Chapter Text
A month has passed, a month of working for the war yet not in the war, a month of sharing a living with a ghost.
The apartment is decent enough, but despite Klaus’ suggestions on furniture and small commodities (Nikolai refuses to admit Klaus has a better taste than he will ever have), Nikolai still hasn’t invested time nor money into shopping for anything else other than food and some more blankets.
The city is alright. Nikolai has only one day off, that is split between exploring the city and lazing about the rest of the day. Now that he’s working on something as physically demanding, Nikolai would rather use his only day off once a week to rest, to do nothing besides lying in bed and eating. It’s not too bad a job. Assembling and welding, lifting metal plates and engine pieces, paint armour and oil canons. Nikolai works nine hours a day, with a rotative day off, in an enclosed factory full of vapours, noise, eyes on him and ears listening to his every word.
Working at the factory is… almost like imprisonment. That’s why sacrificing the mornings of his days off to wander outside with Klaus (unless it’s too cold, and Nikolai is selfishly anxious for the winter) and indulge the ghost in walking and exploring and overall being outdoors is rewarding, in a way. By now, Nikolai knows Klaus much prefers to be out in the open, busying himself with something physical, instead of staying indoors, idle. The German is full of energy and life (how ironic…!), and Nikolai finds it inspiring and annoying in equal measure. The scale tips to either side according to how tired he is, yet Nikolai makes the effort.
Think of it and it’s worth it – happy Klaus, happy life, to put it simply. Obviously, it’s not so simple, and Nikolai knows it. Whenever they leave the apartment early in the morning and go out in the cold, Nikolai just can’t ignore how happy Klaus is: the excitement coming off him, even if they’ve walked the same street a few times by now; his easy, genuine, boyish smiles that show his tooth gap and wrinkle the corners of his eyes, erasing all fealty (not that there is any) of his scars; the energetic spring to his steps, so hard to keep up with; his quick chatting about everything and anything, from the occasional car driving by to the depth of the snow that day; the brutally adoring glint of his eyes every time he looks at Nikolai. And once they’re back indoors, Nikolai’s reward is being left alone for a while, either reading the newspaper or writing home, only to be spoiled for the rest of the day.
If death doesn’t change a man, then Klaus must have been quite something when he was alive. The conclusion isn’t new, but Nikolai still marvels at each childish, harmless prank Klaus pulls on him (like hiding a fork when Nikolai sets the table, only to return it when Nikolai turns his back to get another fork – he falls for this more than he’d like to…), and whenever Klaus gets carried away with kissing, or whenever Klaus wraps his arms around Nikolai from behind and sighs contentedly. It mostly makes Nikolai think about how Klaus must’ve been warm. And solid. And how the scars on his skin must have felt to the touch, because Nikolai can barely feel them whenever he thumbs lightly at Klaus’ cheek. Often, when Klaus’ hands come to rest at Nikolai’s hips and when Klaus’ lips brush where Nikolai’s neck meets the shoulder, Nikolai is taken back to that evening, a lifetime ago – perhaps, even another life – when Klaus sat him (there was someone else there, someone Nikolai regrets for having wasted her time) at the table and poured him a drink, when Klaus tried to break the ice between them and make Nikolai live through the training, when SS-Standartenführer Klaus Jäger showed, maybe not for the first time, that he was a lovable man and not a repudiating uniform.
“Snap out of it, Ivushkin,” Klaus says, patient and threatening, every time Nikolai gets stuck in past regrets and ifs. There’s no point in hiding it, because Klaus always finds him. There’s a bittersweet irony to it, that Nikolai drowns by staring at Klaus’ eyes, that blue so impressive and alluring, cold yet placid, harmless, like a lake in the summer.
