"Breakfast can come later," Klaus growled over his shoulder, no malice at all in his voice.

He looked, unlike the day before, like the Major -- crisp trousers and shirt sleeves, his treasured gun now holstered on the correct side. "Let's start by telling me what's going on."

"Well, sir," Z spoke up. "The Americans have reported an information leak of some sort. The Russians have been outmaneuvering them a lot lately, and so they called us for help. We've not been able to find the leak yet -- it seems to be fairly high up and there's more than one agent involved. We've managed to trace several agents who vacation in this area, though... we just need to find out when and where the next drop is. G and S have been tailing the agent we found late yesterday afternoon -- *after* the drop that you saw. C and M have gone to spell them."

That explained why he hadn't seen G yet. "What are the chances it's the same agent? Show me where they found him," he said brusquely, moving towards the map that was still laid out. "What equipment did you bring with you? Contact equipment...?" If things truly *were* as half-assed as he guessed they were...

"The usual," Z replied calmly, moving to show him. "There's a possibility that it's the same agent, but we suspect that there are at least two of them and someone else is behind the matter."

"Of course -- agents seldom do so well on their own in these matters... but the radio equipment -- G and S should have those parts *with* them so they can contact us. C and M didn't take it with them, either... A, K, go see that C and M are outfitted properly. If the man goes to make another drop, or to meet with Mischa, it would be good if they could *contact* us," he growled, looking back over the map. "First thing, we need to find where the Soviets are."

"YES, SIR!" *That* was the sound of several voices speaking simultaneously and Dorian almost laughed with sheer joy! /And Klaus thinks no one loves him! Hm!/

"We'll get right on it, sir!" A promised, everything in his hands already as he headed for the small door leading out to the garage.

"Why not fetch some breakfast while you're out?" Dorian called after K, eyes bright with mischief.

Klaus though, beyond the Alphabet's agreement to work, was paying the extra noises little attention; he was leaning over the map, looking at the remainder of the men there. "Mt. Greylock is here -- where else have there been drops made, or do we not know of any more?"

"It's the first we've found out about, sir," Z replied. "We hope surveillance will net us more information. We sent Q and R to D.C. to ferret about there."

"Idiot yanks." And with that, it was *assured* that Iron Klaus had returned to them. He snatched a pen out of D's shirt pocket, and circled Mt. Greylock, with notations as to what was seen. "Tourists -- the Yanks are passing themselves off as belonging there... Dorian, do you remember what the man was wearing?"

"Jeans. Black t-shirt, nothing descriptive on it that could be seen, but also a denim jacket. Shag haircut, very late seventies, but most of it was covered with a ballcap that said 'New York Yankees'," Dorian said firmly. "Glasses, but they were cheap off the rack things, nothing real. Oh, and some of those running shoes that they all like so... I couldn't tell what kind from where we were."

The pen was tossed back to D. "Write that down," he was instructed. "We can't pinpoint where the drops will be -- not yet; so we have to find the Soviets... Dorian, Z, come with me -- D, you're in charge. We're going to go to every hotel in the area and look around for the car with the license plate ABT-269."

Again came the rousing replies of, "Yes, SIR!" and the Alphabet went to work as the other three headed for the garage.

/Well, my Major, I think everyone is happy with this turn of events. Me, most of all,/ Dorian thought to himself with a smile as Klaus unlocked the doors.

"Dorian, run upstairs and get both phone-books," Klaus instructed after a moment's thought, already half in the driver's seat. "We'll start that way."

"Be right back," he assured, and then he was gone, leaving Z and Klaus to climb into the car together.

"Do you think we'll run into them this way, sir?" Z asked, putting on his seatbelt.

"Not really, but it's the only thing we have to go on at the moment," Klaus replied seriously, closing the door and buckling up. Then he lit a cigarette, drawing in a smoky breath. "At the moment."

Z nodded, watching for Dorian to come back as they sat there together in companionable silence. It only took the promised few moments before the other blond returned, climbing into the back seat quickly. "Got them. There're about ten hotels and motels and there seems to be an absolute bevy of bed and breakfast sorts of places..."

