"Klaus...?"

With his forehead resting against the window's cold glass, Dorian's question fogged over the blurred landscape passing outside, turning it even whiter than it already was. The heater was good in Klaus' Benz, however, and the icy woods were more beautiful for their being outside and Dorian being inside, enjoying warm toes and Klaus' un-gloved, warm hand in his.

"Yes?" Klaus was in a quiet, introspective mood after the relative lightness of the past few days spent together in London. *That* had been their holiday celebration. What awaited them now was the rigors of his family's duty.

All except the exchange of gifts. That wouldn't have been right to do early.

Dorian pulled away from the glass, turning contented eyes on his lover. "Do you want me to take a separate room while I'm here?" He wouldn't like doing it, but would for Klaus' sake if that was determined by both men as best.

It would have been easy to say 'yes'. Easy for his mind and common-sense, but hard on his heart. "No. It's our bedroom, and you'll be staying there."

A nod from the blonde, which he tried to keep from being too satisfied. "It really wouldn't have felt right to sleep within the Schloss and not in our bed, in your arms."

The hand that held his gave a light squeeze. "I doubt we will be doing more than sleeping while we're there."

"I don't mind." As much as the car's confines permitted, Dorian stretched languorously. "I think you came close to wearing me out these last few days. Certainly closer than you have before!"

"One day, I will find a way to wear you out -- just temporarily, but I will try," Klaus promised him, stealing a glance at his lover as they drove through the town of Eberbach, the car coasting easily over familiar roads. The snow was still falling a little, but the road had been driven recently -- so others in the family were arriving or had done so already.

"You can devote your time spent among boring relatives to imagining new ways to do just that," his lover purred. "Perhaps I should have gotten you some toys for Christmas, for inspiration."

"Toys? I can't see how toys could inspire me, Dorian."

"Your poor innocent heart would probably seize to see the sort of toys I'm talking about, Darling."

That got him a few beats of silence, and another squeeze of his fingers. "I think you're right." He didn't want clarification. That would have probably hurt his mind.

He wasn't ready for clarification. But one of these days, his adventurous side would prevail. And Dorian already had the shopping spree planned for when it happened.

"So, aside from the ball tonight, and the exchange of gifts, what else will we be doing for the next few days?" The ball. Dorian was tempted to don another dress, and might have done it, pride be damned, if there wasn't too great a chance of his being discovered now that he was a regular sight at the annual event.

"Entertaining my family," Klaus sighed. "Giving a tour or two of the castle, trying to have conversation that they'll follow, being beaten to death with gossip and suggestions of eligible young women, and having to take two or three out to the town."

In other words, lots to keep Klaus busy, and little for Dorian to do. "Very well. I'll stick to the library and other quiet places, and try not to be drawn into too many conversations with your awful family." And avoid Heinz like the plague.

"If you do that, you'll draw suspicion." And it was true -- not only was Dorian going to be there as a friend of Klaus', but anyone that Klaus brought was expected to essentially be there to make social connections.

"But Darling!" Dorian protested. "There's only so much I can say on the subject of art before I'd be tempted to say something awful and give myself away. And worse, I don't know many more topics to talk on that are nearly so safe." A slight warping of the truth -- Dorian was masterful at small-talk, provided he liked the person he was talking at.

"What could you say that would give yourself away?" A look glanced over to his lover while guiding the sturdy car over a curling and slightly icy turn.

"Oh, I don't know -- something!" Like begin to gush over his own collection of art, and mention a piece he'd stolen. With so many, Dorian had forgotten which he'd obtained legally, and which not.

"I think my family would be more approving of me having brought a thief home than a queer lover," Klaus shrugged a bit grimly. And he thought his sense of morals needed a little polishing.

"Oh, that too," Dorian pressed, trying to plead his case. "Who knows when I might slip and say something naughty?" Not to mention the distinct possibility that his reputation had preceded him. Thank God Heinz's pride would have prevented him talking.

"You managed at the ball -- you'll manage again." The look on Dorian's lover's face was that of a man, brave, determined, walking out in front of a firing squad when every gun held a bullet. "You've played at being people before."

Damn. Klaus had him there. Dropping all pretence at balking, Dorian allowed a wry smile to claim his lips. "Very true. I should have guessed you know me every bit as well as I know you."

"Think of it as a mission, Dorian. That's how I manage." And would continue to manage throughout the ordeal they faced. "But, Christmas Eve this year, Dorian -- when the rest of the house is sleeping, we're still going to exchange gifts in the hall. I think Dominic will have already decorated the tree, though."

"In the hall," Dorian repeated, a sort of promise, even though, considering his gift to Klaus, he knew damned well that would be impossible. Well, he supposed they could always *begin* in the hall... "Holidays aren't supposed to be missions, Klaus. But, you know you can depend on me."

"After this, I hope you don't wonder why I always spent them alone before." Before Dorian, that is. And he did depend on the man -- to help him get through a situation that would have been familiar to him if he *hadn't* had the change of pace that Dorian had offered his life.

As if Dorian had ever wondered. "It's a part of aristocratic families that gatherings are always tense and unhappy, I think. If it weren't for my little adopted family, I would have spent all my Christmases alone as well."

"Maybe it just seems tense to us -- we don't fit in properly," Klaus murmured. He'd hated that fact earlier in his life, but now, watching them from the outside, he was glad that he hadn't fit in.

"There's very few places I 'fit in'," Klaus was reminded. Nothing unusual there. What was odd was the notion that Klaus now felt he shared that same designation as a man on the fringe of society. Even being homosexual, surely Klaus was conservative enough in ways Dorian could never be, to allow him to blend in to his extended family.

But even without the designation of being a homosexual, Klaus had always felt that way. He fought when other people wouldn't have, he had a temper, a seriousness at times that frightened polite society. The Eberbach heir had always been an intensely private person, socialising only to the point of doing his duties, what was expected of him. Life had often been a matter of going through motions that now felt hollow. "You made a place for yourself, though."

Because Dorian had needed one, in the way he needed friends and companionship at a basic level Klaus might never understand. "I hope you don't mind, Darling, that I've made room for you there, too."

The edges of Klaus' lips twitched up wryly. "I think I appreciate the effort, Dorian." And appreciated it particularly as the castle's gates came into view. The staff member at them recognised Klaus instantly -- at least, the car and tags -- and had the gates open before they were reached. Klaus only had to slow the car a little, as they passed through them, and the rest of the short road to the castle proper. "We should take our bags up right away, or a servant will try to put them in our room. Yours would probably end up someplace else. We're running on full staff right now -- some of the town-girls get hired temporarily for something like this."

Which meant Dorian couldn't hope to escape, even temporarily, to the kitchen. He'd discovered Dominic to be a kind soul, if a bit stiff in the same proprietary way Klaus was, and usually could enjoy the man's company. The butler would be very busy though, with a full staff and all the troubles that went with preparations for a large gathering. "Oh, wonderful. I wonder if your regular staff will have talked to them at all, and if I'll be safe from blundering advances." Town-girls had none of the tact of their professionally trained counterparts.

"I doubt they'll have been told." If only because servants of that sort gossiped; anything told them directly would be spread half-way around the world in hours time. Something seen or hinted, though, actions of the frightening young Eberbach... would not. Fear gained silence where discretion could not.

"Goddamn it." Dorian allowed himself one final hearty curse as the castle sprang into view. He was already fixing Eroica's steady expression on his face, and regretfully untangled his fingers from Klaus'. "I just hope we can get upstairs quickly, before news of your arrival has spread too far."

"Ha." A mocking, mirthless laugh, as Klaus parked the car and got out quickly, finding himself buffeted by a gust of chill air and snow. Home, home sweet cold home. He knew he'd hear at least one whispered comment about the light storm arriving at the same time he did.

Dorian was out just as quickly, moving with Eroica's speed as if this were indeed a mission, and the castle a building to be infiltrated. He was buffeted less by the wind than Klaus, because he offered a slightly slimmer profile, but the damage wrought to his loose curls more than made up for it. He pushed on to the trunk, where he quickly pulled out their bags before a servant could come to help.

Klaus took his one bag and attachÈ case, made sure Dorian had his bags, then slammed shut the boot of the car. Quick, firm steps carried him up the salted stone stair-way, and a startled servant opened the door moments before Klaus had a chance to knock.

Apparently, they'd been expected.

There was nothing worse, in Dorian's opinion, than storming a castle when you were expected.

In the entrance way he had to clutch tightly to his bags for fear that if he put them down some servant would cart them off, never to be seen again. Not that it truly mattered -- he had a good stash of clothing up in their room anyway.

The first thing that faced Klaus was an offer to take his bags -- which he declined, brushing past the door-man and up the stairs to the second floor and his bedroom. "I suppose we'll get no peace to ease us in," Klaus murmured once he was sure Dorian was right behind him. He'd counted seven cars in the drive already, one of which had been his father's, others the closer family members. His uncle and aunts, Heinz's younger siblings, and their children -- those most likely to pry and pry hard at his life.

"You could plead a headache after a tiring drive..." Not that anyone would believe him, even had it not been an excuse. Dorian was right on his lover's heels up the steps, their breadth and low rise familiar from walking repeatedly, and from their similarity to the steps in his own manse.