He’s glad, and thankful, immensely thankful, that Klaus is there with him, at the apartment. He does all the cooking for Nikolai to take for work (of course there’s always Sauerkraut in Nikolai’s lunchbox), he tidies up the place while Nikolai rests or eats or showers, he keeps Nikolai company, and he gets rid of roommates – this is probably the stunt Nikolai appreciates most: whenever a new colleague arrives to the factory and is allocated to Nikolai’s apartment (Nikolai is pretty sure these are the secret police sent there to supervise him and spy on him, to be assured he has no connections to the enemy), Klaus has a variety of powers at his disposal to deal with the intruders.
The first roommate stayed for three days. He starved, because magically every time he tried to eat, his dish/lunchbox flipped over and poured down its contents on the floor, and whenever someone tried to share food with him (Nikolai included, so that he wouldn’t look suspicious), said food always slipped off the man’s hands and landed defiantly on the floor. Glasses, cups, and bottles broke in his grasp. Whatever little crumbs he managed to swallow made him sick.
Nikolai, of course, kept a serious face, put on a genuinely sympathetic face but did nothing to stop Klaus. It was… fascinating, to watch the ghost toy with the living. Klaus was obviously delighted at his childish pranks, like having loafs of bread springing away from hungry hands and onto the floor. He also seemed very proud of himself for being able to make the unwanted guest sick, the kind of pride a mischievous child took in seasoning soup with two handfuls of pepper.
The second roommate stayed for a week. Klaus changed tactics (not everyone could be so clumsy with food, he had told Nikolai while nuzzling at the back of his neck) and targeted the shower and heating. While Nikolai enjoyed mildly warm showers and the heaters worked in whatever division he was in, by whatever ghostly power Klaus had been granted, the water was freezing cold and had tortuously low pressure whenever the unwanted guest took a shower, and the heating stopped working to the point that the glass on the windows froze.
Again, Nikolai hadn’t interfered, and had merely watched Klaus’ unbridled, childish satisfaction as he made a fully-grown Russian man shiver with cold indoors. Alive, Klaus must have been quite something to have around (did Klaus enjoy pranking his sister?)
The third roommate stayed for nearly a month, and no matter how much Nikolai detested it, he had to admit the man had nerves of steel to endure flickering lights at ungodly hours either in the apartment or at the factory, slamming doors both in the apartment and at the factory, and shattering glass and random items falling down on him at the factory.
But of course, he was no match for a disgruntled ghost with decreasing patience, and one day the chains broke and one particularly heavy piece of armoured chassis fell on the man. Many broken bones, worried and hushed rumours about how the factory wasn’t safe.
Nikolai hadn’t liked that. He told Klaus so, that he didn’t want things like that repeating ever again, that he’d rather have a stranger in their apartment and act like Klaus wasn’t there than watching a man die at Klaus’ hands. Of course, Klaus was not pleased.
For a week, things were tense – Klaus refused to talk, Nikolai refused to break the ice, yet still Nikolai’s lunchbox was filled every day and Klaus still did most things around the apartment.
Eventually, Klaus turned over to spoon Nikolai from behind and grudgingly promised he wouldn’t attempt on anyone’s life, only their patience and nerves.
Klaus, being Klaus, doesn’ just stay at the apartment, and of course he’s at the factory whenever Nikolai is. Though he has moments when he seems to forget that he’s dead and in a Soviet factory, wandering off with his hands behind his back and large, measured strides while casting judgmental looks here and there, he mostly stands by Nikolai. How else would Nikolai manage with all the weight he must carry around, how else would he go on after those demanding eight hours and another to go? How else would Nikolai laugh internally at every random ‘accident’ at the factory, such as an overseer tripping on himself and falling down the stairs, or a bully stepping into a paint can and be unable to pull it off. How else would Nikolai be exasperated at every ominous growl of an unborn tank every time the women at the factory start a conversation with him, or share his workstation, or invite him for tea? How else would Nikolai feel alone on the way back home, accompanied by co-workers he exchanges idle chat with?
There is a knock on the door. Nikolai raises his head from the letter he’s writing right on time to see how such a simple sound – a knock, decided yet not too intrusive – is enough to put an ugly frown on Klaus’ face and lure him from the kitchen with ill intent.
Is this how the relationship between dogs and post-men works?