"Mischa wouldn't," Klaus said instantly, looking back over his shoulder at Dorian. He looked terribly pretty that morning, happy, smiling; early on Klaus had been worried that the scars themselves would interfere with that movement, but they hadn't. "We're off route 7 now -- tell me the location of the nearest hotel or motel, or whatever."

"Ahh... There's one that says it's on *this* road. From the number, I'm guessing it's probably a good eight miles, easily, since everything's so far apart through this stretch..." Dorian replied.

"There first, then," Klaus said, putting the car into reverse out the winding drive, and then pulling out onto the street, where he turned around and started off towards the main route.

The drive was quiet, all three men silent as they drove, Dorian looking out the windows at the scenery that passed. Everything was gold and crimson and even still green, a little, and he was glad they'd come. The weather was cool, everything was beautiful, and Klaus...

Klaus loved him.

Even if he wasn't sure, even if he didn't know, Dorian did, and nothing could have made the world more right than that. Nothing. /It makes up for... everything.../

Even if their lives had been turned upside down, even if Dorian had been left horribly shaken by it -- even, even if they both weren't quite right in their minds. It was worth it.

The Alphabets' arrival had lifted a desperate sadness from Klaus, too -- even if this went terribly and NATO flat out told them both that they couldn't be used as contractors, Dorian would have set in his memory the sight of Klaus so happy when he was happy, too.

He had been right, the night before. Nothing could get better than this.

"The hotel's up ahead," Z said softly, blue eyes already glancing through the cars closest to them. It was nothing fancy, nothing but outside parking available, and they could see all of the vehicles there as Klaus slowed down to turn and pulled into the lot, as alert as the other two were. All of their alertness didn't matter, though -- the plate wasn't there.

"We have to be careful -- he saw us, too, Dorian; He's probably expecting us to be coming... what's the next address?" he asked, before he pulled out of that lot.

"There's an inn on 1055 South Street," Dorian told him, a last lingering glance at the parking lot given -- just in case.

But there was nothing.

That seemed to be de facto for the day -- nothing. Three more places, and they'd looped back into Lanesbourgh on route 7 again to go to the next one.

They passed by an old cemetery on a hill, yellow grass growing high all around it. There were school children out, and teachers from the nearby elementary, making rubbings of the names on the old stones.

In the group of people there, one could almost miss the sight of the man with the baseball cap and the shaggy looking bowl-cut.

"WAIT!" Dorian cried. "It's him! He's in the cemetery!"

"And there's Mischa's car!" Z confirmed, eyeing the tag of the vehicle parked almost between two stones and nearly out of sight.

"I see," Klaus uttered, driving distinctly past it, not changing his speed until they were out of sight -- then he pulled into the driveway of a house that was for rent -- blessedly vacant -- and opened the car door. "Let's go -- we'll watch from the fringe of trees opposite where they were; we won't confront with children there."

Wordlessly, the other two got out with him, following behind 'til they reached the edge of the property and the line of gleaming oaks and aspens that resided there. In the cemetery, near a gleaming marble cross, the two men stood close to one another. Words were exchanged quickly, a packet in return for a small bag. The man took a look inside, quickly dumped the contents out into his hand and peered at them carefully.

Of course it wouldn't be cash -- jewels, little sparks, some colored, visible even from where they were standing.

The cache of children finally moved away, trotting up a well-worn path that would take them back to the school. Klaus watched carefully, until they were safely out of sight, before he stepped out of the tree-line, a shift loosening his holster's position to just where it belonged. "Hand over that packet, Mischa."

"How remarkable!" the Russian declared, smiling with what was almost joviality. "We had heard that Iron Klaus was... how do you say? Ah. Yes. *Crazy*. Discharged for instability. What a surprise to see you here, and your little pet thief... and the boy."

The fact that Mischa was so cheerful was a clue in and of itself that things weren't quite right. "Klaus..." Dorian said, voice low.

