, I'm submitting this in fairly rough format, so please feel free to offer any constructive criticism you may have. :) Many thanks to those of you who commented on the first story; your questions and comments have prompted this, and a third story which will follow (hopefully soon). I hope you enjoy the story. :)

Author's note, take 2: Some elements of this story are owed to Alfred Hitchcock's wonderful film, "Vertigo." I mean no more disrespect to Mr. Hitchcock or his work than I do to Aoike-san. I hope you enjoyed the story. :)

Warnings: Angst. No happy ending. Bad language. Lemony content.

The CIA finished with us pretty quickly; after all, I don't think anyone really expected any of *us* to know anything about what was going on. I doubt they expected the Major to know anything, either, but they kept him detained for a long time. I know I wasn't the only one casting nervous glances in the direction he'd been taken.

And when the Earl stalked past, headed in that same direction, I know I wasn't the only one holding his breath--after all, it didn't take an Einstein to know that things were about to go from bad to impossible! The tension in the room was unbearable; a phone rang, and all of us jumped at the sound. I tried to concentrate on my report on the Schlechten case, but I couldn't keep my mind on it long enough to even read a sentence.

My thoughts kept turning back to *him*, and what might be going on behind closed doors. It's not like I've ever even tried to disguise my feelings, not really. I've adored the Major since I was first honored--lucky--enough to be chosen to replace the previous Mr. Z. Everything I've done, and been, since that time has been centered around him... emulating him, hoping to please him, trying to *deserve* to work with him.

There really isn't anything about him that is not... altogether admirable. Not that he's perfect; God knows he has his flaws, and that vicious temper is not the least of them. But even in his imperfections, he's so... invaluable. And he has no equal in doing what he does, truly. He is brave and intelligent and insightful and everything else you could ever want in an agent. And while he does have a terrible temper, a perverse liking for Nescafe, quite a few outdated ideas on the role of aristocracy and a tendency to smoke like a chimney... I wouldn't want to change a thing about him.
Except...

I really wish...

But wishing is pointless, even if I've seen a side to him that others don't seem to understand. I've seen his rare moments of compassion, and experienced a sort of gruff concern from him for my well-being that makes my heart ache. I first realized it after I was shot; that was when I knew. He was outwardly angry, and did he ever let me hear about it! But, underneath... I *knew* he cared. That was when I first realized there was a *man*, a living, breathing, feeling human being, behind the legendary Iron Klaus.

That was when I first realized how much I loved that man, hopelessly and irrevocably.

There's really nothing I wouldn't do for him...

Footsteps sounded, loud and quick, and all of us snapped to attention and tried to look busy.

The Earl stalked past, with barely a glance at any of us. I got the impression that he was terribly upset... then again, it was so completely unusual for the Earl to pass up an opportunity to flirt with us (and irritate the Major), any fool could have discerned that there was something wrong. The Major himself arrived shortly after, and stomped to his desk, fished out a cigarette, and snapped for us to get to work.

And that was when I knew. I didn't know how, or why, but I knew something had broken him, and I knew the Earl had had a role in it. It wasn't anything obvious--just the slightest edge to his voice, the slightest tension in the hand holding the cigarette. After all, he'd been trying to live up to our expectations of him for years, and that meant not revealing any human weakness. He really was Iron Klaus.

He bent over his paperwork, and I turned back to the Schlechten report and pretended not to know there was something terrible going on.


It took the rest of the day to piece it all together; news travels fast in NATO, but it's hard to get the word on something that affects the Major when he's working in the same room. And when I finally got it, I could hardly believe any of it. The man we'd all known as the Earl was really a man named John Maxwell, of the CIA--an agent, working undercover all these years? Unbelieveable!

Nobody actually said out loud how this related to the Major, but it was understood... or, at least, I understood, and I strongly suspect that A and G did, as well.

Somehow, despite all the odds and all appearances to the contrary, that man had broken the Major's heart.

I'd like to say that I handled it all in a mature and dignified fashion, but the truth is that I went home that night and got stinking drunk. And when I woke up the next day, sick from the alcohol, it was to find my place trashed--you don't work for the Major for any length of time without learning how to channel anger destructively.

