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With the electricity cut, the hallway was pitch black. Von Stalhein strained his senses as he moved slowly, gun at the ready, through the maze of empty offices and bio labs behind shut doors, with danger signs painted in yellow and red. He kept his back close to the wall. Security guards were looking for them. Bigglesworth and Hebblethwaite had gone to explore the lower levels when they split off at the stairs, while he took the fourth floor. It was clear this part of the building wasn't meant to hold prisoners, but he surveyed it in hopes of confirming what the sheikdom was planning when they started kidnapping British chemists.
He thought he sensed movement behind him. Nerves already stretched to the limit twanged a warning. Von Stalhein was turning when a powerful blow to the back of his head made his vision explode in crimson red.
The next several moments were a blur. He must have pitched over on his face, because Erich came to as he was being rolled over, rough hands patting down his clothing, looking for documents or weapons. He could hear nothing, but his vision was slowly returning. He had been divested of his gun, but the fool who had struck him didn't bother with a control shot or even to check he was truly unconscious, before grabbing him by one foot and starting to drag him into a neighbouring room. The attempt to hide vaguely puzzled Erich.
Erich allowed himself to be dragged along the floor inside what looked like a small office. Guessing the guard was alone, Erich kicked out with his free foot, catching the man under the knee. The guard fell with a low gasp; within moments Erich was on him, grabbing his head and slamming his temple into the edge of a desk with all his strength.
Then he fell next to the unconscious man, trying not to retch. Adrenaline had bolstered him, but the movement cost him dearly. His vision swam. Erich strove to get his brain under control, realising he was on his hands and knees on the floor. He shifted to sit, leaning his back against the office desk for support, struggling to focus and panting for breath. With another effort, he managed to kick the door almost entirely shut with a foot and then just sat there, brain feeling like scrambled eggs. In a daze, Erich lifted a hand to touch the back of his head, and rubbed the wet fingers together in semi-darkness. Blood. He wiped it down on the jacket of the man next to him, retrieved his gun. Checked the man's pulse and found nothing, then finally rolled the body over.
The Slavic features were a surprise for a security guard in this part of the world. Feeling ill, von Stalhein checked his surroundings for danger, finding only a small empty office with two desks and a scribbled over blackboard, then returned to the body. Like him, the man had no documents, which only increased von Stalhein's suspicion. He was also not dressed in a guard's uniform, wearing civvies. A regular security guard would have official documents and a radio. It looked as though their party weren't the only intruders in the building.
His first and immediate thought was of Bigglesworth. If there was a third party here, potentially Soviet agents no less, Erich had to find and warn Bigglesworth as quickly as possible. Lacey was with the getaway car, but Bigglesworth and Hebblethwaite were searching for the kidnapped British scientist somewhere on the floor below. It seemed they weren't the only ones looking.
His luck, Erich thought darkly as he gathered his thoughts, was atrocious. It was the first field mission Bigglesworth had agreed to, with von Stalhein accompanying his typical party of four. Erich's knowledge of the local area customs and Arabic language were deemed beneficial by Air Commodore Raymond, and — this was von Stalhein's only hard red line — the mission had nothing to do with German or Soviet politics. So they'd thought.
Bigglesworth had been almost overly careful not to involve him in anything where his past would come into play. Whether it was for Erich's comfort or to assuage the reservations of Lacey and the others, he couldn't fully gauge. Thus far, this limited their cooperation to Erich providing occasional logistics advice or contextual knowledge. He hadn't thought their partnership would ever graduate to him joining Bigglesworth out in the field. He knew he wanted it, had wanted it almost from the beginning, if he was being honest with himself — and sometimes he felt Bigglesworth wanted it too. However, Erich accepted the limitations of his stay in England following the rescue from Sakhalin. Moreover, he couldn't rightly expect Lacey and the others to accept him, and of course Bigglesworth would never bring someone out with them that the whole team didn't feel they could rely on; it could prove disastrous in the field.
All of this was understood and accepted by all parties until this mission came along. A kidnapped prisoner extraction had suited von Stalhein when he'd agreed to it in Raymond's office and there wasn't supposed to be anything more to it. Certainly not Soviet agents. Were there more of them?
Von Stalhein heaved himself to his feet. He had to hold on to the edge of the desk as the world swirled dizzily. He thought he heard voices, and almost discarded the notion as ringing in his ears, before he identified individual words through a slim gap in the door: "... blackout ... restore power ..." Arabic. Multiple speakers, and they were heading his way. The KGB agent's caution about shooting him made a little more sense now if he had other local guards on his heels and was afraid of making too much noise. Luckily the door was solid wood, but it was too late to hide his body, it would be discovered immediately if anyone entered the room.