Probably a trap of some sort, but at that point, there was no way to escape it; the edgy American looked even more nervous, quickly spilling his jewels back into their little bag.

Klaus pinned Mischa with his one-eyed gaze, and the most calm smile in his repertoire. "What a surprise to see you here, in the wilds of America -- you should go back to your beloved CCCP."

"Why, when I am making such lovely progress here?" Mischa asked him, his own smile never faltering. "I even have you, your thief, and your replacement now in my hands. Don't I, boys?" he chuckled, shaking his head as several Russian agents moved in, some from behind tombstones, some from the tree line. "I will go back to Russia soon enough. You..." His smile never wavered. "You may never go anywhere again unless you give in peacefully. After all. We would not want to frighten the children still so close by, hm?"

"I should have just dropped a rock on your head at Mt. Greylock," Klaus growled, moving towards Mischa; his gun still wasn't drawn, though -- he was armed only with a familiar arrogance. /Fall back, Dorian -- god-dammit, Z, get him out of here!/ But he could only think it, as he smiled grimly at the American -- it was worth the danger to get a good look at the man's face, recognizing him clearly as CIA. "What's the matter, Yank -- your own government doesn't pay you enough?"

"Aren't you going to do something about him!?" the double agent demanded, taking a step back and scowling at Mischa.

The Soviet man shrugged lightly, stepping forward. "You will come with us, or we will shoot your pretty thief. Has he bedded you yet, hm?" Mischa asked, chuckling. He enjoyed the opportunity to mortify Klaus, truly. Only this time, Klaus didn't even seem to be mortified as he would have usually -- just an eerie silence from the German as he stared at Mischa.

"You haven't changed any, Mischa -- just like old times..." and the smile on Klaus's face turned vicious for a moment as, just like old times, he lashed out at the Soviet. The blow was different from others -- the strength was still behind it, a powerhouse punch that staggered Mischa, but it cut differently than it had other times, just the two knuckles of Klaus's right hand meeting jawbone.

Knocked back, the man reached up and rubbed his jaw. "Eh... you're missing fingers?" he asked, frowning. "Where'd they go?"

"You ought to know, you damned miserable communist," Dorian spat, no longer silent. Instead, he was furious, and insanely worried. Klaus shouldn't be abusing his hand that way! "The whole lot of you and your tormentors and *especially* those bastards from East Germany!"

"Don't pretend you haven't heard and laughed over it yet, Mischa," Klaus uttered, rubbing those two knuckles with his whole left hand. "Innocence doesn't do any good on your face. Would you like another punch? It's as good with two fingers as four."

The Russian man was scowling by then, though, and a motion of his hand brought his men closer to gather the Klaus, Dorian and Z together. "For the time being," he said, "you will be coming with me."

"Will your new Yank dog be coming with us?" Klaus asked him, still not backing down yet.

"Oh, no," Mischa replied. "I think not. No need for him, you see," he replied as his men led Z and Dorian towards a car, Klaus following along beside Mischa. "Just a pawn, really," he murmured, the CIA agent far enough away to miss it. "Little more."

"Useful pawn," Klaus said crisply enough *for* the agent to hear him. "Going to try to take us back to 'Mother Russia' with you, Mischa?" /Calm. Get him to relax, and then we'll break free./

"We will see. The last time, you stole a plane. My people were *very* unhappy with you about that," the other man noted.

The sound of Dorian's voice came from up ahead, slightly panicked. "Don't touch me!"

That got Klaus's attention immediately, for he broke away from his pace beside Mischa and rushed forwards, punching the Soviet who'd *dared* to touch Dorian. It happened in quick seconds, and Klaus didn't realize he'd done it until he was standing beside Dorian, making an almost growling noise in the back of his throat.

"Well," Mischa said slowly, holding up a hand to keep the others from moving in on them. "Things *are* strange, here. Get in the car peacefully, and no one will touch you," he murmured sternly.

