Klaus was beginning to think Eroica was a masochist.
Correction: he wasn't beginning to think it, he had thought it for most of their...whatever this was they'd had since Eroica had decided he wanted nothing more than to make Klaus' life a living hell. Klaus knew Eroica would flatly deny that he was causing Klaus problems on purpose, saying he was merely "pursuing his passions," but he wasn't convinced Eroica wasn't having him on when he said idiotic things like that.
This current ridiculousness was nothing but the latest in a long line of stunts used by Eroica to try to catch Klaus' attention. He had no desire to dance with that—that cross-dressing fop! Not for all the secrets of the KGB and CIA combined, much less for a silly photo of himself, which he could claim was a fake created by Polar Bear's agents to discredit him and besmirch his reputation.
It would be so easy to find multiple objections to this whim of Eroica's—reasons that he could use to refuse to dance with Eroica, arguments he knew Eroica would accept as valid in Klaus' opinion, at least—that it made Klaus suspicious.
Flashy, overblown theatrics on Eroica's part were usually a feint to distract attention from what he really wanted, so Klaus had long ago learned to evaluate Eroica's actions like he did those of every other agent he worked with or against: searching for hidden meanings and layers of deceit in even the simplest of their interactions.
This time, however, he couldn't discern a hidden agenda. The abundance of silk and lace was overwhelming, and Eroica's hair—no longer a disheveled mess, but instead swept up and piled atop his head like a golden coronet—made him look like a grande dame of Viennese society, but it was still undeniably Eroica, blue eyes sparkling with barely suppressed mirth as he demanded that Klaus waltz with him.
This was what came of giving Eroica the slightest bit of encouragement or appreciation. He really should have left Eroica to deal with the police on his own after he'd retrieved the microfilm.
Damn him for blowing it all out of proportion the one time Klaus had managed to be civil to him for more than five minutes. He should have just threatened him with a matching black eye if Eroica pulled another stunt like yesterday's again.
"You must learn how to take a beating without getting seriously hurt." The brick wall was cool at his back as Klaus shifted and took another drag from his cigarette. He watched as the smoke dispersed, a tiny trail of white barely visible in the faint light of dawn. A quick glance at his watch showed it to be 0442; A and B had five more minutes to get to the station with his car before he sent them to Alaska.
"All very well and good for you to say, Major, but my work doesn't generally entail physical violence, unless I've done it incorrectly," Eroica said sullenly.
Klaus rolled his eyes. "If you insist on hanging around, you have to be able to take care of yourself. No more getting beaten up by little old ladies or communist agents. And you would not have had to make such a fool of yourself if you hadn't taken the microfilm in the first place and then lost it."
A lengthy silence finally made him look over at Eroica, who was glaring at Klaus from underneath the shelter of his golden curls, which looked more disheveled than artfully riotous.
"Not all of us were raised to be as strong and indestructible as a Leopard tank, Mr. NATO Man." Eroica brushed his hair back over his shoulder and looked pointedly away. He moved slower than usual, with a barely suppressed wince that meant his head was probably pounding from Morozov's sucker punch. And from the knock to his head from Frau Schtolz's bag before that. Klaus snorted silently.
Still, Eroica had made up for his earlier mistake by retrieving the microfilm. He'd also convinced that idiot American agent he hadn't succeeded in doing so. Klaus supposed he owed him a great deal for that.
He ground out his cigarette and turned to Eroica. He could hear the low growl of the Mercedes as A approached the station, so he grasped Eroica's arm above the elbow and helped him stand. Eroica sagged against his side, exhausted from the last few days' events and at least twenty-four hours without sleep, his head heavy on Klaus' shoulder. The abnormal silence was welcome; he didn't want to have to repeat himself to get Eroica to shut up. It was so much easier to keep his temper when Eroica didn't say preposterous things.
That wasn't to say he was exactly comfortable with Eroica hanging all over him like there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. Eroica's mane of hair spilled over Klaus' chest and tickled his nose, and even after all the running around they'd done, the blond curls still smelled faintly of roses and sandalwood, scents forever associated in Klaus' brain with this man who by turns surprised and infuriated him.
He shifted, then sighed softly as Eroica took advantage of their closeness and twined his arm with Klaus', but he didn't push him away. Just this once he was too tired to make a fuss after Eroica had single-handedly saved the mission.
They stood in silence like that until A careened around the corner and the car skidded to a halt in front of them. Klaus looked at his watch. 0446. They'd be back at the embassy in Vienna in just under an hour, and then he'd be free of Eroica—for a few months, at least.
Klaus took a deep breath and refrained from yelling again.
All right. This one time—because he'd saved Klaus from a failed mission and it didn't seem as though he was going to rub it in—Klaus would give Eroica exactly what he asked for. One dance in exchange for the photograph.
He unclenched his fist and took Eroica's hand. Eroica's fingers twitched in surprise, but he quickly clasped Klaus' hand and allowed himself to be led out onto the dance floor. Eroica easily kept pace, the grace and sure-footedness that served him so well in his thieving making him equally at home at Klaus' side as they moved out among the other dancers.