"Have you ever had painkillers shoved in your face?" Klaus asked, tone half mild amusement at Dorian's ineffective suggestion, and half grim reality. It wouldn't work, not in the past, not now, and not ever. Duty was... duty. "They'll be in the library, the main study, or the parlour. Probably the parlour."

Meaning, that was where Klaus would go, after a brief time spent gathering his defences in the peace of their bedroom. "It's always the parlour, isn't it?" the blonde sighed, trying for lightness and failing despite an admirable effort. "Just don't let them yell at you. And no hitting!"

"You mean I can't hit any of them?" Klaus asked in a light noise, knowing that Dorian would be a little surprised. Most of the time Klaus kept his odd humour to himself, but when he did let it free, it was often at odd times. The hallway to his room was nearly jogged down, and he opened the door to find everything, thankfully, undisturbed.

It still didn't stop him from sweeping the room for bugs.

Long since accustomed to his lover's caution -- paranoia was too strong a term, as more often than was expected Klaus' fears proved founded -- Dorian simply waded inside and tossed his suitcase down in its usual place. His coat went next, left on of necessity because of the bags, but he really didn't care to leave the expensive fur in the care of the downstairs staff anyway. Shoes stayed on, and tie done neatly, but that didn't stop Dorian from throwing himself crooked across the bed.

Just a minute... That was all he needed, gazing fondly at the familiar ceiling, to collect himself.

Klaus felt better, and more collected after sitting at the chair at his desk for a few moments. And watching his decadently sprawled lover. No bugs, not this time. That wouldn't stop him from looking for them every time he came into the room for the rest of the visit.

So a moment perched in the chair, and one quickly smoked cigarette, and Klaus felt far, far better. "Let's go, hmn?"

Groaning softly, Dorian flung an arm over his eyes, but other than that didn't move. "Ugh. You say that as if we have a choice."

"Well, if it helps you, you can think we have a choice -- but since we're here, we're expected to be there," Klaus uttered, reaching down to grab Dorian's fore-arm to haul him up.

The resistance Klaus expected never materialised, so that when he tugged with a little effort, Dorian nearly flew off the bed and into his arms. Sapphire eyes, alert through feigned languidness, watched him from very close. "I suppose we are... I'll even be civil and attentive. But I'll be thinking about nothing but the next time I get you all to myself."

"Then it's going to be a long four, possibly five days," Klaus told him, holding his lover close for a moment before he pulled away, opening the door.

"In four or five days, I can come up with some *awfully* creative ideas..." Dorian's teasing threat followed Klaus out the door, before the blonde himself left.

"I'm glad you dressed conservatively for you," Klaus remarked quietly as they traversed down the hall-way, slower than they'd come through it to begin with. "The people here so far are my Aunts, Uncles, a few cousins and Father."

Silently digesting the comment and compliment alike, Dorian finally uttered, "A large family. Then why in the hell is your father so dead set on your producing an heir? Surely some second cousin will do just as well, even if they didn't grow up with the Eberbach name."

"The family has been direct inheritance for twelve generations -- oldest child to oldest child," Klaus told him, pausing at the top of the stair-well.

"I'm sure such a stodgy old family will find a break with tradition refreshing," Dorian told him cheerily, pausing at Klaus' side. The stair well was wide enough for them to pass abreast down it, and the Earl saw no reason why they should not.

And they did. Near equal stride length, though Klaus' clip was naturally brisker, even going down the stairs. "Did I tell you about the pamphlet Dominic mailed to my office? Just remind me to tell you when we're alone again. I may eventually agree to it."

"Pamphlet...?" The curiosity in Dorian's voice said that Klaus had failed to mention it. "Agree to what?"

"It's some procedure that would... well, it's complicated, but it'd be a child without sex. No-time soon, though." He fell quiet about the topic as they reached the bottom hallway, and his brisk pace fell even more so as they turned into the hall-way towards the parlour.

Perfect timing as always on Klaus' part. He dropped an interesting tidbit on some topic, just when that topic would have to be dropped and Dorian would have plenty of time around mindless conversation to wonder and ponder and simmer. Arriving at the parlour, a lightly-disgusted Dorian dropped back to allow Klaus to spearhead their entrance.

He opened the double doors, and stepped into a babble of conversation and noise.

And realised instantly that bringing Dorian was probably a mistake. Not for social reasons, or shame... no, none of that. It was probably a mistake because all of the casual conversation being made was in German. Fast, unbroken German that Dorian wouldn't be able to follow. He'd learned a lot from Klaus, in their time together, but there was learning, and then there was being deeply dropped into it.

"[Klaus Heinz! Did you just get in?]" the nearest uncle demanded, younger than his father and a bit more jovial. A bit.

"Ja -- Uncle Kurt, Aunt Rosaline -- hello, hello," Klaus was being pulled into the room against his will, saying hello and grimly and stiffly greeting cousins now. There were fifteen people in the room, counting Heinz standing as the Ever Present Host and Head of Household. His greeting them in English instead of German must have been a shock -- but it was the only way he could alert them to Dorian's inadequacy in German.

Dorian followed hesitantly, waiting for the second round of introductions. The rapid-fire German that assaulted his ears gave him pause. At the ball, he'd gotten away with his spare conversational phrases and English with those accommodating. But this was an intimate family gathering, and looked to be an entirely different matter.

At least now he wouldn't need to make an excuse for hanging back in conversation and keeping to himself. He had an entirely believable one ready-made.

"[This is a colleague of mine from work,]" Klaus told the gathered family, not even bothering to catch his father's eyes as he went on. There was no need -- Heinz could trust him to play his cards calmly. "Earl Dorian Red Gloria." And then he proceeded to introduce the blonde man to his family.

Bringing the man to this, so early in the gathering meant to those assembled that either he was a very close friend of Klaus -- surprising, since the cruel-seeming, impersonal man had few friends -- or that Dorian had imposed himself upon Klaus' hospitality.

Judging by the looks Dorian was getting, a good portion of those assembled had already decided it must be the latter. Especially being a colleague, they could see how he might have ended up holidaying with Klaus. It was far more plausible than Klaus having a true friend.

"A pleasure to meet you." One of the women stepped forward and allowed Dorian to kiss her hand. She was silver-haired and straight of spine -- an Eberbach trait, the thief was beginning to suspect -- having reached that sort of glowing middle-age women seemed to linger in for years, during which it was terribly difficult to guess their age any closer than 40 to 60.

"Lord Gloria, my Aunt Catherine," Klaus told him. "Her husband is a French shipping mogul, and unfortunately was unable to attend."

Over Dorian's shoulder, Catherine's eyes flicked to her nephew, one silvered brow raised sharply. "Unfortunate for whom, Klaus? When he does attend, you quarrel like cats and dogs." She said this as if she herself did not quarrel, often and with the infamous Eberbach temper, with her husband. In truth she was as happy to leave him behind on business as he was to remain behind, but one must maintain pretences...

"He's *French*," Klaus scowled. And his aunt had the idiotic man twisted right around and around her fingers, just where she wanted him to be. They *did* quarrel, but only because the man kept pressing for things, information that was classified.

"It's a nationality, not a plague of stupidity, nephew." Though she spoke with her tongue planted firmly in her cheek, having lived with Hubert for a good twenty years now. But a defense of her doddering husband was expected of her in front of company, wasn't it?

"[Catherine...]" Heinz drew her aside with his eyes, suggesting firmly, "[Why don't you let Klaus finish introducing his... friend, and we can have lunch brought in. It's nearly that time.]"

"[Why don't you boys sit down?]" Uncle Kurt half suggested to them both, half ordered. There was almost instantly a servant pulling two comfortable-looking chairs over to where the rest of the chairs were -- so there would be a place for them to sit when lunch was carried in. "[Klaus Heinz has never brought a confederate to a family gathering before -- what sort of work do you do for NATO and the Fatherland?]" Words, said in precise German, but in a distinctly slower way, directed right at Dorian.

Klaus took the chance to look over to his aunt and father, giving both of them a polite nod. "[I will introduce him as it becomes necessary. I believe this will be a chance for him to work on his German, whether he wishes to or not. It is only moderate at best. In the office, we use English for ease of communication.]"

/Fatherland...?/ Dorian had caught most of the man's careful words, but that one stumbled him logically. He had an answer, but wasn't sure he could put the complex sentiment into German. Sitting slowly gave him more time to think though, and he glanced warily to Klaus. "[I... was not expecting another German lesson today. How would you say, NATO has 'international interests'? The fatherland I am loyal to is England.]"

It got him a momentary silence before Klaus told his uncle, "[Lord Gloria is trustworthy and loyal to NATO.]"

"[Ah? And why are you here to spend Christmas with people who are certainly not Englishmen. It is a holiday for being 'home', you know,]" Uncle Kurt said in a rough chiding tone.

Another glance to Klaus, troubled this time, as Dorian was realising he'd painted himself into a conversational corner. His German wasn't up to the task of a convincing lie. "[I... have no close family. And Klaus is my friend.]"

"[Ah, you brought a friend from work! Klaus Heinz, are you becoming a social bug?]" It wasn't really a question at all -- more of a jeering comment, meant to slip past Dorian as a question and strike right at the family's heir. Only, it was assumed that Klaus would not get it. He never seemed to get those barbs, never reacted.

"[No,]" was the automatic and un-thought of answer. "[It was simply convenient. We were on mission in London.]" He turned to his father then, away from the group -- once Uncle Kurt released Dorian, his cousins would not doubt swamp the man. "[Sir, do you wish me to notify the help that lunch is to be served?]"