The handle on the office door started to turn.
Erich hid by the wall behind the door.
"All well?" Bigglesworth sharp words came from the shadows as Erich stepped out onto the staircase and their rendezvous point. The lithe form separated from the alcove where the man had been hiding. He sounded on edge, but waiting around had never suited his temperament. Hebblethwaite wasn't with him. Bigglesworth's eyes quickly ran up and down Erich's body, satisfying themselves that he had no visible injuries. "I sent Ginger back to Algy to let him know why we're delayed and was about to look for you."
There was no rebuke in his voice, yet Erich already knew he had scrambled their plans and put the extraction in danger. Bigglesworth didn't have to say it out loud.
"I ran into some company. Security guards." His tongue seemed thick in his mouth and he forced himself to speak clearly as thoughts seemed to trail away in his head. The headache was debilitating. It was good that the staircase was in semi-shadows, he didn't think he could fully hide the fine tremble of his hands otherwise. "I had to wait out the patrol before I could head back."
Bigglesworth's look at his face was even more scrutinising. "You're all right?"
"Fine. The scientist?"
"Dead," Biggles said shortly. "Bullet to the head. Someone got to him before we did. Let's move — the sun is rising and Algy will be in a flap about sitting there exposed." He turned, expecting Erich to follow.
Outside, the first rays of the sun rising red above the horizon cut his eyes. The way back was between the stone wall and a line of parked trucks — empty of personnel — until they reached an old van with police markings. Lacey slid up from where he was lying low at the wheel when Biggles tapped the hood. He was dishevelled and clearly not in a good mood. Hebblethwaite's ginger head peeked out from the backseat.
"Get in," Lacey snapped out, starting the engine, and Bigglesworth ran around to the other side of the car. He went for the passenger seat next to Lacey, and Erich got into the back with Hebblethwaite. The infernal headache from the blow to the head made each movement a painful task requiring every bit of will and concentration that he had.
Lacey shot Erich a quiet glare but said nothing, which felt somehow worse than if he'd mouthed off with one of his sarcastic little comments. He knew he'd delayed them. He knew he had to do better. Rusty, like an old engine, he was making mistakes, which was painful enough even without the embarrassing fact that it affected the others. It had been months since he'd been out in the field. Maybe he would never again be good enough for fieldwork.
"We were like sitting ducks here," Lacey growled. Tires screeched. "I about broke my back keeping out of sight. And if we don't make it back to Bertie in the next half hour, he'll have a fine time explaining the delay to the airport authorities."
"I hear you," Bigglesworth answered calmly. "Ginger explained that the bloke was dead?"
"Yeah. What the hell happened?"
Bigglesworth shrugged.
"The Soviet agent must have done it," Erich said quietly. The quiet voice wasn't for any reason than that he had very little strength in total. Weakness was like a weight pressing him down. It wasn't the screaming kind of exhaustion from your body reaching its limit like the kind he'd felt on Sakhalin — torn muscles unable to give more and even the bones aching from the cold. This was instead an 'off' feeling, like the world was askew and he was sliding side-ways, about to fall and unable to grasp for purchase. He desperately wanted to sleep. He felt tapped out and like his brain was pressing on his ears from the inside. The movement of the car made the nausea nearly unbearable.
Bigglesworth twisted around in his seat. "What?"
"Ginger didn't mention any Soviets," Lacey said sharply, meeting Erich's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"I ran into him—Or rather he ran into me," Erich explained while the car continued to hurl down a mostly empty road towards the airport. Lacey had to watch where he went, so the eye contact was quickly broken.
"You didn't mention it." Bigglesworth frowned at him.
Erich fell momentarily silent. Nobody wanted an apology, and 'I forgot' seemed like an inadequate explanation. They needed facts, not excuses. After a careful breath, he forced himself to speak. "He was in plain clothes, no documents, and he definitely didn't want to make any noise. When the Arab guards found him, they became very excited. I used this against them, shot them in the legs and took their radios and weapons." He'd stashed the guns on the way, unwilling to carry the load.
"They found him? You took him out first?" Bigglesworth asked.
"Yes, I killed him."
"I'm missing pieces here," Bigglesworth said. "How did you—"
"Hold on," Lacey said sharply. "Checkpoint up ahead. Get the documents."