Klaus gave a nod to Z, even as he moved towards the car with Dorian. It wasn't particularly expected when the younger agent broke away; the Soviets were still staring at Iron Klaus and Eroica when he sprinted quickly off into the tree line, disappearing.

"Go after him, idiots!" Mischa yelled, shaking his head as the men with him simply stood around looking stupid. Half of them broke away, heading after Z, but Klaus knew that they were too late. Z would be gone already. The Soviet sighed, shook his head. "Get in the car!"

Klaus stayed silent as the car door was opened; none of the agents dared to press either of them into it. They all watched as Klaus put a hand on Dorian's back, moving him in first, then Klaus ducked in, sitting beside the thief. It was hard to get past the scars on the famed Eroica's face, or the missing fingers and eye patch on Iron Klaus.

"Make the appropriate calls," Mischa murmured to one of his men once the car door was shut, moving towards the passenger side himself. "I want *all* of the details of this. Find them out for me."

"Details of what, sir?" the nearest man asked, looking nervously as his leader.

"Of what happened to Iron Klaus and the thief, you idiot!" the bald man growled. He wondered, for a moment, if Eberbach had to deal with the same kinds of idiots *he* had to deal with. God help them both, it was probably so! "Now, get on it!"

"Yes, sir!"

The heavy silence still held once he was inside the car; Klaus had stopped making threatening noises, but it didn't make him any less dangerous, sitting behind Mischa as he was, unrestrained.

"It is only a short ride," Mischa said lightly. "I do not want to shoot either of you, so do not tempt me to do so."

Dorian's hand, by then, had snuck over to Klaus's, clutching slightly at his fingers. It went unseen, but it was a relief just to touch him, especially after the other man had laid hands on him. /God.../ He'd never been so disgusted or disturbed by anything in his life!

"Are you afraid I'll steal your car, too?" Klaus asked in a casual drawl, squeezing Dorian's fingers lightly before pulling his hand away to light a cigarette -- which he offered first to the thief.

The shake of Dorian's head was obvious in the rear view mirror, the exchange only forcing Mischa's eyebrows up farther. "I would not be surprised," he said simply, watching them.

Klaus kept the cigarette to himself once Dorian had refused it, putting his lighter back in his pocket before, once more, letting Dorian catch his hand, out of sight. "Don't expect NATO to barter for either of us -- I'm civilian."

"Yet you were with NATO, and the boy who replaced you is doing as you tell him to do. We will see."

"You know damn well I'm civilian now, Mischa," Klaus growled, knowing he was repeating himself a little, but not caring. "If you weren't plodding around in America, I wouldn't even be involved."

The Soviet chuckled. "Still, it amuses me to have you, so I will keep you for a while. I might be able to use you -- or to use your thief, even, for something that I need."

"I don't work for NATO anymore and I won't work for you," Dorian said simply.

"We will see."

Those were the words that the Stasi had used, and now Mischa had said them twice. The sheer thrill of *fear* dancing down Dorian's spine was almost unbearable, and his hold on Klaus tightened.

"We will not be seeing," Klaus snarled in a low tone, shifting -- and infinitely glad of his leather jacket that hid so well his holster. They hadn't seen it on the left side because it just wasn't *there* anymore. When the time permitted... "Eroica and I will not aid Soviets."

Nothing came in answer, only the vaguest hint of a smile from Mischa. "Hmmm."

Klaus glared at Mischa with his monocular gaze through the rear-view mirror -- he was all too aware that the Bear Cub was watching them. "How do you like the weather here in the Berkshires, Bear Cub?"

"Pleasant," Mischa answered him. "It is not yet cool enough to be entirely comfortable, but one makes do with these things. It is necessary, and therefore, this is where we are."

"Been in this area for long?" Klaus asked. "It's nice -- minus passing CIA and KGB agents."

"Long enough. Any period of time, however, is TOO long. You sound like a tourist, Iron Klaus," Mischa snorted.

Dorian's reply was drawled. "That'd be because we *are*," he informed the man. "We just had the bad luck of running into *you* lot."