"[Yes.]" Heinz's eyes were more sharp than watery today, partly out of fear that the Briton would make some slip and give away his true relationship with Klaus. An overly familiar form of address, dropped thoughtlessly, could do it.

"[What do you do with Klaus?]" Uncle Kurt was asking. "[You do not look like a military man.]"

Dorian nearly laughed aloud at the thought of anyone mistaking him as military. His response was slow in coming though, trying to find the right words to convey in basic terms what he wanted to say. "[Soldiering is for Klaus. I do not care for guns. NATO hires many... civilians who do important things.]"

"[What sort of things? I have never heard of civilians being used in such things, unless they have an exceptional skill.]" There was a sharpness to the man's eyes that *hadn't* watered out yet like Klaus' father's had, a sharpness as glinting as Klaus'. Only, they were a shade of blue.

Klaus realised that before they entered the room he should have told Dorian what he could of everyone that would have been there. Kurt had served in the NDA, too, every bit as military as he and his father. But he couldn't tell him that, not now. Hopefully Dorian would sense it.

Dorian was a good enough judge of people to be able to, but that didn't mean he could do much with that knowledge. Language was a stumbling block again. He couldn't dance around the subject with thinly veiled references, or even outright lies. And 'Uncle Kurt' was staring at him intently, as was seemingly the rest of the room. He daren't switch back to English now.

"[I... am very skilled with... security,]" Dorian explained, adding a helpless shrug. Perhaps they would think he'd misspoken and meant a different word.

"[Brilliant with it,]" Klaus uttered, coming back from telling the servant in the room to leave and not come back without a good amount of food. "[Both securing and unsecuring.]" There -- he'd just saved Dorian the trouble of trying to dance with words. He'd done it for Dorian, telling the room in so few words that the Earl did breaking and entering for NATO.

And he wasn't going to look at his father's face for a very long time. Perhaps not again until tomorrow.

"[Aunt Catherine, have you already discussed your...]" Now, his own stumbling block, only he didn't stumble. He slammed right into it, and staggered backwards a step to take another try. "[Your daughter's engagement?]" And then a quick word aside to Dorian that was the girl's name. 'Josephine'.

It was a conversational fire-bomb, only he couldn't tell if it would blow back in his face or not. Josephine was there, smiling and had on her arm an Austrian business man that she'd been courted by for two years.

There were some there who would be certain to fan the flames back onto Klaus, given the chance. Catherine normally would have been among them, but she was too pleased-looking with the topic to do much more than gloat. "[Oh, yes! Sweet Josephine is already twenty-four, can you believe? It's about time she was wed!]" This was said with a mother's chiding pleasure, but the barb was clear as well. Klaus was well past that age and still showed no signs of settling down.

"[I am just glad that I've found her -- that she's finally agreed!]" her fiancÈ uttered. They certainly weren't a demonstrative pair -- hands held lightly between them, the girl blushing and smiling.

"[Oh, Anton, you needn't have worried! You knew she would cave eventually!]" That was Josephine's sister Stephanie -- and Dorian only knew that because Klaus leaned near to tell him that, before he moved to sit down in the chair that had been brought in for him, expecting Dorian to follow.

Which he did, glad that the chairs were close enough to permit more of the helpful tidbits Klaus was feeding his ear. And, incidentally, mirthless remarks Dorian offered in return. "Please don't tell me you've any cousins who are actively seeking a husband." It seemed that most of the Eberbachs considered him unfit to be Klaus' friend, much less a potential member of the family, but there was always the threat of an attempted set-up when women smelled fresh blood.

"Not with an Englishman," Klaus murmured quietly, settling into the chair with an impressive manner of fore-boding. "[My congratulations, Josephine, on your happy occasion.]"

Josephine, predictably, blushed harder and murmured a thanks for the blessing.

"At least I'm not French." Dorian had to have the last word on the matter, as he curled himself in the chair, comfortably though with a nod to propriety. It wasn't a bad chair at all, actually. Perhaps he would have it brought to one of the rooms he used more often.

And then the gossip and back-log of information began to pass again.

Klaus had only participated lightly at the very best, though when the food was brought in, Uncle Kurt began a discussion with him over the merits of various guns that were currently service-issued. Which left Dorian to listen to the chatter, and get the occasional smile from Cousin Stephanie.

The smiles got worse when Klaus, Heinz, Kurt and his three sons -- younger than Klaus, all respectably married -- left to go to the gun-room.

"[There was rumour last year,]" Stephanie smiled, as the room was suddenly left smaller in the male to female ratio, "[that there was a handsome young English lord at the Christmas ball. Was that you? Are you *really* a friend of Cousin Klaus?]"

The gun room filled with Eberbach males seemed at that moment not such a bad place at all to be to Dorian, who shifted in his chair and prepared to do verbal combat with the gentler sex. Gentler -- whoever had first applied that tag to women had obviously not had sisters. "[Handsome? I... am not certain about that, but I recall being the only Englishman there.]"

"[Now, with Klaus gone, you can speak freely -- whyever are you here? Trying to move up in the ranks of NATO?]" Kurt's wife pressed.

Oh, this was going to be rough. Dorian suddenly felt like a nice, succulent lamb, surrounded by wolves with the shepherd away. Well, this lamb wasn't going down without a fight! "[I already said, I am civilian. Being Klaus' friend cannot help my career.]"

"Lord Gloria, Klaus has... an odd personality," Catherine said in a kindly tone, using English for Dorian's comfort. Trying to lull him, probably. "My Brother raised not a man but a tank, and he has all the likability of that same machine. It is hard to believe that Klaus would have a friend, especially one who would want to spend the holidays with him."

It was a mistake to give Dorian his footing. In English, he could wield words like a stinging lash. "I own a tank, Lady Catherine. A Leopard tank. I can appreciate it for its dependability and strength, and for the aesthetic sheen of its polished steel. I don't mind being friend to a man who reminds me of my tank." If for quite different reasons than she might guess.

But the lash didn't strike her -- indeed, she caught it, and yanked. "[Ah, you are defensive of Klaus. Then you must be the Englishman who was at our ball last year. He was an art-collector and a... flagrant homosexual.]"

Most of that Dorian understood -- he'd been called 'homosexual' enough times and in enough ways by Klaus to recognise them all -- but refused to switch back to German. If she'd begun in English, he would hold her to that decision. "Klaus does not deserve to be painted an indifferent monster behind his back. If it takes a flagrant British homosexual to defend him from his own family, I am more than up to the task."

That gained him a shocked look for a moment, before she smiled at him almost slyly. "If you ever ask him, Lord Gloria, he would agree with us. But, there is no need to get so... wound over this. I'm just a little surprised that you and Klaus get along so well. He's always detested degenerates."

He countered that smile with a cool lifting of one golden brow. "Wound...? Perhaps you are not accustomed to my blunt way of speaking some things. It is an English habit, I've been told." Assumably by Klaus, who had probably tried to break him of said habit. "So you see, I am degenerate in more ways than one. Klaus tolerates me because I am also competent and capable, and those traits he admires cancels out those he does not."

That actually seemed to temporarily meet approval.