Bigglesworth turned back around and dug out their papers from the pouch at Lacey's waist. The guard peered through the window and asked questions in accented English, but eventually let the four British subjects through to the small airport. They reached the parking space not far from the tarmac in another minute.
"There's Bertie," Hebblethwaite said, peering between the two front seats. Lissie waved at them from the cockpit of the plane, its propellers already running.
"Let's move," Biggles said. "We'll talk about this later." This was clearly meant for Erich.
He got out of the car, gripping the door for all he was worth to stay upright. His legs felt like jelly, he couldn't lock his knees. Everything was swaying. Lacey was already half-way up to the cabin of the plane with Hebblethwaite. Bigglesworth was heading the same way when he turned. His expression changed, flashed with worry.
"Erich?"
Erich felt the world sliding away from him.
Suddenly, hands grasped him around the middle, helping him stay upright. He turned his head and found Bigglesworth's face very close, eyes searching his. "You're hurt," the man said incisively. "Where?" Bigglesworth put one of Erich's arms around his shoulder. He must have run to him immediately to reach him so quickly. Erich knew he had been about to pass out right on the tarmac. He still felt the darkness on the edges of his vision, but with Bigglesworth supporting him, he stood a little steadier and made a renewed effort to reach the plane. They made a slow and shuffling walk. Hebblethwaite had to lend a hand to help him up to the cabin, where between the two of them they lowered von Stalhein into the seat. Lacey locked the door behind them and they all scrambled for their seats except Bigglesworth.
"Bertie, take off," Bigglesworth ordered. "This is getting a little hot for my liking." He received a Roger in response, the plane started to taxi on the tarmac. Meanwhile, he crouched in front of Erich, worried hazel eyes meeting his. "Are you hit?"
Hands were already patting him down. Erich felt embarrassed and weak. "I'm all right."
"You look all right," Lacey said sarcastically from the other seat. "Out with it. What happened with your KGB guy?"
"He is not my—"
"Whatever," Lacey interrupted. "You didn't think to tell us about him. Where are you injured?"
At that same moment, Bigglesworth's hands patted up von Stalhein's shoulders, up his neck and into his hair. Bigglesworth's expression froze, he pulled one hand back, his fine fingers marred with blood.
"He struck me from behind," Erich explained. "I forgot. I should have—" He didn't know what he should have done. He couldn't remember the scene very well anymore, except coming around as he was being dragged along the floor. He had no idea how he had managed to disable the other agent. He remembered hiding behind the door. Did the Soviet man notice him standing there and strike, or was that later? He stared at Bigglesworth in confusion.
"Never mind," Bigglesworth said quietly. "Ginger, get some bandages from the medicine chest." He didn't turn away from Erich. "Your pupils are uneven size. I didn't notice before. Did you pass out?"
"I don't—. Maybe for a moment," Erich answered slowly, feeling like he was pulling the memory out from years back, even though he knew it had just happened. He blinked, eyelids heavy. "He was trying to hide me in one of the rooms. That's why he didn't shoot. He wanted quiet. But he didn't check that I was dead."
"Thank heaven for that," Lacey said emphatically, which seemed strange to Erich since they weren't that close. "So you woke up and took him out."
That sounded accurate. Through the haze of unreality that settled over him, Erich was mostly sure that's what he did.
"So you were out for a little while," Bigglesworth continued, voice steady, his eyes locked with Erich, who felt like he could drown in their warmth. He felt sleepy. One of Bigglesworth hands lay against Erich's cheek holding his head in place, the other took a dressing pad Hebblethwaite stretched out to him, and pressed it against the back of Erich's head. It hurt, but it was necessary. Erich made no sound, not wishing to worry him further.
"Pals, we are taking off," Bertie said. The plane accelerated.
Instead of leaving him for lift off, like Erich expected, Bigglesworth steadied his position by setting his knees wide against the floor between the seats, and set his left hand on the armrest, clutching it. His other hand remained steady pressing the bandage to the back of Erich's head. Any thought Erich had of telling Bigglesworth that he could do it himself was wiped from his mind as the aircraft shook while it gained speed in the air. His stomach tried to climb out of his body.
"A bag—" he urged, and immediately had Hebblethwaite thrust the airsickness bag at him, already open. He was sick inside it in seconds. Erich was never sick from flying. He didn't understand why this was happening from just a blow to the head. He'd seen men die from a head wound, but he hadn't died, and he was certain he hadn't lost enough blood to feel this awful.
