- Text Size +
Somehow, he'd broken the tip of his pen.

It wasn't even a fountain pen; those frustrating things were made solely to give out curling, fluid script for a few pages, and then break. Gold nib, silver nib, platinum, it didn't matter - he'd broken them all at one time or another. So, ballpoints held up just as well, and cost less. Not that cost mattered to him, but breaking the nibs on fountain pens was so much more of a waste than to just grab another ballpoint pen and try again.

He ended up with ink on his fingers no matter what, and little specks on the crisp lined paper.

And it didn't matter to the reader of his meticulous letters if the ink was fountain or ball. It was just black ink on white paper.

And that was what he got in return. Black ink on white paper. Postmarked from all over the world, all different times. Stamps were getting very inventive now, had over the past few years. Holograms from some of the American and British bases (a British mailing address always meant that they were close enough to visit, and usually did!), faces of famous people, cultural artefacts. He'd taken to carefully removing the stamps from the envelopes, and stuffing them in the drawer of his dresser. That way he had colour at his finger-tips, colour that the cleaning staff wouldn't take from him!

They hadn't liked it at all when he'd taken the petals of the poppies that he'd been given, and crushed them all over the walls - they'd painted over it, much to his dismay! It had been a comfort to wake up to that every morning, the smears of purple-red, green-yellow that he'd worked daringly into a landscape.

That flower-paint picture had certainly been better than the view he had now. It was dull. Not that it wasn't *pretty*, but it didn't change or vary in it's aesthetic pleasantness. The tree near his window was too far away from him to escape, and escape never really crossed his mind. He couldn't ever gather up enough co-ordination to manage it, even if the will came to him.

He did want more colour in his room, though. The walls were too white! Too, too white, and he couldn't remember why he was in that white, white place. He just assumed that he belonged there - everyone seemed to think he did, after all! Even…

Oh, that's right. He was writing a letter, wasn't he? And the pen had broken…

Slender fingers pulled open the side drawer of the desk, and pulled out a small package of ball-point pens. He shook one free, and then started to suck idly on the end of the cap as he read over his letter again. Best to finish it up quickly, since they'd come to mail it for him soon.

"Sweet Z," he read aloud to himself, than chuckled softly. Sweet Z! Oh, he knew it would make the blond German blush terribly, as all of his openers did.

"Please tell me how the major is; I wish he'd come visit. How is the weather… where-ever you are? Are you having fun on your little missions? I hope you're not in the Middle East. Yesterday they let me sit down at a computer, and the Reuters site had just horrible news! I hope they haven't sent you boys there - you don't need to be blown up by a tank or some such non-sense! But, silly me… I forget that NATO is the *North* *Atlantic* Treaty Organisation. The major must have liked that mess in Kosovo greatly. Lots of chances to run around with his big gun firing. Please let me know how he is - I can't remember the last time he visited, and I miss him. Even if all he does is threaten me, or tell me to pull myself together, I'd love to hear his voice. I think it was Christmas the last time I saw him. Give A and especially G my love, and give G's SO my warmest threats of hurting him horribly if he so much as thinks about cheating on G. Well, 'Tschus', Z!"

There. That seemed complete enough; he signed it fluidly, and then set the pen down back into the drawer. It was neatly folded, three times, and he'd barely set that aside when a knock sounded on his door.

"Honey…?" Ah, that the was voice of the big red-haired nurse, come to bring him breakfast, pick up his mail, and leave him any if anything had arrived! Oh, a gift would have been nice, maybe something to add colour to those maddening white walls…

"Come in! I'm decent!" He always was, since they kept the room cool in temperature, and *he* wasn't the one that wasn't affected by temperature. No, such mortal slings and arrows as heat and cold could rule his body entirely…

~"Heat and cold are a matter of discipline."/"I think I agree with that."/"I would never wear a red, sleeveless shirt."/"I also like military uniforms, in a way. They make me think of an abstinent beauty of a man... Of the passion hidden inside... It has a certain erotic beauty that makes one want to strip off the uniform that's worn so neatly."/"You are...!"~

In love with him

Where had that memory that come from?

He glanced around the room for a moment, almost nervously, then smiled to himself when the nurse came in. Even when his Major wasn't there, he always had a part of the man clutched close in his heart, didn't he? One of those lingering romantic habits.

The nurse winced ever so slightly when she opened the door, his breakfast tray stainless steel and balanced on one large hip. She was as tall as he was, and built with the strength of a man; he assumed that was why she was in the white, white place, working there.