“Just a moment!” Nikolai calls to whoever is on the other side of the door. He stands up, casts a pointed look at Klaus, is not impressed by how the ghost pushes out his bottom lip in a sulky pout, and finally opens the door.
At first, Nikolai doesn’t recognise the man staring at him with wide eyes.
The moustache, the crooked nose, the stern eyes, it means nothing. Nikolai simply blinks, frowns a little and smiles awkwardly as the man keeps staring at him like he has seen a ghost. Which is impossible, because Klaus Jäger, the only ghost Nikolai is aware of, is Nikolai’s and Nikolai’s alone.
“Kolya!” The man’s surprise changes abruptly to happiness, and it wipes off Nikolai’s awkward smile.
Stepan.
The Stepan.
Stepan, from Nikolai’s first crew.
Stepan, from the camp, from Nikolai’s second crew.
Stepan, with whom Nikolai had fought side by side twice against Klaus, with whom Nikolai had shared his blood for the Motherland and their freedom.
Stepan, who hated Klaus, who had accepted Anya as a sister.
Stepan, there, with a suitcase.
“Kolya! It’s you!” With the might of a bear, Stepan wraps both arms around Nikolai and holds him tightly. Shock has Nikolai still as a statue for a moment, until he finally, but oh so slowly and reluctantly, brings himself to pat Stepan on the back with a hand:
“Stepan…! You… here!” Nikolai babbles, hoping against hope the suitcase and Stepan standing on his (and Klaus’) doorstep means nothing. Maybe Stepan got the floor wrong. Maybe Stepan got the door number wrong.
“Nikolai Ivushkin!” And as suddenly as he was hugged, Nikolai is being held in front of Stepan, who beams like a lighthouse in the darkest, clearest night. “I never thought I’d see you again, Kolya!”
Nikolai manages a pathetic chuckle, because he had never thought he’d see any of his crew again.
Crew? Friends. Those were his friends. This is his friend. Nikolai should be delighted to see Stepan, should be welcoming him, should’ve at the very least asked what the heck is going on – and this is exactly what he’ll do:
“W-what are you doing here?” he asks, aiming at nonchalance and crossing his arms in front of his chest, then leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, both to keep Stepan out and Klaus in.
“I’d ask you the same, Kolya! What are you doing here? You’re a hero! You should be off in the general staff!” Stepan boasts, happy, and if he doesn’t keep it down, too many people will hear this and Nikolai doesn’t want that. “Is Anya here with you?”
“No,” Nikolai’s response is too immediate and blunt, catching Stepan off-guard. His happiness brakes down suddenly and visibly, and Nikolai sizes the opportunity to pull him inside (the suitcase is momently abandoned on the floor outside, a last hope that Stepan isn’t here to stay).
“He’s wearing shoes indoors, Ivushkin,” Klaus accuses immediately, and Nikolai could cry in gratefulness because, of all things Klaus might (will) have to say about Stepan, the fact that he’s wearing shoes on the carpet Klaus so painstakingly keeps impeccable is the most harmless of all. To keep it like that, Nikolai doesn’t take Stepan past the doorstep.
“I’m… working, here, at the factory. Tanks,” Nikolai explains. Please, Stepan, don’t ask. Nikolai doesn’t want to talk about how he got there, neither does he want to lie to a friend. He’s lied enough and it cost him dear – the man of the ghost sitting at the table, staring daggers at Stepan.
“That’s amazing, we’ll be colleagues!” There he is, Stepan is beaming again and he pulls Nikolai into another hug. “I thought I’d never see you again, Kolya!” And there is Nikolai, pulled away from Stepan in order to look at him. Stepan looks like a proud father, and Nikolai wishes he didn’t feel as undeserving. “But whatever happened, we’re here!”
“He’s not staying!” Klaus whispers, standing right behind Nikolai. Nikolai hasn’t heard that much anger and malice in his voice since… since Anya left:
“And, uh, where are you staying?” Cringing internally, Nikolai forces a questioning smile.