"Here, have a drink," Hebblethwaite passed him some water to swish around and spit. Afterward, Erich drank the rest of the water gratefully, while Hebblethwaite took his airsickness bag and immediately thrust a fresh one at him. Erich pressed it to his breast, finding some relief in the fact that at least he wouldn't be sick all over the cabin. By then, the plane had levelled off and was cruising at even speed, which made things a little easier.
Lacey thrust some pills at him. "Dramamine," he growled. "It'll help with the nausea."
Erich swallowed them with more water. "I'll be all right now," he promised. Bigglesworth was looking at him with an expression on his pale face that just about made him feel ill in a wholly different way. He'd let Bigglesworth down. First mission together, he had messed up the op, delayed him, and was now forcing them to care for him while he was revoltingly sick. He didn't know how Bigglesworth bore with him, but he did. He didn't even look angry. He looked upset, but it didn't feel like he was upset with Erich.
"Do you want some pain meds?" Bigglesworth asked him. "Your head— It must hurt a lot."
"It's killing me," Erich admitted, not entirely sure why. He hadn't meant to let on. Bigglesworth's eyes just seemed to invite all sorts of confessions.
"I figured," Bigglesworth said softly and bit his lower lip. He put a hand on Erich's arm and rubbed it up and down, in a strangely useless motion, like he was returning some warmth into him, even though Erich wasn't particularly cold. But the touch helped nonetheless, and he found himself relaxing a little. He drank the pain meds when they were passed to him. Dramamine had upped his need for sleep another notch, and his eyelids grew heavy. The plane was cutting through the air level and steady, but the propeller noise still beat heavily against his battered brain. There was no relief to be found in any position. He wondered if it might help if he lay very still. Bigglesworth stood to dress the injury properly, securing it with a bandage around Erich's head. "You'll tell me if you feel a change, right?" he said as he worked. "If you feel any worse or better."
"I shall be all right with some sleep," Erich assured him, stifling a yawn and shifting so he could lie on his side without putting any pressure on the injury. After momentarily shutting his eyes, he struggled to keep them open.
"That should be fine for a few hours, then I'll wake you to check on you."
Erich leaned back gratefully when someone carefully reclined the seat. It could have been Bigglesworth, but his hands were still busy tying the bandages and running through Erich's hair to smooth it down. It must have been one of the others. Another pair of hands pulled a comforter around him. "You needn't concern yourself."
"I'll be the judge of that," Bigglesworth said, coming back around to crouch next to his seat again, so they were on the same level. "On the scale of one to ten, one being a paper-cut and ten being 'help, I'm dying', how bad does your head hurt right now?"
Erich hesitated.
Bigglesworth peered at him. "That bad?" he asked worriedly, having correctly guessed from this hesitation that the answer was a lot closer to ten than he'd hoped.
"The painkillers will kick in," Erich explained drowsily. His eyelids fluttered shut and he didn't have the will to open them. If he fell unconscious, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. It was a faint hope to cling to.
"I should have checked if you remember things properly," Bigglesworth was saying somewhere nearby in a worried manner. "You do remember who you are and what happened?"
"As if anyone would let me forget," von Stalhein sighed as he drifted off to sleep. The last thing he was aware of was the familiar hand once more lightly stroking his hair.
His first memory was the sensation of being dragged along the floor, all of his senses in disarray from the hit to the head. Limbs weak, mind in a fog and his ears ringing from a cacophony of noise, he didn't know which way was up. Gravity seemed to have stopped working. With eyes closed, he sensed a presence towering above him, ready to kill.
At the touch of a hand next to his neck, Erich acted. His gun was in his right hand, he struck out with the palm of his left, hearing a startled cry as he threw his attacker down and lunged after him in a follow through. Multiple men's shouts registered with him, even as a well-remembered voice cried out, "Erich!"
Instinct made him still. The man underneath him wasn't fighting him, which was another thing that stayed von Stalhein's hand. He knew that a hostage was more useful than a corpse if there were more enemies about. Then he struggled to think at all. The agony inside his skull crescendoed as his movement caught up with his battered body. Adrenaline could only carry you so far. Erich struggled to see, feeling like his eyes were open but seeing only grey. He didn't know if he was still holding the gun as his head grappled to process the feedback from his body. Where was he?
The familiar voice was saying, sounding incongruously calm, "Wait, don't touch him."
His vision cleared from a grey blankness to the sight of Bigglesworth looking up at him from the floor. Erich's gun was pressed under his chin, tilting his head back. For a moment Erich stared uncomprehending. The Soviet agent was never there.