It was then that Stephanie began to ask him art questions.

~~~~~

At the gun room Heinz stepped forward, explaining with surprising pride the changes Klaus had made several years ago. "[A new cabinet here. And you see, the section of flintlocks as been moved. And I believe one or two pieces have been added since last any of you were here.]"

"[This gun...]" Klaus moved over to the space he kept his work guns. The Magnum no longer rested on the wall when not in use; it was hanging on the rose-detailed shoulder-holster that Dorian had given him. If anything, the Magnum saw more action than it had in years, because it fit so perfectly into a comfortable holster; the only reason it was on that wall was because he'd left it there before they'd gone to London. But it wasn't his Magnum he picked up. It was instead, the gun on the wall beside it. Intricately detailed, a modern instrument that had been worked on to add style to the sharpness of metal. "[Russian. I acquired it on mission this summer.]"

Heinz had never asked about that holster, but he knew enough to guess its origin. Which was why he stiffened visibly to see it now, so obviously displayed and open to questions. "[I haven't seen this one, Klaus,]" he prompted, holding out his hand and hoping to draw everyone's attention to the Russian gun.

"[It was... dropped by a Bear Cub,]" he chuckled in a definitely frightening tone of voice, handing the piece of craftsmanship to his father for inspection. It was always a little odd when he laughed, and the particular smugness in his voice and cryptic words...

Not legitimately acquired, then. That made it all the more interesting, to assume that it was a modern Soviet model currently in use in the intelligence community. Heinz eagerly turned the gun over in his hands, studying the weight of it and sighting experimentally along the barrel. "[You will have to let me take it outside and give it a try.]"

Kurt was crowding close for a look as well, though casually let his eyes flicker to the unusual holster holding the Magnum a few times. Floral designs in such close proximity to guns he decided offended his sense of aesthetics.

"[Yes, Sir -- it's a smooth fire. Wonderful weapon.]" The delight over it was clear in Klaus' voice, as he looked over to his cousins, trying to feign interest in the other three Eberbachs' gun obsession. They were certainly soddy, lazy aristocrats! Then he looked over to his uncle. "[Uncle? What are you looking at?]"

One of the cousins saw, and wrinkled his nose. "[Ugh. Roses? Why on earth would you put a nice gun in a holster like *that*?]"

"[*Shut up*,]" he snapped at the cousin, the youngest boy. Erich. A waste of air in his opinion. "[It was a gift. It's very functional.]"

"[It's prissy,]" Kurt had to agree. Coming from his uncle, it was an opinion Klaus couldn't dismiss so lightly. "[Even if it is functional. It looks like something a woman would give.]"

"[If a woman gave you that with the idea in mind to please you, would you dare to give it back?]" Klaus challenged his uncle.

"[I wouldn't return anything a woman gave me with that intent,]" Kurt retorted. "[You and I are unalike in that, nephew. But neither would I use such a gift proudly if the giver displeased me.]"

"[Who did give it to you, Klaus?]" The middle cousin. It had only been a matter of time until Kurt's baiting produced the desired question from one of his offspring.

Klaus felt his face burn for a moment, either with anger or embarrassment. "[Lord Gloria.]"

Heinz, running damage control, glared at his son as he thrust the Russian weapon firmly back at him. "[Later, we can take it out and shoot. Now that you've eaten and rested, perhaps it would be a good time to tour the castle?]"

The gun wasn't put back on the wall -- instead, he slid it with an almost threatening familiarity into the belt beneath his jacket. "[Do you wish to do that now, Uncle Kurt?]"

"[We would have to retrieve the women,]" Kurt hazarded in a drawl. Which would also mean collecting that British Earl. What sort of a man gave such a gift to another man?

"[And poor Anton -- why, he's the only man there!]" Erich chuckled, to get a sharp glare from Klaus.

"[My colleague is indeed a homosexual -- but he's done our country more good than your pastry shop ever has. So keep your mouth shut.]"

"[You have no right to complain of your family's opinion of the Earl,]" Heinz reminded, sharply. "[It was your decision to bring him to this gathering.]"

Klaus' lips stayed shut, but the jumping clench of his jaw was hard to ignore. Finally, he murmured, "[I would expect for them to at least pretend to be respectful towards a man I and many other officers trust with our lives in situations that are impossibly dangerous.]"

"[You expect a lot, nephew.]" Kurt's bright eyes strayed to Heinz, no doubt relishing the private conversation they would hold later. How could his brother be surprised at a lack of grandchildren when his only son kept such company? "[Having not observed the British man under similar situations, we cannot hope to hold the same respect of him that you do. Respect is earned, after all.]"

"[Respect towards a guest is expected.]" It wasn't even a suggestion -- it was in line with the morals Klaus had had structured into him; to deal with such hypocritical back-stabbing made his head ache. "[I have treated your guests, friends and extended family politely over the years. Courtesy would have you extend the same."

"[He will receive it, to his face.]" And that, apparently, was the final word Kurt had to say on the subject, to his nephew at any rate. Klaus' behaviour was yet another topic that Heinz would have to suffer through later.

It seemed to him that the young heir was not only demonstrating his old, familiar cold, impersonable and often horrid behaviour, but now he was doing it with a lack of regard for the rest of the family.

Klaus led the way then, to the parlour again, cringing inwardly as he opened the door. And hoping they'd left Dorian in mostly one piece.

He needn't have worried. The blonde, wearing a slightly smug expression and curled even more comfortably in the chair, seemed to have fared much better than his lover had in fending off curious Eberbachs.

Klaus was realising that they certainly were different in their approached to people -- more so than he'd realised. He tried words, but usually ended up hurting his case more than aiding. Threats and actions worked so much better! "[Are you ladies interested in a quick tour of the Schloss, before we break to prepare for the ball?]"

As the familial Schloss should have held no real interest for Dorian -- he couldn't very well admit to calling it home for several months out of the past year -- the Earl had no trouble excusing himself from the tour. He could take the extra time to prepare early for the ball, and perhaps help Klaus with the same when he returned. The blonde couldn't help but notice that his lover was looking a little frazzled.

A frazzled, frayed look that lingered around the edges of his eyes throughout the entire tour and accompanying gossip, mentions of weddings, prods at Dorian -- 'Die Schwul' as Erich was now calling him. His lover. He had to bite his tongue and let them attack so laughingly his lover of two years...

Eventually they reached the wing that held the bedrooms, and there Klaus paused to look over the assembled group of relatives. "[I don't think any tour up here is necessary.]"

The assembly seemed to be of the same opinion. Klaus' ice and rock attitude was beginning to wear on no few number of them, and most were more than pleased to quickly excuse themselves from his presence. More rapid laughter followed the cousins back to their room, and the still-blushing Josephine had to be pried from her fiancÈ and deposited in her separate room.

And, awaiting Klaus back in his was a freshly-cleaned and little clothed Dorian.

"How was the tour?" the blonde asked, looking up as Klaus entered. "Wait -- never mind. You look awful enough for me to guess."

Silent and still stony-faced, Klaus sat on the edge of the bed, took off his tie, his coat, turned half-way around before he stretched out across the bed on his stomach, body screaming exhaustion. "Wake me in a few."

Dorian was not about to let him get away with curling up so sweetly and invitingly and then just falling asleep! Robed but naked beneath, Dorian stretched across the bed beside his lover and pulled the tired man into his arms. "In a few. Let me hold you while you rest, at least."

"Mmm." That was weary agreement, as Klaus shifted a little into the warmth of Dorian's grasp. Though, he still hadn't moved much. It was something he'd never admit to, but he truly enjoyed the secure feeling that came with sleeping in Dorian's arms, the serenity of it.

He was put to sleep by Dorian very softly humming Klaus' beloved, familiar composition, and by the feel of fingers lightly stroking through his hair.

Only to be woken in slightly less than a 'few' later, by a sharp rapping at the door.

"Was?" Blearily asked, Klaus' head snapping up to look towards the door. Consciousness wasn't coming to him yet, still trapped as he was in the fuzzy land of comfort and warmth. "Who'sat?"

Dorian reluctantly loosened his hold on Klaus, from where he'd been resting with a cheek pressed contentedly against his lover's raven head. Considering who was in the house and the state he was in, not to mention the fact that he was in Klaus' bedroom at all, Dorian didn't dare say anything. It would be best if he hid in the bathroom until whoever it was left.

That woke Klaus up more, Dorian's unexpected movement and disturbance of his doze. He wisely pulled away from Dorian and then he moved towards the door, looking very much, with hair ruffled in places and faint cloth lines on his face, dishevelled. "[Who is it?]"

"[Your father. If... he's in there as well, I need to speak with you both.]"

"Come in, then, Sir," Klaus murmured, opening the door carefully for the man and letting him into a room that was now *certainly* and without a doubt lived in by both of them.

Heinz had avoided that room for just that reason.

Just as he pointedly avoided looking at Dorian, still clothed in only a robe of watery silk, in a colour disturbingly like his eyes. "[Thank you.]" Heinz slipped inside and took a chair without waiting for it to be offered.

Klaus' desk chair, and the smell of his usual brand of cigarettes permeated the wood. "You said you wanted to speak?"

"[Yes. About...]" A hand waved at Dorian, at Dorian's suitcase and Dorian's other things tossed to casually about the room. About the changes Dorian had wrought on Klaus' private place, and on the man himself. Two years had brought a lot, much more than Heinz had expected, and his hope that the decadent Earl would be a passing interest for his son was close to dead. "[You're not, ah, going to do anything stupid at the ball, are you?]" The significance of these next few days to them was not lost on him.

"English, Father," Klaus chided, stretching a little and then deciding to not smoke a cigarette. "Did we do anything stupid last year?" They had, reasonably, avoided each other like the plague at the ball.

