Dorian woke with a start. That he woke at all was in itself surprising enough, but his mind lingered in the near past, informing him rather late of a great lump of a man barreling toward him, intent on taking him down, and a shot fired.
In the present, rough hands held him in place, down and still, and when his vision cleared he matched faces with familiar voices, but that clarity only made less sense. Klaus. The Alphabets. A sofa. An office.
"Bloody... wot?" He heard himself say. A, B, G, Z, Klaus and others surrounded him, most hovering above. Klaus looked down at him with particular concern and alarm. That was one shock too many, and he felt the pull of unconsciousness once again.
"Herr Gloria!" A said, kneeling closest to him. "Are you all right, Herr Gloria? You mustn't go to sleep again!" He held Dorian's hand and patted his cheek with wet, cold fingers. Dorian resisted but did not lose consciousness.
"Lord Gloria, do you know where you are?" That was G, a little tearful the poor thing.
"Wot..? Why...?" Dorian managed, feeling stupid and stunned. Why was he asking that?
Klaus stepped in, looking stern but not attempting to hide his concern. "Eroica, you must answer sensibly or I'll ship you off to hospital." He knew just where to hit hardest.
"Er..." Dorian began, looking around at familiar leather, oak, and stoic German design. "We're in your office, Major."
"City?" The major asked.
"Bonn."
"Country?"
"Bloody Germany, bloody Europe, Eastern hemisphere, Earth! Now what are you on about, Major?" Dorian tried to sit up, his head ached a little but something else was bothering him more. "Oh, do let me sit up, A, there's a rather prodigious pain in my side..." The Alphabets looked alarmed and Klaus practically lunged for Dorian, but Dorian found the pain in his side first and Klaus checked the motion. Something bulky was poking him dreadfully. He brought his hand away, staring stupidly at a revolver. The damned thing had been attached to him. He felt the holster even now on his shoulders like constricting hands. But that didn't make sense at all. He'd never... he didn't even....
Dorian had always had an exceptionally good memory. It was second nature to trust it. But there came flooding into his mind some rather peculiar thoughts. Thoughts that felt suspiciously like memory. But those couldn't be his. Field training, crawling through mud on his belly, hand-to-hand combat, tank exercises. It seemed a long, intricate delusion, a blur of handguns and long jogs, mission details and disciplinary action. The last thing that seemed like reasonable thought in his jumbled mind, apart from the barreling behemoth which was anything but reasonable, was a job in Sweden, unexpected rain, wet balcony rails... the ground rushing up to meet him.... And then... and then.
And then the Major. He remembered now. The major had been all he could remember then, too. He sat up, staring at the man in question, a gleam in his eye so fierce that A backed away, then G, then Z, and the Major motioned for everyone to leave. Dorian didn't speak until the door closed behind them.
"You bastard."
"Eroica-"
"You bloody, lying Kraut bastard.... You lied to me, took advantage of me. Humiliated me!" As he shouted he tried to stand, and though the former worked brilliantly the latter did not. His head felt light and his body heavy, and Klaus almost did not catch him as he fell. Traitorous arms led him with surprising gentleness back to the couch. His head seemed to spin, or the room, he wasn't sure which. He felt his forehead, not hot but clammy, damp and bare.... Bare. His hand continued over his head, into his hair, and his horror and indignation rose. He pushed the Major away from him, and through sheer will and with the help of the big oak desk, made his way to the drawer in which the Major kept his shaving mirror.
"Eroica, don't..."
But he had already looked. He already knew, remembered sitting sedately, smiling at the barber, feeling proud but mourning despite himself. The mirror only confirmed it. The long blond curls he had known since his youth were now neatly shorn, only just long enough to curl slightly. It was meant to make him look professional no doubt, and it probably did most of the time, but now he only looked boyish, vulnerable. The mirror, when it shattered, did so against the far wall and the Major had only to move slightly to avoid it.
Dorian tried for passivity. He was angry, he was hurt, but he was well bred and English besides. But it did not last, and at length he collapsed into the Major's desk chair and wept into his hands. Moments passed and he heard the Major approach. Klaus touched his arm and Dorian pushed him away, stood and struck out, fists flying and he pushed with all his weight, swung with all his force, but his heart was not in it, and as the Major held him by his arms in an attempt to restrain him, he sagged, tired and defeated.