The dress fit Eroica's athletic frame disturbingly well, Klaus noticed. The tall lace collar effectively hid his Adam's apple, the floor-length gown covered his long, slender legs and slim hips, and the royal blue silk set off his fair coloring. They joined hands and Klaus slipped his arm around Eroica's waist to rest his fingers lightly on Eroica's back as Eroica's hand settled on the curve of Klaus' shoulder, then they let themselves be swept up in the glittering mass of dancers twirling around the room to the Emperor Waltz as the lilting beat carried everyone along.
A small, private smile appeared on Eroica's mouth—just a quick glimpse of it made Klaus' spine straighten and he braced himself for a spate of fulsome compliments about his looks or virility or...something. Surprisingly, Eroica refrained from commenting, and Klaus eventually relaxed as they danced in companionable silence. Eroica was an excellent dance partner, even when dancing a different role than he was used to, though Klaus supposed that was to be expected when one was raised to be an ornament to society and had nothing better to do.
When the orchestra finished, Klaus released his hold on Eroica and stepped back. He clicked his heels together and bowed precisely over Eroica's hand—he knew Eroica would appreciate the old-fashioned gesture, though he refused to carry the charade as far as kissing Eroica's hand—that would definitely give him too many ideas.
As he straightened up, Klaus was surprised to find a serious expression on Eroica's normally carefree visage. They stared at each other for a moment before Eroica sank into an elegant curtsy, regal head bowed. "I should have known you'd be a marvelous dancer, my dear Major. Vielen herzlichen Dank."
"Your accent is atrocious." The reply was automatic—and blatantly untrue in this case, as Eroica's accent was precise and betrayed the fact that he'd had a native speaker teaching him German from a young age. But Klaus wasn't willing to yield any more to him tonight.
"You wound me. Or you would, if I thought you were speaking the truth. So I shall humor you and say it in my own language: thank you very much, Major."
Klaus sighed, too tired for any more of this back and forth. "I've done as you asked. Now give me the photo and leave me alone."
"While I live in hope that one day you'll want to see me au naturel," Eroica said, "you can't expect me to disrobe in public to retrieve it. How very unladylike."
"Damn it, Gloria, that's enough!" Klaus grabbed Eroica about the waist and dragged him swiftly out of the ballroom in a parody of a promenading lovers' embrace. He hustled them into a corner secluded by flowers and potted plants and pushed Eroica up against the wall, trapping him there. "Give me the damned photo!"
"Really, Major, there's no need to shout. I can hear you perfectly well." Eroica tossed his head impatiently. "I can't say I generally object too much to being manhandled by you, but you should be gentle tonight of all nights." A hint of steel—which had surprised Klaus the first time he'd heard it from this capricious and whimsical man—entered Eroica's tone as he continued, "I've had a very rough few days."
A glance downward showed Klaus that he was gripping Eroica's biceps tightly and pressing him against the wall with the lower half of his body. Klaus stepped back quickly, putting as much room between them as he could in the tiny nook as he smoothed down his jacket.
"Very flattering," Eroica said with a moue. "Always good to know where I stand with you."
Klaus rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I'm—Lord Gloria, would you just—"
"Give you this?" Eroica waved the photo in front of Klaus, but pulled it back when Klaus reached for it. How he'd managed to retrieve it from its hiding place in the bodice of his dress while Klaus had him firmly in his grasp he didn't know, but it was hardly the first display of Eroica's nimble fingers he'd had in the last two days. Though he'd be happier if those skills were being used on a KGB agent, rather than on himself.
Eroica met his scowl with a sunny smile, but surrendered the photo willingly enough this time when Klaus leaned in to grab it. Klaus tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit coat and turned to leave.
"Always a pleasure seeing you, Major."
"Go away, Eroica, or I'll tell INTERPOL where to find the recently stolen inventory of a certain antiques shop."
"You're utterly heartless. I don't know why in the world I like you."
Klaus snorted. "I don't know why, either."
Eroica's smile turned naughty as he reached out to smooth a slender, long-fingered hand down Klaus' tie. "It must be your splendid taste in ties."
He captured the wandering hand and pushed it away before Eroica got too far down his chest. With an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders, Eroica capitulated and slipped past him back into the hallway. "Auf Wiedersehen, Major. Until we meet again." With a wave of his lacy handkerchief as he rounded the corner, Eroica was gone.
Klaus needed a cigarette. He pulled the pack out of his pocket, but his lighter wasn't there. A quick pat down of his jacket turned up a card in the left pocket, a card he'd seen so many times by now that he'd be able to identify it by touch for the rest of his life, even if he never found another one like it. He turned it over to read the familiar greeting before crumpling it in his hand.
From Eroica, with love.
Infuriating man.
Story title is from the song of the same name by Jacques Brel.
Gracias: Veronica, Alyse, and Musa Mihi.
Feedback: email, dreamwidth, or on the Yuletide archive.