Heinz shifted, pulling his eyes off Dorian with some difficulty. It wasn't right that any man should be so beautiful. No wonder his son had been snared by the Earl's charms. "No," was his grudging admittance. "But this year... A lot is different. You must know the whole family is on edge. And you have changed a good deal as well. I thought under the circumstances a warning was in order."

"On edge?" Klaus snorted, looking over his father grimly. "Good. They deserve to be on edge considering their behaviour."

"You have put them there with yours! You should be ashamed to be so smug about it." These moments of apathetic rebellion were coming more often these days, a trend which greatly disturbed the elder Eberbach.

"How have I been acting to put them on edge, sir? I've gotten *sick* of being a target for their nasty humour -- I've been around other people enough lately to know it isn't proper to act like that towards your family."

It was sad indeed when that lesson was learned from others, and not your own kin! But Dorian wisely kept his opinion to himself.

"Have you forgotten that you are the head of the family? You must be better than the others, in actions and words." It was a difficulty Heinz himself had battled for years.

"I apologise," Klaus murmured, moving to the closet to start pulling out his tuxedo. "But I was being provoked."

"You brought it on yourself. This..." He waved his hand at Dorian. "This dalliance does not give you the right to react on provocations. No matter what, I expect you to be the same upstanding man you have always been." The message was clear. Dorian would be tolerated, barely, as Klaus' lover, provided the relationship did not infringe upon his son's better qualities.

"I am no less upstanding than I was a year ago, two years ago, three years ago, sir," Klaus said in a respectful tone. And not the same straining one he'd used a year ago on his father, barely any respect in it at all. "But Dorian is not a 'dalliance', sir. You would do no less if someone were saying such things about mother."

The comparison Heinz clearly found uncomfortable, but the truth to his son's words could hardly be disputed. "It is... not the same," he finally offered weakly. "Your mother was objected to on the basis of her social standing. The Earl you cannot defend in the same manner without bringing yourself under the same attacks."

Rising now to find his own clothing, Dorian felt he'd been quiet enough on the matter. "Oh, you worry too much, both of you. If you think this is the first time I've been poked fun at and called nasty names, you're far wrong. It's only for another few days -- I can defend myself."

"Dammit, you shouldn't *have* to," Klaus told him, tossing his tuxedo jacket onto the bed, pants soon following. /I know I used to, but it was *wrong*.../ "Uncle Kurt is intelligent enough -- he's probably already pieced this together."

Heinz confirmed it. "He plans to drag me away to 'talk' this evening. What am I supposed to tell him, Klaus? I cannot lie to my brother, against a direct question."

"Tell him that I'm still a Major in NATO; that I'm to be reviewed for a promotion for the first time in five years come January; that it doesn't change anything." Shoes next, set with his clothes, and then he began to search through the dresser for his cuff-links.

"You don't care that he knows." Flatly said, disbelief holding Heinz's eyes.

The same old argument, round and round. Dorian was quite sick of it, and close to doing something drastic to derail the conversation. "I don't see why your stuffy family has such a problem with it anyway. The last time I checked, my credentials were quite impressive. You could do a lot worse for a mate than me."

"G," Klaus chuckled grimly, tossing Dorian a shaky smile for that bit of aid. "No, sir, I don't care if he knows. Come the new year, I'm going to make some changes in my records that will... essentially give Dorian the rights of a spouse."

Disbelief turned quickly to shock, fed by rage held unusually well in check. "You will NOT! Whatever happened to discretion, Klaus? You'll ruin the family for certain!" Part of the reason Dorian had been tolerated the last year was that the pair *had* been discrete, and that the family name had not suffered.

"How will the family be ruined by my deciding to give my... essentially working partner the right to make medical decisions if I'm hurt on a mission? What if I die? I won't have him barred from my life in the event of an emergency." Klaus' tone was hard and firm on that, a snap of fury to equal his father's. "Power of Attorney is all I'm giving him."

"Already people suspect! This decision is a... a great confirmation of those suspicions! Power of Attorney is not a right not usually granted anyone outside of family!" For Klaus to give it to the Englishman was more than a mark against his own kin, but a firm declaration that he held the blonde foreigner in higher esteem than them.

"If you want to excuse it, say it's a matter of convenience. In the event of injury or death on a mission, Dorian will be the fastest person to contact." And with that, he swept up his clothes and headed into the bathroom.

Leaving a not nearly clothed Dorian to confront what was left of his father's anger.

"It's not convenience, is it?" Heinz pressed the blonde man, glowering. It was the first time this evening he'd addressed Dorian directly, and was obviously still uncomfortable to do so.

Dorian owed Klaus and himself the truth, if nothing else. "No, it is not. I am very happy with Klaus, and he with me, and there is no reason for us to want to part. You'll have to put up with me for a great many more Christmases, I'm afraid."

It was too much, to be told that so bluntly and smugly by his son's... fag of a lover. Heinz rose then, and left. Not in a fit of anger, he just left, closing the door behind him.

It seemed an effective Eberbach way to end a conversation.

One day, Dorian would be able to sit down and have a civil talk with the man. Perhaps. And certainly not before he could also do the same with his mother, which looked to never happen. Heaving a rather melodramatic sigh, the blonde rose and went to dress.

Klaus came out of the bathroom in fifteen minutes, washed, dressed, and with blow-dried hair. He was certainly calmer now, and finding his father gone certainly helped. "Dorian?"

"Over here, love." Dressed, minus the finishing touches, Dorian emerged from the closet, a pair of shoes in hand.

It didn't matter that he was only half turned around -- not to Klaus, not then. He slid his arms around Dorian's familiar frame, hugging him tight. "I love you."

The remainder of the turn was difficult to negotiate in that tight embrace, but well worth the effort, as it brought Klaus' lips within reach. "Love you too." Dorian applied a soothing, eager kiss, of the sort he'd been wanting to take all day.

"I'm glad I finally believe you," Klaus sighed, nuzzling against Dorian's mouth a little. "Just like last year, we're going to have to avoid each other..."

"I can bear it, easily, if it means coming back to this room, our sanctuary, and our bed with you in it." Dorian's kisses were more smiles pressed against Klaus' lips, but the effect was the same. "Your father left in a huff. Nothing unusual there."

"Nothing at all." Hurtful truth, that, but nothing could make it any less hurtful or truthful. "We should probably head down now. Or am I running early?"

"Early." Another kiss, off-center a little. "You had considerably less of a nap than you'd planned."

He glanced over to the clock. Twenty minutes early to even be early. "Then I'm going to lay down again."

"You'll wrinkle something." But the way Dorian edged with him towards the bed said that he wouldn't care at all, would even help him do the wrinkling.

"The jacket doesn't wrinkle," Klaus countered, even as he laid back, neatly this time, on his back. "Twenty minutes. No more."

"Twenty minutes." Dorian seemed to have fallen into the habit of repeating things today, if only because he hoped it was reassuring. Cat-like he curled himself around and half on top of Klaus, and nuzzled his cheek on the man's shoulder. "Then a few hours of agony, and then back to this."

"It'll be more tiring than usual," Klaus agreed. A year ago... he'd finally surrendered to Dorian, crossed that final sexual border between them. A pity they wouldn't be able to repeat the performance.

They'd more than made up for it a few days before though, in London. "You'll sleep better for being tired," Dorian told him, habitually looking on the bright side of a bad situation. "Just a few more days, my darling, and we'll be free again."

"Next year. I'd like a mission." Half-mumbled words as Klaus let his eyes close again.

An ominous chuckle slipped from the blonde man. "Truly? I could... make arrangements."

"Don't tell me." A shift, and Klaus pressed his cheek against thick golden-blonde curls. "Idiot."

"Shh," Dorian soothed, snuggling his head more closely under Klaus' cheek. "Rest. Twenty minutes, Darling." Well, closer now to eighteen, but Dorian's sense of time when not on missions was far from exact.

His dark-haired lover let out a sighed breath, finally giving in to a brief, heavy sleep. They'd done the same thing on the last very long mission -- deep in the bowels of Czechoslovakia, stranded there with A, B, and Z. The final fire-fight between them and the KGB had been a long one, and he'd actually had a bullet wing him. But they'd slipped away from the KGB, and holed up for a night in some shitty abandoned shack.

The Alphabets surely knew *now*, seen it confirmed with their own eyes. Iron Klaus, sitting in a corner, tending to a flesh-wound at the side of his neck, then, Eroica tending to it for him. And somehow both of them stayed in that corner, without much yelling or threats. The agents had preferred to not look, for fear of being yelled at. But when they *did* look back, it was to find Eroica curled up worriedly in the Major's grasp.

Somehow it had given Klaus strength to hold his lover. Likewise Eroica's fears had been eased somewhat to find the Major's grasp firm and warm and steady. And if the Alphabets knew, so what? They'd only guessed it for years, and those who spoke at all to Eroica's team during missions had it confirmed through gossip. The general consensus was that the affair was a good thing. The Major had been less for yelling over the past years. New members were initiated with horror stories about how terrible Iron Klaus could be, and were a bit disappointed to never quite find him living up to his reputation. The only cause of the new-found peace that could be pointed to was Eroica, and for that most were bemused but grateful.

It didn't remove Klaus' fanaticism for the West, nor his commitment to missions -- the anger was often still there, but it was better tempered. Slower to show, and that was Eroica's doing. The less infighting between Klaus and the thief, the less flaws in their missions and less stress all around.

Twenty minutes passed, and Klaus gave a groggy noise, his internal alarm-clock stirring him to consciousness before Dorian could wake him up. If the Earl was even looking at the time.

To his credit, he'd been flicking the occasional glance to his watch. His own internal clock never seemed to keep proper time when he wasn't in Eroica's hyper-alert state. "Is it that time?" the blonde asked his stirring lover gently. "Shall we go down together, or separately?"