"I think you can deliver your letter in person," she smiled to him, sliding the tray onto the empty spot of his desk. "You have a visitor coming."

"Oh!" he shot to his feet, startled - the last letter hadn't borne a British post-mark, so he hadn't expected a visit. Even without the heat of anticipation to eat at him, his body still surged alive with what felt like colour. Colour given form, and he hadn't had that visit him in too long, had he? That must be his--!

"Calm down. You're getting excited over nothing."

He could feel the joy on his face as he looked up to the doorway that the nurse had came through. Klaus, looking the same as ever. His Klaus, his major….

"You'll be all right, won't you darling?" the nurse pressed, looking at him for a moment. He brushed off her gaze, eyes sparkling as Klaus moved from the doorway towards the window.

"Oh, just fine, thank you!" for a moment he tore his gaze off of his visitor's frame, looking to the nurse. "I'll see you at lunchtime!" She lingered a moment more, but left him with the tray, breakfast and Klaus.

Klaus, looking out his window, at that very un-panoramic view. "Not so bad a place they've put you in, Dorian. Are you well?" Absent questions - Major Eberbach standing by the window, looking out those same bars that he looked out of every day. That same half alive tree, that same hill sloping away from his line of sight, disappearing into a stand of trees. Major Eberbach making rough-voiced small talk.

"Same as I was last time I came to see you - I mean, when you came to see me! Oh, Major, seeing you has tied my tongue up completely!" It was hard to contain his rapture at seeing Klaus there, in his crisp grey suit and his damn tan overcoat and bad tie. Just seeing him brought more colour to his life than any number of flowers could, than any number of paintings.

"Hm, seems it has. You shouldn't babble, though - hiding in a place like this does you no good at all." Klaus turned minutely, looking over his shoulder at him. Green eyes were as shuttered and piercing as ever - the Major, always the impenetrable wall, the un-scalable fortress.

Or, was it the other way around?

"It's not like I'm here for any reason I can control, Major," he smiled, sidling up to the dark-haired man, who turned away to look back out the window.

"You don't even remember why you're here, do you?" Pointed, meant to stab into him like the tip of a fountain pen against his hand.

"No - but Klaus, let's not talk about that. Tell me about the outside world…"

His fingers wrapped around the sleeve of Klaus' coat, around his arm, and two handed the ex-thief dragged the Major towards the bed, to sit there and better converse. Over white, white sheets a pretty dyed silk scarf was spread out. It didn't crease beneath the weight of Klaus' body when he sat on it's very edge.

"I can't tell you about that Dorian." Stoic, hard answer that Dorian expected, had gotten every time Klaus visited him.

"Why can't you, Major? Knowing what's happening in the world outside can't be bad for me…" His laughter, soft and light like a fairy's feet upon glass, danced out of his throat as he crossed his legs at the ankle and smiled at Klaus. "It isn't like I'm leaving here. Sometimes they let me onto a computer, but… I'm all thumbs with that type of technology. And it's not the same as human contact."

No answer, as the Major looked down at the floor for a moment. His own boots, highly polished, and then to Dorian's bare feet, resting flat against the tile floor.

"Tell me, Dorian… what's the last thing you remember?"

"Remember?" The thief laughed again, a soft almost questioning sound that rang in the room as a drop of water in a dark cavern. A hollow drop that was swallowed after the first plunk of noise. From the way the edges of Klaus' eyes strained, he'd missed the sound at some level. "What is there to *remember*, my darling Major? White white walls and the tree outside, and three meals a day, and writing letters to Z -- and you never write me, Klaus! You visit, but you never write--"

"You really don't remember."

"Did I-- is it your birthday, Major?" Dorian asked in surprise, grasping for the only thing he could think of -- and then he laughed again and babbled on, "Or mine? Is that why you're here?"

"They found the box today, Dorian. The box -- don't you remember the box?" Klaus started to his feet smoothly to stand in front of Dorian, leaning a little to better see the entirety of the seated man's face. "The *box*."

"What box, Klaus?" Slender fingers drummed against his slender ankle almost impatiently; yet the catch of bottom lip corner between white teeth, worrying a little, spoke of nervousness to the drumming action. "Did I steal something and forget it?"

"Yes, you forgot it," Klaus rumbled in a bitter noise, sitting down cross-legged in front of Dorian.