His answer is Stepan beaming again, letting go of him with powerful pats to the shoulders, then turning around to open the door and fetch his suitcase.
Nikolai wants to scream.
Nikolai wants to cry.
This isn’t just… a roommate, a new victim for Klaus’ shenanigans, a new opportunity to put Klaus’ ghostly powers to good use. This is Stepan, who stood by Nikolai’s side, who was a friend when he needed one, who drove them to victory. Nikolai can’t… kick him out. He owes Stepan. He likes Stepan. Stepan is a friend. Friends can’t be kicked out.
This is what Nikolai tries to explain to Klaus, later, through barely audible whispers, while they lie in bed – Nikolai at his usual spot in the middle, Klaus staring furiously at him at arm’s length.
He’s… well, angry might be an understatement. But he refrained from doing anything at all, and so Nikolai is hopeful. He understands, now. God, he understands why Klaus isn’t happy at all, and he’s decided not to let this turn into another Anya Crisis. This isn’t just about Klaus’ insecurities, this is also about tolerating someone who helped Nikolai escape the camp, who contributed to his current state of ghostly being.
By now, Nikolai knows better than trying to juggle Klaus and Stepan separately, but that sounds like his only way out if he wants to avoid (which he most certainly does) the awkward explanation about his ghost.
“If you were alive…” Nikolai tries again, dying a little inside at his choice of words. “… you’d have your colleagues, too. I saw you, back in the camp. Officers flocked around you.”
“For work, not for my free time,” The answer comes from behind bared and clenched teeth. “If I were alive, you wouldn’t have to explain why food floats around in the kitchen and into your lunchbox, neither why the dishes are apparently doing themselves.”
Point taken.
“But if you were alive… and if you were living here, with me, in Russia… you’d have to stay hidden, or you’d be shipped away to a gulag, or killed by a firing squad,” Nikolai explains patiently, and the moment of silence that follows gives him hope that Klaus is at least considering it.
A myriad expressions storm Klaus’ magnificent blue eyes: rage, defeat, hurt, annoyance, petulance, hurt, resentment, hurt. He turns his back at Nikolai, thus sending Nikolai’s patience out of the window:
“This isn’t fair, Jäger!” Nikolai hisses, upset. This isn’t fair. For any of them. Klaus grunts something akin to ‘indeed’, but says nothing else, neither turns around to face Nikolai, let alone spoon him for the night like he always does.
The next month is… well, it’s like Nikolai is back to his mother’s place, with Anya and Klaus, trying to believe he has it in himself to marry her and to keep Klaus around.
During the first few days, Nikolai does find it in himself to appreciate Stepan’s company and let Klaus pout all he wants (which consists of not making food for Nikolai (which is actually understandable, with Stepan around), not accompanying him to the factory (which is… a low blow, because Nikolai very much appreciates Klaus’ inhuman energy and strength to carry on by the end of the day), and not going out for walks in the mornings of days-off (fine, Nikolai sleeps in!)).
By the end of the first week, Nikolai simply thinks he’s exhausted because he hasn’t eaten much and not having Klaus controlling his body has made him spend more energy than what he wants to admit. Klaus is still pouting, still silent and avoiding Nikolai and Stepan, still sleeping at arm’s length, still staying at home instead of going to the factory with Nikolai.
By the middle of the second week, Nikolai realises he smiles forced smiles at Stepan’s jokes, and just nods at the reminiscences of the old days, and isn’t particularly interested in Stepan’s crops, now under the supervision of his wife while he works some extra to gain more for them and their children. This last bit is easy to explain – Nikolai was never interested in agriculture. But the rest, it takes him a sleepless night to understand that… he’s not the same man anymore.
He’s not the same Nikolai Ivushkin, in that tank with his comrades and Anya, fighting for their freedom.
He’s… changed. His dreams were shattered, he has just found a new purpose that still isn’t that.
Most important of all, however… is that Nikolai wishes Klaus hadn’t died, and that he no longer wants to run from him. The fact that Klaus has done nothing about Stepan, not even flickering lights or slamming doors, makes Nikolai’s heart ache some more for the ghost.