"Whatev'r." Slurred words as Klaus sat up, pulling Dorian with him. It took only a moment for him to pull together a stony mask and rid himself of sleepiness. "Might as well go at the same time."

"If I'm seen coming out of your room..." Sleepy Klaus was simply too sweet to resist, Dorian showering his cheek with a quick burst of kisses. "You go first, and make sure the way is clear."

A spare thought that Dorian hopefully hadn't put on any lipstick, and Klaus nodded, stretching for a moment.

Then he opened the bedroom door, half-stepping, half peeking out.

That put him face to face with his Aunt Catherine. His opening the door must have halted her progress down the hall. "[Well...?]" she demanded, looking elegant and stiff in a sleek gown of black. "[Are you going to stand there gawking, or escort me down to the ball?]"

/*SHIT*/ The family's heir looked momentarily dumb-stuck, and he was torn between diving back to his room and diving past Catherine. Instead, he took a step backwards, and felt at his belt in an almost practised manoeuvre. "[Yes, I will, Aunt -- but please wait a moment. I've forgotten my side-arm.]" No-one dared to question his wearing of a fire-arm at nearly all times. Not since the ball where there *had* been a Soviet parading as a waiter, and the man had tried to kill Klaus. It had brought home -- literally -- the danger of his job.

"[Of course.]" The grand lady was kept waiting in the hall as Klaus retreated to his room and, suspiciously, closed the door behind him.

"Wait two minutes, then follow me," Klaus instructed softly in a whisper of English, slamming open his desk drawer and pulling out the Russian fire-arm he'd carried in his belt all day, Already loaded, eight bullets neatly in place... and dammit, no holster. He couldn't take a detour to the gun-room, unless he took Catherine with him... though that might be an option. The gun was shoved against the small of his back, safety in place, holsterless, and then he opened the door again, stepping out. Door closed firmly behind him. "[Would you mind terribly if I swung past the gun-room, Aunt Catherine? I've a gun, but no holster.]"

Inconvenience warred briefly in her eyes with politeness, and politeness, with the help of breeding, won out. "[I would not mind, nephew. Better that you holster the monster than give some poor girl a terrible fright to discover it tucked at your waist."] The fact that he'd carried the gun there most of the afternoon had not escaped her sharp attention.

He dredged up a smile, and nodded, taking her arm politely and leading her down the hallway. "[I would not want the safety coming off during dancing. That would be... very dangerous.]"

"[Oh, my...]" This from the man who'd taken quite matter-of-factly a ball in the not too distant past being interrupted by gunfire. It was one thing Catherine wondered about her nephew -- how he managed to live in the near-constant state of paranoia he must to keep himself alive, and not go crazy or sick with stress.

Then again, there was the possibility that he thrived off of it. "[If some girl had wandering hands, I would prefer to not end up shot to pieces,]" he informed her lightly, taking smooth, even-paced steps down the stairs. "[There would be irony if the gun got me now, when it couldn't in the hands of a Bear Cub.]"

Klaus being 'shot to pieces' at a family ball Catherine considered too tragic a thought to bother with irony, but she didn't say as much. Her nephew was more charming a companion than usual, his steps measured to match her mincing ones, and she was in too high a mood to bring it down with a quarrel.

Something must have put Klaus in at least a reasonable mood. She'd have to check his breath for liquor, though she couldn't smell any immediately.

Instead of heading to the ballroom right away, Klaus led her to the gun-room, opened the door, let her enter first, then took off his tuxedo's jacket, pulling the Russian-made gun out of the back waist-band of his sleek trousers. "[Something that won't go off on accident,]" he was saying to himself, as he put the weapon on the wall, surveyed the section of working guns, and then decided on his already neatly holstered Magnum.

One gun was much like another to Catherine, who only knew that the one Klaus finally settled on was larger than the other and came in a nice, neat holder. She waited at the door, loathe to step so much as a foot into his favourite den of masculinity, and wrinkled her nose discreetly at the strong smells of machine oil and gunpowder.

The holster was slid on perfectly, adjusted just a little, and then he slid his tuxedo jacket back on, concealing the powerful weapon. "[There.]"

Edging into the hallway, Catherine called, "[Coming?]" She was a little eager to arrive at the ball. Showing up on the arm of the head of the family was a small mark in her favour, but Josephine's engagement would really put her in the spotlight this evening, as the victorious mother of the bride-to-be.

"[Yes, Aunt Catherine.]" He seemed oddly at ease, the feel of hard steel nestled against the side of his broad chest taking an edge from his nerves. Stepping into the corridor, and closing the door behind him, he took her arm again leading the way into the Hall. "[How soon is Josephine planning on wedding her fiancÈ?]" Polite conversation, that would certainly make the woman happy.

More than happy. Even though she knew it was only polite, and that Klaus didn't truly care one way or the other. There was little chance of his attending, even though he would be invited of course, and send in his stead the customary proper gift, probably chosen by his butler. "[Oh, the plans have already been set to motion, but these things take time.]" She was too pleased to add the expected, sarcastic 'not that you would know'. "[The engagement was decided to be a year, with two months having passed already.]"

"[I will do my best to attend when the date has been set,]" he told her pleasantly enough. But his duty was a large part of his life, and what little time he had between missions was often spent with Dorian. They neared the ball now, and the stream of people -- family in all directions, and social friends -- who were pouring into the room. He kept his eyes open for a particularly tall blonde man, hoping Dorian had escaped from his room successfully.

If Klaus' hopes had had a way of coming true, he wouldn't have been attending the ball at all. And if Dorian had known of his lover's well-wishing, he would have pleaded with the man not to bother. The thief suspected that Klaus' paranoia was a draw for trouble more often than not.

Waiting the two minutes in quiet, pacing boredom, Dorian had finally snuck to the door. An ear pressed against it caught no sounds outside, so he'd eased it open and slipped through.

Only to be seen by Erich as the man rounded the far end of the hall.

Dorian's caution made the already furtive motion that much more suspicious, and the German caught up to him in several quick-march strides. "[Hey! What do you think you're doing? Isn't that Cousin Klaus' room?]"

Poor Dorian, looking all the more stunned and guilty for being questioned sharply in German, spurred his sluggishly reacting mind to translate. An answer was even longer in coming. God, it must look to the man like he was thinking up some excuse -- which was exactly what he was doing, although he was normally not so obvious about it by half. "[I- Yes, it is. I was just... looking for something. A...]" Damn, what was the word? "[To borrow -- I forgot mine.]" He reached beneath his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a suspender strap with a thumb.

"[Cousin Klaus doesn't wear those!]" Oh, God, it could get worse, couldn't it? Erich was fixing him with a steady gaze, searching over Dorian from head to toe. "[You should stay out of his room -- he hates people going in there. Were you stealing something?!]"

That accusation drew the Briton up angrily, his sapphire coloured eyes glittering like that same faceted stone. "[Definitely not!]" But no further excuse came to his mind. He couldn't very well argue that it was his bedroom too, and that he had as much right as Klaus to enter and leave it as he pleased.

"[You were probably doing something disgusting in there,]" Erich said, wrinkling his nose at the British man. "[After all the trouble Cousin Klaus has gone to to make you sound like a good person, and he doesn't have any idea you're doing things in his bedroom!]"

/Oh yes he does!/ But Dorian couldn't very well say that either. Instead, he tried for his fail-safe method of dealing with irate Eberbachs -- suggest something terrible, to take their mind off whatever had made them irate. "[If you think I was doing anything improper, like stealing, you can search me.]" That was said with a slow, wicked smile.

"[UGH! You'd probably like it!!! You fag,]" Erich snarled, talking a step back. "[I don't know how he can stand you, stand working with you!]"

Viciously repressed was the urge to roll his eyes. The idiot! Of *course* that he would enjoy it was what Dorian had been suggesting! Klaus, innocent that he'd been, had never been so slow on the uptake, no matter how vague or veiled Dorian's innuendo. That smile turning inwardly musing, the thief uttered, "[I am not sure either. Perhaps you could ask him some time.]"

"[Move,]" Erich barked, glaring at him. "[Get down there, before one of us tosses you out on your ass.]"

"[Can't be done,]" the blonde continued proudly as he turned and sauntered down the hall. "[I'm like a cat, always land on my feet. I've the devil's own luck, you know.]"

"[You don't belong here,]" he was told unhappily. "[This is for family and friends, and you're neither. You're some sort of leech and Cousin Klaus is too trusting of you to know it.]"

"[Is that so?]" Oh, what a blow beneath the belt! Dorian wasn't about to stand around and take such abuse from the snot-nosed Eberbach cousin. "[Your Klaus is the most...]" Here his German failed him, and he inserted in English, "[ 'paranoid' man I have ever met. I won his trust fairly and with work. I am sure in a difficult mission, he would want me to guard his back long before he would trust you to do it.]"

"[Just because you work well with him doesn't mean you're a good person,]" Erich snapped, pacing Dorian down the hall-way and then the stairs. "[You shouldn't be here.]"

"[I was here last year and the last before. More than you recently. And I have every right to be here. Klaus asked me to come.]" Demanded was closer, actually -- to his father. Apparently Heinz had been told point blank that Klaus would not be attending if Dorian did not.

"[*Why*?]"

"[Why is it so difficult for you people to believe that Klaus can have a friend?]"

"[Because he beats people up for a living. He kills,}" Erich snorted. "[He's a gun freak, and he's *never* had friends. Ever.]"

It was risky, what Dorian said next, but at this point he had little to loose. He'd been in enough fights to handle himself reasonably well against someone not a trained professional, even if that someone had the Eberbach build and strength. But he hoped it didn't come to a fight... "[Maybes he has, but was too ashamed of his family to let them meet.]"