"The hike up Mt. Greylock would have been better if I hadn't seen your bald head," Klaus snorted in agreement.

"Infinitely," Dorian agreed as the Bear Cub remained silent.

Klaus, too, fell silent, appraising the other man's facial expressions until they pulled into the hotel's lot -- a hotel in North Adams, the last they'd had on their list to check. "Hmn -- I'm amazed the Soviet empire would pay for such lavish capitalism."

"It makes no sense, does it?" Mischa asked lightly. "But then, it is the last place you would have looked for me, eh?"

"This is the last place we would have expected to run into anyone from any agency," Klaus growled flatly.

"Then you have obviously come to the wrong place!" he was told. "It would seem that the hills are crawling with agents, hm? You even had one with you."

"We were *vacationing*," Dorian sighed. "Can't we vacation? Don't you?"

"Soviets don't vacation, Eroica -- their idea of fun is kidnapping civilians." Casually drawled again, while the car pulled to a halt in the parking lot. "Isn't that right, Mischa?"

"And eating them for supper, yes, yes, with mushrooms," Mischa growled. "Out of the car and behave. If you do not behave, you will not like what will happen. I will shoot Eroica first, Iron Klaus," the man said, taking a chance. "You will not misbehave."

"Fags move fast," Klaus shrugged, trying to drudge up with little success old venom as first Dorian, then he, were let out on the driver's side of the car. "You will have to shoot fast."

Dorian hated those words from Klaus, but he understood and he tossed golden hair back slightly, shrugging. "If you shoot me, it won't matter. The lot of you already ruined my face. One more scar won't make a difference, so long as I get away."

"Planning on marching us through the lobby at gunpoint, or just walking us over to the trees and shooting us?"

Mischa simply looked at them with flat expression and gestured ahead of him. Two guards already stood ready to walk slightly before them and there were several others gathering there -- perhaps as many as eight in all. At least that many more had chased Z. "Don't be stupid."

"I've lost my faith in any semblance of honor about you fucking Soviets," Klaus uttered, tossing the butt of his lazily smoked cigarette onto the parking lot gravel as they started to move.

"There are Soviets and then there are madmen," Mischa answered darkly. "Do not so disregard me or mine."

"NATO has madmen -- the KGB cannot be exceptional and claim that they don't have madmen, too," Klaus said coolly. "Polar Bear not working this mission with you?"

"Do you see him?" came the sigh. "You are very different now, Iron Klaus. Even Eroica is -- harder, if you will. Interesting..."

"Harder?" Klaus asked, still straining for casual when it was obvious he wanted to break for it. "It has only been a few months since our last clash."

The burly Russian shrugged his shoulders, accepted papers from one of his agents as they headed through the lobby and towards the elevators. "Many things can happen in the course of a few months, hm?"

"Many things." As they neared the elevators, Klaus was aware of the strategic sanity of splitting into two groups, each prisoner in a different car; to at least make it more awkward to do, he moved closer to Dorian, putting a hand on his shoulder to whisper. The tone was so low, and so quiet that the Russians couldn't hear, probably making them far more suspicious. "Trust me to get us out of this." /Even if I don't trust myself./

The expression in Dorian's eyes spoke explicitly of conviction, even when they *did* tuck them into separate elevators, Mischa stepping in behind Klaus. "So," he said as the doors closed before them. "Who messed up your pretty's face? And yours, for that matter?"

"A Soviet dog," Klaus said bluntly, standing there with his familiar arrogant posture, despite the other Russians in the elevator. "Don't pretend you don't know."

"If I knew, would I be asking?" Mischa snapped back at him, scowling. Their own attempts at finding out anything of the matter had been useless, even though there had only been a ten minute period in which to seek information. All files regarding Iron Klaus had been locked down tighter than anything he'd seen in a long while, and that bothered Mischa. /Someone somewhere isn't telling everything they know./

"You know that I've been retired," Klaus said simply enough -- it wasn't as if it were classified information. It was probably well known in the community by now, and well celebrated already. "One of your fucking Stasi men."