The tan coat against white floor made a pretty contrast, central in Dorian's mind as he, too, slipped down to the floor with feline agility and looseness of limb. He crawled near to Klaus, caught himself up a handful a of the edge of Klaus' coat. "Can I keep this, please?"

"You'll be coming with me when I'm done talking to you, Dorian. Just sit still and listen to--"

"I'll be going with you?!" Lingering in front of Klaus was a lost cause, no matter how much he wanted to be good and not make the major angry -- oh, to leave that place after so long! "I want to go with you!! I'm tired of being here…"

"I'm tired of you being here, too," he was told in the flattest, most grim tone Klaus had used in years. That snapped Dorian's attention back to the man's face, drained and tired-looking. "Sit still and let me talk - we haven't much time."

"All right." And then Klaus was the recipient of *all* of Dorian's attention, every shred of it - too intense, almost, and certainly too close as he clung onto the fistful of over-coat that he held.

"They found the box today, Dorian - up in the Schloss' attic. It was covered in dust - nothing had moved it in all the years since you left it there. The lock had corroded off, and they… they, the alphabets, Dorian, opened it. You must have given Z a clue in your last letter; the case was considered closed until then." Grey-green eyes drifted to Dorian, and one arm made a vaguely welcoming gesture to him. "Sit beside me. I'll help you remember what happened so we can go."

"Major…" It was almost too much for Dorian - first, a visitor, then being told he'd be *leaving* and now, Klaus wanting to touch him?! The edge of Klaus' coat was forgotten in excitement, and Dorian crawled closer to curl tightly against Klaus; it only took a moment more for Klaus to fold that arm around Dorian, with startling familiarity. It rested in all the right places, comforting without being arousing. "I can't think of what's made you change your mind after so many years, darling-"

"I changed my mind years ago, Dorian. You just don't remember." Klaus' other hand lay motionless on one cross-legged knee, and he looked at Dorian almost idly.

"Is that what the box is about…? And I stole it…?" Crystalline blue eyes looked confusedly at Klaus, but found no more censure than was usually in that greyed gaze.

"Dorian, shut up for just a moment more - I need to tell you this quickly…" Klaus cinched him minutely closer, and looked away again, up and towards the window that was set in the white white wall. "You and I were playing a game. We… played that sort of game often, Dorian. We tied each-other up, threatened, cut each-other… had sex. It was what I needed. And you… you gave it to me. You don't remember any of it, I know… but I can't forget it." Dorian's sharp, surprised intake of breath reached Klaus' ears in the pause, before he went on. "I was tied 'spread', standing up in the middle of the room. You had a whip, Dorian, and you… you, my foppish pet thief, were beating me with it. No-one would have suspected you had it in you, Dorian, with all the masks and facades you wore… You were hitting me that night, and I turned my head a little to get you to kiss me, to… for comfort. You didn't know you had the strength to do it, Dorian, but I was tied faced away from you and you jerked my head around too roughly, too quickly… Snapped my neck."

"I snapped your neck? Klaus, how…" The blond man shuddered in horror as he felt Klaus' free hand slide in a loving caress over his collar-bone. With that touch, memories seemed to flow back into him - memories of what had followed after the mind-shattering snap. And accident, it had just been an accident, but in his fear at Klaus' role in their games being discovered, and fear over *Klaus*, he'd emptied an old steamer trunk and laid Klaus lovingly in it even as his body had chilled. It was too real in his maddened mind, then, and the white white walls seemed a relief of intensity until the new thought registered…

He was being held by a ghost.

"I know, Dorian, that it was an accident. But it's your time to go now. You'll be with me again, very soon… tilt your head back, but hurry - Z will be here in moments, and you need to be dead before he turns the door-knob." The hand on his collar-bone swept up over his throat to grasp the sides of his jaw. The strength and solidness of that touch to Dorian, in light of what he now knew, was frightening; for a moment, he looked up into flat grey-green eyes, Klaus' threatening hand just holding him, and he blinked once.

A sear of pain and then nothing. Nothing at all, and he saw felt heard his body slump limply to the white white floor. Klaus stood now, and took off his over-coat to offer to Dorian as he stood up shaking, trying to not look back.

"I'm sorry, Klaus…" It was all he could do to whimper those soft words, feeling Klaus more solidly, really than he had in his years of being in that room in the ward. A hand slid over his shoulder, patting almost gently; no hard feelings from the major, now that they were both together again.

"I know."
You must login (register) to review.