"[Or too ashamed of his friends to let them near his family?]" Eric shot back, walking Dorian down the corridor towards the hall. "[He's never had friends. Even when we were kids and he came back from school, he didn't. Cousin Klaus is a dead-hearted tank, not a human-be -- Abigail! Lovely to see you here!!]" And with that, Cousin Erich tore away from Dorian to be with his compatriots.

Leaving Dorian to stand alone at the landing of the stairs, seething in anger with nothing to release it on. Asses -- every last one of them! The whole family, excluding Klaus, could disappear off the face of the planet, and Dorian would rejoice its going. He was quite pleased, the more he thought about it, to have been instrumental in its decline, at any rate. If it hadn't been for him, Klaus would have likely married as was expected of him, and produced a litter of offspring to follow in the family tradition.

But, there was also the possibility that they were asses, *and* that Klaus had acted in a manner to give them such a bad impression of himself.

Well, no matter. He knew how Klaus acted *now*, and that was what was important.

And coming from the other direction was Klaus, smiling, saying greetings to people in the crowd, his Aunt on his arm. So THAT was what had met him out in the hallway!

If Dorian wasn't so busy feeling sorry for himself for his own miserable encounter, he would have been sympathetic. With the brief sight of Klaus as distraction it was an easy thing to slip into the familiar hall and sidle up to the bar, procuring himself a drink. Now, to find some quiet corner to set the night out...

Unfortunately, the quiet corner he'd been aiming for held two elder Eberbachs, Kurt having dragged, with what passed for him for discretion, Heinz over for some words.

"[We need to talk, Heinz.]"

"[Is this really an appropriate time and place?]" Heinz questioned testily, guessing the topic of the 'necessary' talk.

"[The time can get no better, and we can go elsewhere if you'd like,]" Kurt told him, shooting a glance over to where Klaus was just slipping into the room, letting Catherine meander off seconds before being snatched up by another guest's attention and conversation.

"[Fine.]" Snapped with irritation. It was no clue to anyone who knew father and son where Klaus had gotten his temper. "[Ask your damned gossip and be done with it!]"

"[This... odd British man, Heinz -- tell me, he's more than a guest, isn't he?]"

"[More than a guest?]" Heinz's chosen ploy of evasion was to be particularly dense, it seemed. "[Whatever are you getting at, Kurt?]" His brother never had been able to speak directly about an indelicate topic. Perhaps he could get him to back down with a challenge.

"[I am getting at your son's lack of wife, fiancÈ, *girl-friend* or any other such female companion.]" But, it appeared no backing down in sight. "[My boys are all married, and they're younger than Klaus.]"

But neither had Kurt worked up the courage for anything other than vague insinuations, easily countered. "[None of your sons are in the demanding, high-risk profession that Klaus is.]"

"[None of my sons have dragged a foreign, homosexual male friend with them two years in a row to family events. I think, Heinz, that you are turning a blind eye to a loud problem.]"

"[A blind eye is a noble's right. Don't think my ears are deaf as well, Kurt...]" That came out as a low growl, and Heinz edged a threatening step closer to his younger brother. The damned man never did know where his boundaries lay! "[Are you suggesting that I am lax in my parental duties?]"

And the damned man wasn't intimidated by his older brother. "[I am suggesting that your son will not ever be having parental duties.]"

Kurt looked over his shoulder for a moment, taking a slow survey of the people in the room, marking Klaus as in deep conversation -- or, as deep as Klaus could manage -- with a few bankers, and Dorian with the art-lovers. "[That is, unless the blonde in the white tuxedo can bear children.]"

"[Oh, have the balls to say it outright, you gutless worm! Say to my face what you've been insinuating!]"

"[Your tank of a son is a *queer*.]"

What Heinz said then was the bravest, craziest thing he'd ever said in his entire life. It made no sense, according to his morality and upbringing, but he was so damned *tired* of the problem that he simply couldn't care anymore. It was permanent, he knew, just like the damned Earl was permanent, and not anything he nor anyone else thought, said or did would make it otherwise.

"[Better that than a lazy pastry shop-owner who has nothing better to do than sit on his ass all day and sample his wares.]"

It stunned his brother into a shock of silence for long moments.

Then, almost weakly from the other man, "[You approve of this?]"

"[My approval was neither sought not obtained in the matter. Klaus' life is, after all, his own to live.]"

"[His life and the family's life!!! What did you do wrong to raise a man to grow up to be... to be that!!]" Kurt was frowning intensely at his brother, arms crossing over his chest.

"[Oh, don't make yourself into a bigger ass than you already have.]" Heinz imitated the pose, looking marginally more fierce. "[It's what you've always wanted, isn't it? The hope that Klaus might fail in his dangerous job, might not live to produce an heir so that the line could continue through your own grubbing offspring...]"

"[It's a tragedy either way,]" Kurt chuckled, feeling a pleased rise in his mood at the reminder of that fact. "[We'll talk more, later, Brother.]"

Meaning, after Kurt had run around to spread the atrocious news like the gossiping swine that he was. Heinz would not be drug into some semi-public discussion later in the evening, with all eyes in the hall riveted to the quarrelling brothers. "[We will not.]" Heinz grabbed Kurt's arm, hard, and stayed him from walking away. "[If you've anything further to say on the subject, do it now. And know that if I hear so much as a word of this spread tonight, I'll know who to blame.]"

Kurt sneered at him. "[I won't say a word. I'll let your son do all the damage he will on his own. It's more enjoyable to watch someone self-destruct.]"

"[I've news for you, little brother...]" Heinz's grip tightened a fraction. "[To the best count I can make, this has been going on for two years. Two years, and the family would still be oblivious had not Klaus insisted the Earl attend this gathering. Two years without a single flaw in his job performance. My son is above self-destructing.]"

No longer little, but still younger and weaker of strength than his brother; Kurt didn't pull away. "[Then he can be a steady, strong, and queer tank until he dies and the family can continue in the proper direction.]"

It was great effort that kept Heinz from giving his opinion on 'the family'. More and more, his Klaus was separating himself from the Eberbach clan. It left Heinz in the uncomfortable position of not knowing whether to put his loyalty in his son, who made him proud despite certain leanings, or his other kin, who the more he associated with them, the more ashamed of them he became.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Klaus *would* produce an heir -- however he finally decided, if -- and set the family back down on a better direction than the pettiness it was headed along.

Until then, there was his little brother to watch slip from his grasp, smile once, and then disappear to socialise before anyone truly noticed he'd been gone.

Well, Heinz had taken his son's advice and basically told the truth. What happened now would happen, and the elder Eberbach couldn't even dredge up the proper horror at it all.

Perhaps because the polish of the Eberbach name was still there, but beneath it was nothing more than a corruption. A family going through the motions to keep up a name... yet, lashing out at their one member who was actually doing the name good for the sake of a cause, and not an image.

What horror could he feel for defending that? Klaus' mother would have been proud of her son, if she'd been alive, which was more than Heinz could say for the rest of the family. It had taken a foreigner in so many senses to show Klaus how life should be.

On the other side of that large room, Dorian couldn't have felt Heinz's thoughts, odd and drifting. But he could feel a hand alighting solidly on his shoulder.

Erich again.

"What do you want now?" Dorian in a smoothly practised motion removed himself from under Erich's hand, not even sloshing the drink he held. A languid sip was taken, Dorian not even sparing Klaus' cousin an interested look.

"I... want to... [Talk about what you're doing here. You're not more than a puffed up party crasher!]"

"[At least I'm a charming and elegant one, Darling.]" It felt odd to waste the familiar pet-name on Erich, but it was also likely to produce the desired result. "[When was the last time you let out the buttons on that tux? Isn't it about time for a new one?]"

The young man, who looked like an Eberbach in name only, because he had none of the spine of other relatives, only blustered quietly for a moment before glaring. And it wasn't even an inkling of what Klaus or Heinz pulled up when they were angry. "[Why don't you go find some fag to dance with.]"

"[Are you offering? I'd accept, but I fear for my poor toes.]"

"[I'm no homo! There's not a single Eberbach who would *ever* dance with you, you stupid Brit!]"

If it wouldn't have been so damaging to Klaus' reputation, Dorian would have taken that as a dare, and marched right up to his lover and asked for the next dance. Instead he gave Erich a sliver of his bright laughter, and gestured with his drink. "[What makes you think I would want to dance with any stuffy Germans?]"

"[Then why are you here with the stuffy Germans?]"

"[There is one unstuffy German who asked me to attend. I am here to keep him company among all the stuffiness.]"

"[Cousin Klaus?]" Erich couldn't help a laugh, a true, full laugh, from leaving him. "[Cousin Klaus is the most inhibited, stuffy man in the world!]"

The Earl shrugged absently. "[Think what you will -- it's no matter to me.]"

"[Apparently reality doesn't matter to you,]" Erich muttered, shaking his head. "[You're just standing here. Are you going to do that all night?]"

"[Since you've appointed yourself curator of hapless ball-guests, what do you suggest I do with myself, considering that no Eberbachs would dare to dance with me?]" The taunting edge to Dorian's voice was keenly honed.

"[Not a one of them would.]" The taunt had been taken, so well baited that Erich couldn't help but dive for it. "[Go on -- *try*!]"

What a colossal idiot! So easy to lead in conversation that Dorian could almost feel guilty about doing it. Even better was his slightly-raised voice, that was slowly attracting an interested crowd. It was time, Dorian decided, to invite them openly to the discussion. His eyes arrogantly swept the guests close, asking, "[Well...? What do you think my odds are? Should I take Cousin Erich here up on his dare?]"

"You should." That was Lady Evaline, eyes glittering smilingly at him. "[I can think that there would at least be a few who would!]"