THAT brought both of the Bear Cub's eyebrows up, though it was hard to tell behind his sunglasses. "No, " he admitted. "We had only heard that you'd been declared unstable. No one knew the Stasi had... done anything to you. The eye, your fingers? Eroica's face?"

"Stasi dog. Go on, gloat, Bear Cub -- I can still knock you senseless with my right hand." The words weren't even a challenge, or the tone of someone trying to convince -- flatly, tiredly said, with an assurity behind them.

"No, no need for that," Mischa assured him, frowning as they came to their floor, the doors opening out into a small area which faced two others. At the same moment, the elevator beside them opened, and a rough push sent Dorian tripping out of it.

"[Don't touch him! Do you fucking understand me? Touch him again and I will pound the fucking shit out of you!]" Klaus snarled at the Soviets as he started out of the elevator.

Blue eyes turned on him, welling slightly with relief as Dorian stood up straight, frowning at the Soviet agents as Mischa growled a few quick words that he didn't understand. /We're going to have to remember to *never* get caught again,/ Dorian decided. He didn't like being apart from Klaus, and even that push had panicked him, angered the other man. It would be ill-advised to get caught again.

Klaus was still standing close to Dorian, protectively -- there were too many to draw a gun just then, but when there were less of them... /I should have in the car. I hesitated; I shouldn't have let us get this far.../

That was useless speculation, though, because they were being prompted along the hallway, a card slid into a slot in a door so that they could enter ahead of the others. The room behind it was a suite, though not a large one -- simply a business-like arrangement of chairs and coffee tables, a door leading into a bedroom. "Have a seat," Mischa ordered them. "The three of you, look into Stasi incidents recently. You four, do something about finding that NATO agent if the others haven't already. You," he finished, pointing at the last of them. "Stay here with me and watch these two." He pulled off his sunglasses to frown at Klaus. "[I'm going to get to the bottom of this for you. Such tactics should not be used, on either side.]"

There had been more done than the maiming, but there was no way that the 'else' would be mentioned; the games played on them; the way Dorian had been raped; the way he'd been petted over. Klaus was quiet for a moment, taking a chair next to the one Dorian sat in. He no longer sat in the 'manly' way that he used to -- once carelessly spread legs were now crossed arrogantly. "[Don't bother; I'll take care of it myself when we return to Europe.]"

"[But perhaps you would like a name to attach to a face, hm?]" Mischa asked him heavily. "[I will say nothing to them about it. I will find out. I will give you this. You understand? This...]" A wave of his hand encompassed Klaus and Dorian, the Russian's frown deepening. "[This is not fitting.]"

"[He was an officer -- medium height, blond, blue eyes; sick in the head,]" Klaus rattled off. "[You're right -- it isn't fitting. But we manage.]"

"[I will get his name for you," came the promise again. "This alone. You will stay until then.]"

That was certainly a way to keep them both in their place -- promise of a name to track down; even retired, Klaus had connections, could ask for things done, favors owed, to pinpoint this bastard, and then find him. At home, preferably, and kill him. Messily. "[Thank you,]" Klaus pronounced in crisp Russian.

It seemed to almost embarrass Mischa, the man frowning at him. "[It is the right thing to do,]" he declared, glancing back and forth between the two of them. Dorian was seated terribly close to Klaus, who was making no overt signs of seeking to escape him. "[I see the thief has finally managed to somehow capture you... so to speak?]"

"You know," Dorian said tiredly, "that's as impolite as whispering."

"That is none of your concern," Klaus said bluntly -- but the sheer fact that he wasn't in a sputtering rage was verification enough. "I've had enough of Soviets fucking around in my life."

"Hmm." Mischa nodded. "My apologies, on the behalf of my country, Iron Klaus. These Stasi, they do things differently than we. In some ways, they are as fanatical as the neo-Nazis, and more."

Klaus nodded, muttering something about dynamite, and then fell into a flat silence as he continued to look at Mischa occasionally, at the room. Then, finally breaking the quiet of the room, "You know, at least your men know if they're captured they'll be bartered back. NATO has too much red-tape to do anything else."