Klaus… Klaus is a good man, despite everything. And so that night Nikolai scoots closer to Klaus, who’s gone back to lying down in his uniform and boots, and starts tracing circular patterns on Klaus’ shoulder blades.
“We’re by ourselves, now. And wasting time…” Nikolai mutters, because they’re behind closed doors, in a bedroom, while Stepan is behind the closed doors of his own bedroom. It’s a familiar situation, not a good one.
For a moment, Nikolai thinks Klaus will continue to pout. He almost lets out a disappointed – and a tad angry – sigh and retreats, but Klaus turns around, slowly, until they’re face to face and closer, though not as much as before Stepan appeared:
“You knew there was a chance that the apartment would have to be shared…” Nikolai proceeds, taking the opportunity that the ghost seems open to negotiation. But Klaus’ face, handsome as much as Nikolai refuses to admit aloud, is but twisted in anger, ugly in ways that go back to the war. Maybe reminding Klaus he knew what he had gotten himself into wasn’t the smartest option, because Klaus turns his back at Nikolai again, shutting down all negotiations.
With a sigh, Nikolai is left drained, with only enough energy to turn his back at Klaus.
“So… what happened between you and Anya?” Stepan asks over lunch. His tone is conversational, but Nikolai has noticed that Stepan’s enthusiasm for chatting has diminished greatly over the weeks.
No surprise, considering how Nikolai hasn’t been… sociable, nor talkative. Definitely not the friend Stepan deserves. He’s spent most of his time in his bedroom, with Klaus, trying to make up for the lack of privacy they’re stuck with once more. Fortunately, Klaus’ aggrievance has chipped away a little, and though he and Nikolai don’t talk like they used to when they were by themselves at the apartment, at least Klaus is allowing to be touched (and Nikolai has found it in himself to seek out Klaus’ touch).
“I…” Nikolai hesitates, plays around with the sad excuse of lunch he hastily prepared for himself that morning, after Klaus had shoved him off bed with grunts that he’d be late. Stepan, too, had grunted they’d be late. Well, they were late. Nikolai has been running late ever since he and Klaus fell out of synch. “I don’t think I’m the same man anymore, Stepan.”
To that, Nikolai receives only a hum. Honestly, though? It’s better that way.
The more Nikolai thinks about it, the more aware he is of it. He is no longer the same man. He might have been when he and Stepan parted ways, but it all changed with being sent away from his tanks, from the front. As ironic as it might seem, as ungrateful as it might sound to Nikolai’s family or Anya, it was actually Klaus who had helped Nikolai to integrate again.
But Klaus died a soldier, and Nikolai will never live to be one.
There are letters in the mailbox, later, when they return from the factory. Winter is settling in and Nikolai is thankful that Klaus nagged him about taking the extra sweater, that morning. Because it’s cold, Stepan grabs the letters and they both hurry into the apartment, where it’s warm and cosy and they can take time reading the sender’s name and smile.
Klaus isn’t sitting at the table, nor in the kitchen, like he used to. Nikolai misses seeing it more and more, and when he pulls out his boots and removes his jacket, he almost doesn’t notice Stepan trying to give him the letter addressed to him (it’s from his mother, he can read it later). Eventually, Nikolai grabs the envelope and makes his way into his bedroom, to toss it over the bed (Klaus is standing by the window, looking outside, but glances over his shoulder and gives Nikolai a little smile, which immediately boost Nikolai’s mood).
But it plummets down when Nikolai, making his way into the bathroom to wash his hands, is intercepted by Stepan, looking awfully distressed, muttering about how his wife got suddenly ill.
It’s not like Nikolai’s immediate concern in Stepan’s wife (well, poor woman, of course). No, Nikolai’s first, ugly thought is Klaus Jäger and his ghostly, tasteless pranks. This is definitely something Klaus would do to get rid of Stepan, since it would be too obvious to deal with him right under Nikolai’s nose. Yet, before Nikolai can turn his back, march into his bedroom, and confront Klaus about what he’s done, he realises… why would Klaus take nearly a month and half to do something?