I hated John Maxwell. I wanted to kill him. No, I wanted to *hurt* him, and then kill him. It was obvious enough, even before the rumors and snickers and innuendo started being passed around at the water cooler, that he'd used the Major--MY Major--and then thrown him away. Even worse than the jealousy gnawing at my gut was the fact that Maxwell hadn't appreciated the precious gift he'd been given, that he'd callously thrown away the one thing I wanted more than any other.

But the jealousy was pretty damned bad.

The Major continued with business as usual, holding up under the strain without so much as a crack in his composure. It made me ache for him; I wanted so badly to ease the pain I *knew* was there, under the surface. And, to be honest, I wanted ease for my own pain as well.

So I did a foolish thing. A foolish, reckless, stupid thing.

I broke into the Schloss.

It was no easy matter; after all, he'd hardly sleep in a place without ensuring that it was secure. Even with all of my best knowledge and skill, he still had some kind of warning I was coming; I must have triggered a silent alarm without realizing it. He was glaring at me over the barrel of his Magnum as I eased the door open.

"Christ, Z!" he said. "Announce yourself next time! You might've been killed!"

"Sir," I said, trying my best to keep my eyes locked on his. He was bare from the waist up, evidently getting changed for bed, and it was all I could do not to rake my greedy eyes over him.

"What is it?" he asked, in his best cranky, 'never-interrupt-the-Major' tone of voice. Intimidating, but not so bad as it might've been. To the untrained ear, he always sounds as though he might explode into violence; this is why so few people feel at ease in his presence. I've spent years studying him, though, watching every move, every nuance of expression. I wouldn't say I could read him like a book, but I knew him better than most--certainly well enough to recognize mild irritation and concern when I heard it.

"Not business," I said, trying not to watch as he put his gun away and shrugged back into the shirt he'd just removed. He left it unbuttoned, and it hung loose from his shoulders, revealing an almost-irresistible wedge of smooth skin, defined muscles, hard abs. "A personal matter, sir."

"You came here for *nothing*?" Ah. The infamous 'you-are-treading-on-thin-ice' voice.

"Not for nothing, sir. Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"No. Go away, Z," he said. A new tone of voice. Weary, maybe. Lonely. "There's nothing you can say, freely or not, that will help matters."

"Please, sir..."

"Nein."

I took a step closer to him, and when he didn't react I took another. I understood then, that it was up to me. He'd never be able to make the first move, not with a subordinate... not after John. There'd always be the worry that rank had entered into it somewhere, or some form of coercion. No, it had to be *my* choice, one I made freely and of my own will.

It also had to be my risk. I might not be able to *say* anything to help... but perhaps I could *do* something.

"Z..." he said, and his eyes widened as I moved in closer, close enough to feel his breath against my lips. My heart was beating so hard, I could almost picture it shaking the whole Schloss, and I paused for a long, agonizing moment, knowing that if I was wrong, I would have just thrown my entire career away. Knowing that I'd lose the chance to at least adore him from a distance. Knowing that I'd lose... everything that mattered to me. Then I leaned forward, just a little, and he met me halfway, and our lips met in a first kiss.
The Major may be hard as iron in every other aspect of his life, but his lips are surprisingly soft and gentle. He reached out to me, and I put my hands on his shoulders, and then I felt his arms circling me and I thought I could die right then, just from sheer giddy incredulity. I was being kissed by the Major! By *my* Major!

When he pulled away, he looked stunned, and there was a fine blush darkening his cheeks, and I loved him more in that moment than I'd ever even thought possible. I leaned in again, and kissed his cheek, and then his neck, and he made a little startled noise as I opened my mouth against his skin, licking and nibbling, while my hands slowly dragged the shirt down off his shoulders.

He tilted his head, allowing me better access, and that was when I knew he'd made his choice. I pulled back, and took him by the hand, and led him to the bed, and he looked lost, uncertain and hesitant until I started unbuttoning my own shirt.

"Let me," he whispered, and then he pushed me, gently, onto the mattress, and undressed me, kissing my revealed body with what I can only hope was loving attention. My hands were all over him, roaming over that hard-muscled body, smooth skin interrupted by a few scars. It might not be evident to one who's only seen him in his uniform or a business suit, but Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach has the body of a god.