That brought something resembling a chuckle from the Soviet, the man shaking his head. "I work with idiots. I often wonder if you do, as well."

Klaus had to think for a moment -- he'd wanted to reply 'twenty-six of them', only... it wasn't official, and this 'mission' seemed to be a bomb... to a point. They knew who the CIA agent was, had witnessed the trade; once they were away, they'd be able to turn the man in. The Americans could debrief and break their own man to find out who the others were. "Not any more."

Mischa grunted and silence reigned again for a while before he nodded. "[The thief is sleeping. Obviously, we don't worry him. Is he always that way?]"

"[Always what way?]" Apparently, nothing immediately struck Klaus as wrong about Dorian's behavior.

"[Trusting.]" After all, it wasn't *every* day that Mischa had a prisoner go to sleep on him! Even with his other agent still in the room, working at a small desk in the corner, Eroica's head had nodded to the side slightly as if seeking out a support for itself.

"[No.]" In fact, Dorian was usually anything but -- Klaus put it down to his own presence there, his assurance to Dorian that they would make it out all right, unlike the last time. It probably helped that it was Mischa, to whom they were already at least partially accustomed, and that neither of them had been cuffed or chained. If they had been, Klaus would have made no promises on not hurting anyone as a result.

"Hm." The Bear Cub eyed them thoughtfully, finally shaking his head. "[It makes no sense, but so long as you seem to understand it, I suppose that's all right.]"

"[I don't understand it,]" Klaus said with a shrug, turning to look Dorian over protectively. "[We came to America to vacation; we hadn't expected to become a part of this. I was relieved of my post, I don't care what NATO does any longer.]"

"[You are like me. It will be in your blood until you die,]" he was informed quietly.

"[I've been close enough; one more run in with the Stasi, and it will certainly be out of my blood.]" They both knew he'd never defect, never ignore the cause he'd fought for, even if NATO had betrayed him through a dismissal due to harm that occurred on duty.

"[I..]" Mischa began only to be interrupted by an opened door, words quickly spoken.

"[Sir, I think we've found the record, if you would come look, quickly,]" the man said, looking nervously at Klaus and the dozing Dorian.

Klaus just met the man's eyes with a fairly emotionless gaze, wondering just *what* was in the record the man had. "We won't try to escape -- I want that name."

A nod from Mischa, and he rose, a bit stiffly. He had not been young when the game between himself and Iron Klaus had started, and he was certainly getting no younger! "[I'll be back momentarily,]" he replied, and followed the younger man who'd come to get him out into the hallway, which was thankfully empty.

"[Sir, do you want to read it to yourself, or... should I... give you the highlights?]"

"[I'll read it myself,"] Mischa answered grimly.

It was with an equally grim expression that the agent handed over the folder that bore the quickly printed out pages. "[This is the statement by the officer who interrogated Iron Klaus and Eroica.]"

Eyes scanned the pages quickly, widening every now and then, the Soviet man visibly paling despite himself. /Rape... torture... fuck.../ "[I want you to destroy this. Destroy all record of this ever happening. I don't care how you do it, but do it.]" He had the names, now, and the first page where they were listed was taken from the top. "[All of this, as well. Go.]"

"[Yes, sir!]" The first thing to be destroyed would be the lavish retelling of the gruesome events -- then the original file, the hard copies... It would take work, but it could be done. The younger agent nodded once, and then headed off down the hall.

Stepping back into the hotel suite, Mischa moved to stand before Klaus. "[These are the names.]"

Klaus's Cyrillic was good enough to interpret the page held out to him, and he reached to take it from Mischa. "[Can I keep that?]"

"[It's the only copy. It's yours,]" the Bear Cub answered grimly.

/Only copy..../ Klaus's eyebrows rose, one above a grey-green eye glittering with sudden understanding, the other above a neatly placed eye-patch. "[Thank you,]" he uttered, not for the paper, but for what he perceived that Mischa was going to do.