Klaus Jäger is a passionate man and Nikolai knows by experience that, when sufficiently riled up, Klaus doesn’t wait to act. He didn’t in life, and he hasn’t in death. Besides, Klaus has a way of smirking whenever he does anything sufficiently petty that Nikolai hasn’t seen since… since Stepan appeared and Klaus stopped going to the factory with Nikolai to make people trip and fall and step into paint buckets.
No, Klaus didn’t do anything to finally get rid of Stepan and have Nikolai all for himself. Nikolai knows it. Nikolai trusts him.
“I’m sorry. Do your kids have someone to look after them while your wife is bed-ridden?” he asks quietly and rests a friendly hand on Stepan’s shoulder. The man sighs:
“Their grandmother, yes…” That seems to do little to ease the worried creases on his forehead.
Uselessly, Nikolai pats Stepan’s shoulder. He tries to put encouragement and support into it, but the gesture feels vain to him. It’s not like he can do anything to help.
“Stepan’s wife is ill,” Nikolai comments with Klaus, later, when they’re both lying down and Klaus is massaging the calloused spots in the palms of Nikolai’s hands, from grabbing and carrying tank parts. Klaus exchanges a brief look with Nikolai, but just hums. Of course, he has nothing nice to say, and it’s actually preferable that he doesn’t say anything on the subject. Nikolai refrains from poking around the bush and see if Klaus had anything to do with it. He will trust Klaus.
Klaus, lying on his side, in his breeches and shirt, his collar undone and his sleeves rolled up, holding Nikolai’s right hand and massaging it gently with his thumbs.
Not only is Nikolai a bad friend to Stepan, he’s also a bad… whatever he is to Klaus, who’s been showing more tolerance towards Stepan that what Nikolai could’ve ever imagined.
“You had your collar undone and your uniform unbuttoned, that evening,” Nikolai says, decided to change topics and overall improve the mood. Klaus looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “You looked very decadent.”
That has Klaus laughing. Loud and carefree, ungraceful, with those ridiculously endearing snorts of his. Nikolai hasn’t heard Klaus laugh in ages and is marveled at the sound. Despite the laughter, Klaus continues to massage Nikolai’s hand, undisturbed:
“I was aiming at informal, but I’m glad I still caused an impression on you,” Klaus replies, his lips curving in the lascivious smile he sometimes teases Nikolai with. It has been ages (it feels like ages) since Nikolai last saw that smile, and he doesn’t hesitate in allowing it to work its magic on him. The mattress creaks loudly when he lifts himself on his elbows and leans onto Klaus, to capture his lips in a longing, voracious kiss that has him going through a mass of unnaturally cold air that no longer feels cold at all.
Klaus is quick to re-establish contact and to take control, and suddenly all is good. One of his hands cups Nikolai’s face, the other slips under his pyjama shirt and crawls up his chest, to touch at one particular scar that Nikolai has there – the gunshot wound Klaus gave him when they first met.
A knock on the door has Klaus retreating so abruptly that Nikolai topples forward and his face hits the mattress.
“Kolya? Are you awake?” Stepan. Nikolai reasons he’s worried and must want to talk. He takes in a deep, disappointed breath, and lifts his face from the mattress:
“Yes. What’s wrong, Vasilyonok?” Nikolai replies, hoping to sound friendly and patient. He casts an apologetic look at Klaus, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, chewing angrily at his pipe, and who simply shrugs, stiffly.
With a sigh, Nikolai pushes himself out of bed.
A couple of days later – it’s Nikolai’s day off – and Nikolai and Stepan are at the train station Omsk. Stepan has his suitcase with him and both men are wrapped in thick overcoats, wearing gloves and ushankas. The day is dark, promising a storm, and they can see their breath clearly. For the time being, the snow falls gently, graciously, almost pleasantly, catching on their brows, lashes, and on Stepan’s moustache.