The Lady quite possibly among them, though she might also refuse him for reasons of her own. Dorian did not wish to risk asking her. "[Very well.]" Now that they had an audience, he turned back to Erich. "[If I win, what shall my prize be?]"

"[Knowing that I was wrong?]" Erich laughed a little, looking around to those who were his compatriots. "[I won't mention what your Christmas gift to Cousin Klaus was last year. I don't think you'd mind, but *he* might....]"

"[That little thing?]" Dorian was laughing again, laughing the holster off as if it were a trinket. And perhaps it was. "[Oh, to see the look on your face when you find what I'm giving him *this* year! Your offers of prizes aren't enough to interest me, I fear. I prefer to play for high stakes. If I win...]" Here the Englishman paused, thoughtful, as his eyes roamed with just the hint of familiarity Erich's body. "[I want *that*.]" He pointed, barely touching with the tip of one finger the middle straining button of the man's tuxedo jacket.

More laughter now greeted his ears, and disbelieving, Erich nodded. "[Fine -- first you have to find someone to dance with. And quickly!]"

Dorian nodded as well, the deal completed. "[Very well. Another thing I don't like is an easy challenge. I've already danced with the grand Lady Evaline, and some few other Eberbachs of the gentler sex. But it *would* be a doubly pleasing thing to prove you wrong both about my ability to procure a partner, and your cousin being the stuffiest man alive. What say you, all? Shall I ask the head of the family himself?]"

"[Oh, a murder at a ball would be a terrible thing!]" one girl, a pretty thing on the outer edge of the group, exclaimed.

"[I don't think your neck is worth a button,]" Erich told him with a level gaze, "[but if you wish to, it's your choice. He's certainly... fond of you.]"

/Oh God, I certainly hope you're right for once, Erich./

Dorian drew himself up, straightening his jacket sleeves and taking a few calming breaths. "[My life has been valued at less than a button before. I'm a man of whim, haven't you heard? Even if I get a face full of iron knuckles for my trouble, the trying will have been worth my pain. Now... Watch me as I go!]"

With a little flourish of a bow and the knowledge that a good quarter of the eyes in the hall were upon him, Dorian sauntered off in the direction of Klaus.

Along the way he gathered even more eyes, and behind him silence spread like a billowy cape. Until finally he was in the little knot of conversation that held Klaus, and those people too seemed to sense something amiss, and grew quiet.

"[What the --]" Had it been English, Klaus wouldn't have bothered stifling the curse-word that rose to his lips as he looked up in the growing lulling of conversation. His eyes, as he met Dorian's, were sharp, flat and more than a little angrily questioning. Hadn't they agreed to not draw attention to themselves? "[Lord Gloria? What is going on?]"

"[Your cousin, sir,]" Dorian began, his eyes positively alight with manic mischief as he gestured back at Erich, "[seems to be of the opinion that I am a 'wallflower'.]" He didn't know the German equivalent of the word. "[I approach you only to prove him wrong. Might I, most humbly, ask for the next dance?]" He finished with a wildly grand bow, full of sweeps and ridiculous flourishes of his hand.

For a moment, terrible, and tremulous, it seemed to the gathered people as if Klaus very well *might* kill Dorian, friend or not! His mouth was still closed, jaw muscles twitching dangerously in anger that flared up through his eyes.

And misery, a little -- but only Dorian noticed that. Klaus didn't know the full game, and he'd expected, when a moment like this came, that he and Dorian would have co-ordinated it. That it wouldn't be some dangerous whim of the thief's, that he'd have a *say*. He wasn't angry at the suggestion -- he was angry at Dorian for not having... worked it out better with him. He wasn't ready just yet to admit it so *clearly* to his family...

Especially if it was just for some game Dorian was involved in.

"[Cousin Erich put you up to this?]" Klaus asked in a very sharp, and cleanly unhappy tone. "[Well, I will have to help you prove him wrong. I will lead.]"

"[You will...?]" So convincing had Klaus been in his displeasure that Dorian had had unpleasant flashbacks to several years past, when Klaus was just as likely to answer such a request with fists as with words. His smile, which had faltered, was back. It was Eroica's smile, thrilling at the danger of what he was about to get away with. "[I mean... of course. Shall we...?]" Resting his hand lightly on Klaus' arm, he nodded to the dance floor.

Klaus looked and felt like he was going to flinch back, and as if it was taking him great effort to not do so. In fact, it was. Never had, in his two years with Dorian, pride and social duty warred so hotly with his lover's whims and his own wants. He'd promised that, some day, they would dance together; but he'd meant when things had been straightened out. Not *yet*. That hadn't been how he'd wanted everyone to find out!!

It wasn't Klaus that Dorian danced with when they set foot on the floor. The tight-muscled man wasn't smiling, or talking. Not even making conversation with his eyes any longer. He was The Major, every bit the stiff-backed, prudish homophobe that everyone said he was.

He was sure, as they fell into a familiar, if mechanical pace, that this game of Dorian's would be irreparable harm to his father's opinion of him. This time... Heinz probably would disown him.

Neither was it Dorian the Major danced with. Eroica basked in the amazed stares of the assembled guests, preening and flaunting his audacity for the whole of the family to see. Let Erich laugh now... That button was as good as his! He'd already decided he would thread it with ribbon and hang it around his neck like a medal, to wear for the rest of the night.

Klaus though... If Klaus was stiff in his arms, that couldn't be helped. More like dancing with a block of wood than his fiery lover, Dorian noticed at last -- and felt guilty for it, and belatedly for the misery he'd glimpsed in those beloved green eyes. The offer had been prideful whim and for the love of a good jest, and more and more felt like a terrible idea. If regret was something Dorian ever let touch him, he would have felt it now.

When the music shifted, signalling the end of one waltz and the beginning of another, Klaus all but jerked back, too *too* aware of the eyes on him. Hard, cold gaze was nothing like the smiled laughter he'd had for Dorian when they'd gone to the club in London, or even when they danced alone. "[There is your dance Lord Gloria. Have a good evening.]" Perfunctory, cold words as Klaus kept his eyes from scanning the crowd -- for fear of being enticed to anger or seeing his father, since he'd lost track of where in the room the man was.

With a sinking heart, Dorian went to claim his prize.

He couldn't keep the misery out of his eyes now, didn't care to bother trying. Surely to all gathered he must look like a love-sick idiot, pining after the unattainable. He'd played the part so long and so well that slipping back into it felt like coming home to an old friend.

The Earl, his smile stale, found Erich standing flabbergasted in a large knot of others. "[I've come to claim my prize.]"

Erich was dumb-founded as he looked at Dorian, but obliged -- the button was taken off with his own hand in one tug, tossed to Dorian so he didn't have to touch the man. "[You've won! I don't know how!]"

The button was snatched from the air in a quick fist, Dorian slowly allowing his hand to uncurl before him and his eyes to study his prize. "[I already told you, the devil's own luck.]" He sounded as if he wasn't certain anymore that it was such a good thing.

"[Have fun with your luck, then!]" Erich wanted nothing more to do with the British man, and chose then to walk away, taking his little pool of friends with him.

There were some, even among the Eberbachs, who might admire a daring foreign man who had danced with a tank, but Dorian found he no longer cared for company this evening, if it wasn't Klaus'. He wanted nothing more than to apologise, sincerely and repeatedly, when he could do nothing of the sort. Worse, he knew the longer his lover had to brew over the dance, the more stiff and aloof he would find the man later, and the harder it would be to melt his shell again. The few other times Dorian had done something or said something to truly anger him had been the same.

So he sulked, in the manner only one who knew every nook and cranny of the Schloss could sulk. It was an easy thing to slip from the great hall and find some quiet room -- the music room appealed suddenly, quiet and dark and full of the memories of nicer moods.

Nicer moods, and darker moods, too. Klaus hadn't worked at all on his piece of music since arriving to the Schloss, but then he hadn't had the time to do it. The year before he'd spent hours before the ball, in a good mood, composing the piece. It seemed the only reason the room got even perfunctory care and cleaning was because Klaus had ordered it so.

The old oil lamps weren't hard for Dorian to light, sealed away in a place of memory for both of them. This was where it had began -- the catalyst that had taken five years to work it's magic on Klaus. A moment of quiet and music, the first glimpse into his lover's soul.

The antique piano's bench made a good seat, and if Dorian were not fearful of being discovered he would be tempted to play. Not Klaus' composition -- he would never attempt that -- but something mellow and slow. He was in one of his rare periods of melancholy to which piano music was a very nice accompaniment.

Klaus would normally have laughed at him for thinking something like that, teased him about foppish foolishness if he'd known.

In the mood Klaus was in just then, however, he wasn't laughing at anything.

To most of the party-goers, it had proven that Klaus must have a *little* heart to have not killed his friend on the spot. And gave them a new joke, comparing Dorian's laughing, easy-going behaviour, even in such a foreign situation, to Klaus' stiff-backed reaction to that. He tried to carry on conversations, about banks he didn't care about, businesses that meant nothing to him, but he heard, everywhere he passed, comments. People wondering why he couldn't take a joke, why he didn't play it up, why he was such a stiff ass.

He'd turned deaf ears to those comments for years, but he'd never had someone he trusted so damned much make him the target, the laughingstock of a ball that had been destined to run miserably. Dorian thought it was fun to do that sort of thing, to play and joke; Klaus appreciated that about his lover, but there was a time and a place where it was *not* acceptable.

So the ball wore on, and on, until the stroke of midnight; it didn't end like it had the last year, but that was when Klaus bowed out. He would have to avoid his family, avoid his *father* for as long as he could. Just retreat to his room... And face Dorian then -- find out just what the hell was going on.

Only, when Klaus arrived at their bedroom, it was to find it empty and dark.