"You horrible, detestable man.... how could you?"
Klaus gathered him close. Even Dorian was not so beside himself as to miss the significance in this, but he was too tired to protest and buried his face in Klaus's lapel.
"Dorian..." Klaus began, stroking Dorian's head, the short, softness there now familiar to him. "It was cruel of me, I admit. And when you came to me, lost and without memory, only my name to guide you, I delighted in your torture."
Dorian clutched at Klaus's sides, fingers tight in the folds of his jacket, his heart aching more than he thought possible.
"You are right. I am detestable and horrible... I am a liar and a bastard. And... and I am sorry."
Dorian waited. Waited for the axe to fall. Or if it would not, waited at least until he could face the other man without tears. Mostly he waited simply to be held as long as Klaus would hold him, because he would not likely have this chance again. It felt familiar, the way the major held him, warm and safe despite the situation. He fought with himself harder than he had fought Klaus and moments later he made a decision. He stood back, regarding Klaus with the restraint he had not been able to manage only minutes before, then pushed him away with new strength, and swung one last time. He was sure the Major could have avoided it. He did not.
"You're bloody right you're bloody sorry. And I'm sorry to have known--" a flash of something came to him, "to have..." something warm, familiar, "known..." Klaus, it seemed, and that hand on his neck. "...you.... Oh my God."
Klaus looked indignant, but guilty, a look enhanced by the bleeding cut on his lip. "Dorian, you're not yourself--" Another punch caught him, this time unawares, and this time there was no shouting from Dorian, only a hot, painful anger.
"I always knew you wanted me, Major, but I did not think you were one to wait until my back was turned, or my mind lost." As he said this Dorian tore the holster from his shoulder, "Or was it because you'd made me one of your groupies. Molded in your likeness." He pulled off the oxfords from his feet and threw them across the room to land beside the shattered mirror. "That's a whole new level of narcissism even for you, Major."
"Dorian--"
"Stop calling me that," Dorian spat. Klaus was once again reaching for him, and Dorian resisted. Ironic considering the many times Dorian had wished Klaus would one day lose all composure, take him into his arms just as he was now attempting, and kiss him soundly. In fact, that's precisely what had just happened.
Dorian wanted to resist, but the Major was far stronger, the kiss more desperate than he imagined, than indeed he remembered. And something more miraculous happened after that. Klaus held him, stunned again, and whispered in his ear things he had never imagined Klaus could say, far less likely that he could ever say them to him. He said them a few times, then a few times more, then kissed him again. Dorian was by now quite certain he had not actually woken up earlier, and at some point he began kissing back.
"I'm sorry," Klaus said again, and as they held one another Dorian caught sight of the window, the evening was late, dark, and in the reflection he could see them clearly. He had wanted this for so long, but his missing hair was a reminder of Klaus's treachery, and it stung his heart far more than his pride or vanity. He held Klaus at arm's length.
"I believe you," he said, sincerity and regret shining in his eyes, "but I can't forgive you." He kissed Klaus's cheek, then turned and walked out of his arms, out of his office.
Klaus, for his part, was not surprised. He had seen this coming. He knew Eroica would be furious with him, couldn't forgive him, and that he did not deserve forgiveness. He remembered the man who had once delighted in Dorian's humiliation, joyous at Dorian's confusion. He hated him. Dorian should too. And while God might forgive him after enough aves, he could think of nothing that might induce Dorian to do so.
He looked around at his office, the evidence of Dorian's anger, and pulled out a pack of smokes. As he lit one and inhaled the familiar taste he sat down in his desk chair, staring into the black night on the other side of his window, his reflection, and felt better. Not because of the cigarette or the chair, but due to a certain long-familiar resignation. He'd already dealt with his guilt, and now he had survived Dorian's wrath. All that was left was the next forty years or so of his life, and he had flown solo just fine this far. He didn't really need Eroica when you got right down to it, never needed anyone. And he told himself that, over and over. Half a pack later and he still wasn't convinced. That's when someone touched his shoulder.
"It will grow back, you know," Dorian said, smiling sadly, then slipped the cigarette from between Klaus's lips and kissed him.
"I don't need you," Klaus murmured uncertainly after their kiss, then buried his face in Dorian's shirt front.
Dorian's smile was not so sad this time. "I'll remember that," he said, and petted Klaus's hair.