Stepan is going back home, to look after his wife and children. He’s a good man and Nikolai is honoured to have met him and to have served the Motherland with him. But he’s also relieved that they are parting ways again, because he doesn’t want to remember Stepan as someone different from the man he met in the war, neither does he want Stepan to remember him as someone who is no longer Junior-Lieutenant Nikolai Ivushkin. Anya is enough for that, and there is only one man Nikolai is willing to allow by his side as he fully matures into Nikolai Ivushkin, unremarkable Soviet tank factory worker, ordinary man living his everyday life away from the thrill of the battlefield… and whatever will come next.
Until a while ago, Nikolai thought Klaus had stayed home, like he said he would the previous night, when Nikolai had told him he’d accompany Stepan to the train station, the least he could do for his saving grace. Klaus hadn’t pouted for yet another wasted day-off that they could’ve enjoyed like they used to, and that morning, before leaving the bedroom, Nikolai had thanked Klaus for his patience and had smiled, relieved, because things would go back to normal. But while waiting at the crowded station with Stepan, among those who wait and those who are about to leave, Nikolai had caught glimpses of the 44-Dot camo Klaus uses, and of his polished boots, and of his officer cap – ridiculously outstanding in a sea of ushankas and berets. He assumed Klaus wants to make sure Stepan is indeed stepping into the train and leaving the premises, and Nikolai would laugh at how insufferably childish Klaus can be if only he, too, weren’t so anxious to watch his friend go.
It’s not like Stepan is no longer dear to him, because he is. But Nikolai is no longer the same man, and he can’t pretend to Stepan he still is the same Nikolai who watched Klaus fall, only to burst out laughing the moment the shock was gone and chant about how they were free.
No, Nikolai Ivushkin, unremarkable Soviet tank factory worker, wishes that moment in the bridge had never happened, that the bridge had never happened, that he had been a proper soldier, that Klaus were alive and not a ghost prowling through the crowd, steely eyes watching Stepan with the resentment and accusation a caged beast regards its hunter.
“Will you be fine, Kolya?” Stepan asks, a heavy hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. It startles Nikolai, but he, too, rests a hand on Stepan’s shoulder and pats it amicably. He smiles, effortlessly and sincerely:
“I will, don’t worry,” It sounds like a promise – it’s the truth and only the truth – but still Stepan doesn’t seem convinced and he frowns:
“You seem a little lost, that’s all,” And he probably intends to say something about Anya, yet no sound comes out and he closes his mouth. Honestly, Nikolai is very relieved that Stepan thinks he’s odd because he’s broken-hearted. Let him. Nikolai’s family, too. It’s easier, ridiculously so, like it had been when he had focused on the grinning skull of Klaus’ officer cap and his many medals.
Nikolai glances over his shoulder, to where Klaus is leaning against a wrought iron lamppost, in full uniform and sucking gently at his pipe. Soft puffs of smoke come from it, and when his eyes meet Nikolai’s, he’s the ghostly incarnation of patience. Refraining from shaking his head fondly, Nikolai looks again at Stepan:
“I’m not lost, don’t worry,” Even if he were, he’s in capable hands.
That still doesn’t convince Stepan, though he seems appeased. They let go of each other and resume to companionable silence until, minutes later, the empty train stops in front of the platform and the signal to board is given. Nikolai knows, deep down, this is the last time he’ll ever see Stepan, and so he puts all his gratitude into the brotherly embrace they share, until they pull away and Stepan slaps Nikolai’s cheek playfully, winks, grabs his suitcase and walks into the train.
Nikolai’s mission is accomplished, and so he turns his back and walks against the crowd, in a beeline to where Klaus is standing, straight and imposing, pipe gone and hands clasped behind his back. No words are exchanged as they leave the station together with matching strides, and Klaus lets only an inquiring hum when Nikolai turns towards the market, ignoring how the clouds grow darker and the wind bites sharper at his exposed skin:
“I’m starving and the pantry is empty,” Nikolai comments, tastes the rescued normality between them. “I’m hoping for a good lunch, Jäger.”