Oh, God, oh, God...

He was so gentle, so exceedingly careful, and when he murmured, miserably, that he didn't want to hurt me, I felt another swift rush of loathing for Maxwell.

"You won't hurt me, sir," I whispered, and rolled him over onto his back, and lowered myself onto him, groaning in pleasure, and oh, God, the feeling of his hard body against mine, his calloused fingers gripping me with careful force... the look on his face of dawning comprehension and delight... the sound of his voice in a hoarse, broken cry as he came... it was worth everything, everything and more!

Eat your fucking heart out, John Maxwell.

Waking in his arms was sweeter than any feeling I've ever known. There wasn't enough time to greet the day leisurely, but I couldn't resist the chance to go down on him in the shower, stroking myself urgently, and he let me do it, and his eyes were wide and dark with shock and need as I swallowed him. The evidence of my spent passion swirled down the drain, and Klaus leaned back against the tile wall, shaking, and blushed.

How could I not love him? So fierce, and powerful, and shy, and strangely innocent... my Major.

We dressed, and he stomped down to breakfast in a close approximation of his usual manner, and I snuck back to my apartment to change out of my rumpled clothes.

I just barely made it to the office on time; he quirked an eyebrow at me, but said nothing. My stomach growled, loudly and persistently, right up until lunch time. Unfortunately, the Major was known for working through lunch, so I really had no chance to talk with him then. I suppose it was just as well, because I really did need the sandwich I scarfed down.

I finished the Schlechten report and submitted it to the Major, who loudly berated me for sloppy grammar and demanded that I rewrite it.

The other agents were relieved to see that the Major was back to normal. I somehow managed to keep a straight face, and rewrote the report. The Schlechten case was the biggest bore, especially when my thoughts were more prone to linger on Klaus, and the way his eyes turned all misty-green and urgent just before he came.

I'd never been so glad to see the end of a work day. He barely glanced at me before he left, but I understood. I finished my report, tucked it safely away to hand in the next day, and went to my apartment to pack a few things.

By the time I managed to break into his room, he was ready for me. He'd changed into a soft robe, undoubtedly one he'd been given as a gift and never worn before. There was a tray full of steaming food by the fireplace, and a bottle of wine chilling nicely. And he had a wrapped box in his hands.

"For me?" I asked, astonished and humbled. I hadn't expected him to be so... beyond perfect. The sheer romantic quality of it all seemed so completely incongruous, and yet so very much like him.

"I hope you like it," he murmured, and I opened the box eagerly, wishing I'd thought to get him a gift. I'd brought lube and a few little items to add to his pleasure, but I hadn't thought to bring anything for *him*.

He didn't seem to mind, though; he was obviously pleased with the gift he'd bought me, and with the anticipation of watching me unwrap it.

A silky blouse, sky blue.

"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly.

It was the sort of thing Maxwell would have worn, in his Dorian guise. I fucking despised it.

I smiled, and said, "It's lovely," and put it on.

The next night, he gave me black silky pants, uncomfortably, indecently tight.

After that it was boots, scarves, jewelry. Silky, diaphanous, billowy clothing. Skin-tight pants. Clothing designed to beguile, to attract attention. Every night, a new gift, from the heart of his romantic side. How could I do anything less than accept them? When he suggested I grow my hair out, I agreed. When I arrived at my apartment to find him waiting by a tub full of rose-scented water, I responded with the delighted smile he expected.

There's really nothing I wouldn't do for him...

"You know, you might consider getting a perm," he suggested, in his gentlest voice, as he ran his fingers through my hair in the afterglow. "You would look so good with curly hair. Maybe even lighten it a few shades."

"Major..." I said uneasily, wondering if he'd even noticed what was so painfully obvious to me.

"You don't need to call me 'Major,' " he interrupted, still gently finger combing my hair, caressing my scalp. "Not when we're alone together. You can call me anything you wish."

I understood.

There's really nothing I wouldn't do for him.

John Maxwell, I fucking hate you.

"Yes... Darling," I said, and Klaus smiled, his eyes lit up with delight.

Just call me Dorian.

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