"[With the apologies of my state,]" Mischa said grimly. "[This should not have happened.]"

"[I'd thought this would have been well known by now,]" Klaus murmured as he slipped the piece of paper, twice folded, inside of his coat. Left handed, into the interior right pocket; Mischa got a glimpse of a shoulder holster, left untouched.

"[They were undoubtedly not stupid enough to tell the rest of the world what they had done. You and I are adversaries, but we are not dishonorable men... much,]" Mischa added, nodding to Dorian. "[Wake him, and I will escort you to the lobby.]"

"D..." The start of a real name, but he caught himself, as he leaned to shake Dorian gently awake. It was odd to see that gentleness from Klaus towards a man he'd sworn to hate, but then Mischa had stumbled across similar odd gestures before. Once, the thief had gotten himself smashingly drunk, half stripped, and Klaus had followed him to the bathroom to see if he was all right. "Eroica -- wake up."

"Mmmh?" Blond lashes lifted from sleep-fuzzed blue eyes, the thief looking at him momentarily and smiling as if his eyes had caught the face of a god.

/I see why Iron Klaus can be smitten,/ Mischa thought. Scars or no.

"We're going down to the lobby," he murmured, starting to rise to his feet, hands still on Dorian's shoulders. "No more napping."

"Are they going to shoot us now?" Dorian asked idly, yawning behind a hand before he stood again. He knew it couldn't be true, or Klaus wouldn't be so relaxed, so he smiled at him again.

"Nein." Klaus stepped back, watched Dorian for a moment more, and then turned to Mischa with a nod -- a sort of 'carry on', as he waited for the Russian to lead the way.

The trip down to the lobby was quiet, Mischa pausing at the revolving door at the bottom with the two of them. "Stay out of the way, Iron Klaus. And be careful."

It was almost a childish warning, but Klaus took it at face value -- Mischa was wishing them well. "We will be. See you around, Mischa."

With a wave of a hand, the Russian was gone.

"Well, that was easier than it should've been!" Dorian declared, blinking slightly in the afternoon sunlight. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes -- and we're in fucking North Adams -- we might as well start walking," Klaus said a little grimly, moving to start across the parking lot.

"Maybe there's a taxi," Dorian suggested, moving after Klaus with easy, limber motions. "Or maybe there's an Alphabet somewhere about."

"Hope for the Alphabet; otherwise, we're walking." Still, to have gotten away so easily, with so *much* information left him in an oddly good mood, even if they did have a good six hours of walking ahead of them. Only once they were walking on the shoulder of the road did he speak again. "I have the names now."

"There was more than one spy?" Dorian asked him, confused. He'd been bored and slightly tired since they'd had no breakfast, so he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Mischa, at least, was more likely to punch than to cut or... or worse.

"The Stasi -- he gave me the names."

"So we're going to go after them once this is wrapped up?" Dorian asked him.

"I am," Klaus confirmed, looking over to Dorian, who was easily keeping pace today. That was always good to see. "Do you... want to?"

"Yes." The answer was grimly given and grimly meant. "I want to see it all through to the end." Even though he hated violence, even though he had never before wanted to hurt any living thing. He had to be there, him and Klaus, and it had to be together. It was just the way things *were*.

"I'm going to remove his head, put it in a box, and leave it at NATO headquarters with his papers," Klaus said with an odd dark smile.

The little sound that Dorian gave could have been horror, but it wasn't. It was just the result of the little tingle that passed down his spine at those words. "All right. Can we leave his cock, too? Cut that off, first," he said, just as viciously.

"We're going to do a number on him," Klaus agreed, the vicious smile turning to a more light of heart expression. He *knew* that to hear such things from *Dorian*, from *himself*, meant there was something still wrong. Especially from Dorian. Perhaps... in time they could get proper help. Until then, they had each other, and their small pleasures... and revenge was going to be a good pleasure. "Do you want to jog for a little bit?"

"That sounds just marvelous," Dorian agreed, smiling back at him.