And Klaus laughs full-heartedly, shoves playfully at his shoulder:
“What do I get in exchange, Ivushkin?”
To that, Nikolai just smirks and winks – he might have caught that from Klaus, and the delight written all over the ghost’s face makes it all the better.
Under all the groceries in the bags, Nikolai is keeping a little something for Klaus. The German always strays away in the market and always finds Nikolai at the exit, and it provided Nikolai with a much-appreciated opportunity.
They arrive to an empty, silent apartment. It feels homely, and suddenly there were never intruders there, not even Nikolai’s friend. While Klaus takes the groceries into the kitchen, Nikolai hops in one leg to pull off his boot, then the other, and takes his time to undress his jacket and remove his gloves and ushanka. He can hear Klaus going through the groceries and putting them away, like Klaus always does, like the control freak he is and that Nikolai adores.
“What-?” Ah, Klaus seems to have found the surprise! Nikolai smiles, smug, delighted, and turns away from the coat hanger rubbing his hands in satisfaction. He walks leisurely into the kitchen, and if Klaus were alive and solid, they’d have bumped into each other – instead, Nikolai nearly walks across Klaus, but the ghost steps back in time for them to be face to face.
He looks very confused as he holds a small teddy bear covered in flour from the bread and dishevelled for having travelled under packages of oat flakes and canned fish. Nikolai shrugs, but his smugness disappears and his chest clenches just a little:
“The other day you were just sitting there and chewing at your pipe, so I thought…” A pause, another smug smirk because Nikolai can’t help it, not with how Klaus’ sharp features soften that much. “… your pipe needed a friend.”
The deadpan look that flashes across Klaus’ face for two seconds is totally worth it. But instead of demanding a full confession, Klaus just curls his lips in that way that blurs the line between playful and malicious, and squeezes the teddy bear against his chest, then lovingly brushes off the flour and arranges the fur until it looks presentable.
Nikolai could make himself presentable as well, and so while Klaus deals with groceries and lunch, Nikolai shaves and starts the shower. He’s barely started when he feels Klaus’ hands trailing down his back and settling at his hips, then Klaus leaning onto him and resting his forehead on the back of Nikolai’s neck. Even though the water from the shower falls through Klaus, he sometimes joins Nikolai to torment him with missing towels and floating soap bars, but also to just stand there. It’s close and intimate, and Nikolai very much appreciates it and is learning to not be bothered by how he can’t simply touch Klaus. But when he turns off the water and reaches for the soap bar, it happily darts up towards the ceiling – Nikolai feels Klaus laughing against his back.
The teddy-bear (‘Nikolai’, because of course SS-Standartenführer Klaus Jäger would do that) finds a spot at Nikolai’s bedside table, watching over Klaus’ officer cap, pipe, and medals, since it can’t wear the ghost items – and it’s not like Nikolai would be jealous of a teddy-bear for being able to interact with ghost things, but he’s very relieved that Nikolai the teddy-bear can’t.
“That factory is boring without you,” Nikolai mutters, later in the night, when he and Klaus are lying together side by side, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the warmth while the wind howls outside. There will be a lot of snow and ice the next day, and Nikolai is already dreading the moment he’ll have to leave the apartment to walk to the factory.
Klaus replies something in accordance to his world-size ego, so mighty and yet so fragile. It makes Nikolai laugh, and for a moment he’s astonished at how it feels like the last month and a half have never happened, like they haven’t stayed apart while sharing the same space, like there hasn’t been a gap between them at night.
The German is still monologuing about his outstanding sense of humour. His arms are crossed behind his head, and so are Nikolai’s, and as Klaus goes on about how he’s so brilliant, Nikolai unlaces his fingers and reaches for Klaus’ hand. Immediately, without missing a beat about his grand character, Klaus intertwines their fingers.
“You’re insufferable, Jäger…” Nikolai complains without feeling, turning his head to look at Klaus.
But Klaus just smiles, dark and mischievous.
Nikolai wants nobody else by his side.