"It's okay," Bigglesworth said, eyes locked with his. One of his hands was wrapped around Erich's wrist, the one holding the gun on him. The other was on von Stalhein's chest. Erich stared wild-eyed at him. He realised that he was straddling Bigglesworth in the space between the seats of the aeroplane even as Lacey's strained voice reached them:
"What the hell is happening back there?! I'm trying to land a plane!"
"You are safe." Bigglesworth looked up at him without undue anxiety, as he lay very still where Erich had pushed him to the floor. "Erich, you are among friends."
"What—?" Erich gasped out, and then the knowledge crashed down on him. Instantly, Lissie was there, pulling the gun from his nerveless fingers.
"Blimey—" he muttered in a shocked voice. At the same time, Erich felt a modicum of tension drain out of the form of the man under him.
The plane had been in a descent and the entire structure of it rocked gently as they hit the ground wheels rolling, but that had little impact on the tableau inside the cabin. For a moment, Erich existed as if outside his body. He felt nothing. For an instant — he didn't even feel the pain from the head injury. He could have killed Bigglesworth. The knowledge ricocheted between them. Bigglesworth's lips were pressed in a strained line, but his eyes were kind. He knew it too.
With a gasp, almost like a sob, Erich felt the entirety of his strength abandon him. Suddenly, pain boomeranged and was all that existed: in his head and in his heart. He collapsed forward, but Bigglesworth was once more there to catch him. His arms came around Erich's shoulders, and he held him, murmuring, "It's okay, it's okay," even as Erich's forehead lay on his chest while he shuddered with the reaction.
"Biggles?" Lacey's voice called anxiously from the front of the plane.
"Biggles, are you all right?" That was Hebblethwaite.
"We're fine," Bigglesworth answered next to Erich's ear, steady and sure. "Everything will be all right."
"I thought—" Erich tried to say, but the overwhelming emotion and the rush of adrenaline carried with it the return of a tremendous headache. He was speechless, both with regret and with the shock of the wave of pain sweeping through him. He bore with the agony, knowing it would pass. Almost wishing it wouldn't, because he deserved every moment of it. All he could do was roll off of Bigglesworth and slump down on the strip of the floor next to him. Through a haze he registered that one of Bigglesworth's hands went to shield Erich's head from hitting the floor, guiding him down gently. Protecting him.
Erich covered his face with his palms.
"You thought you were being attacked," Bigglesworth finished for him, as if he could see the nightmare that was unfolding in Erich's head. "I shouldn't have touched you in your sleep, not after what you've just gone through." One of his hands stayed wrapped around Erich's shoulders, the open palm of the other lay pillowing his head. Erich felt the warmth of his touch, in contrast to the hard, unyielding floor. That warmth would have drained out of him in minutes if Erich had unknowingly pulled the trigger. The worst had nearly happened. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt shivers run through his body, even as Bigglesworth kept on murmuring soft assurances to him.
They lay side-by-side on the floor between the seats, facing each other. Bigglesworth's hand went to stroke his hair. Shudders receding, Erich lay limp and wished he didn't exist.
"Von Stalhein attacked him," Hebblethwaite was explaining for Lacey's benefit when the man jumped out of the pilot seat, the plane safely stopped.
"I think he didn't recognise—"
The voices faded out. His mind had decided to give him a timeout.
He didn't pass out, but everything went distant for a while, the indistinct voices, people moving about. It was all right like this. He didn't want to come back to himself, but the pounding in his head tugged him into wakefulness.
The next thing he became aware of, he was still lying on his side on the floor, but Bigglesworth was now sitting next to him, leaning back against one of the seats. He looked a bit worn out, as if the events of the past day had left a mark even on his boundless energy. A soft pillow-like bundle had been placed under Erich's head. Bigglesworth was holding each of Erich's hands, his own slim fingers wrapped around Erich's lightly. At first von Stalhein thought he was holding them so that he wouldn't be attacked again, but Bigglesworth's thumbs were rubbing soothing circles into the patch of his palm between Erich's thumb and index finger. He was making a concerted effort to press into the hand valley point. His face held an intense sort of focus, and for some time Erich simply looked at him, grateful beyond measure that he was alive. That he was here.
When he noticed that Erich was awake and watching the hypnotic movement, Bigglesworth said, lightly, "I read somewhere that massaging the pressure points can help with a headache. Is it working?"
Erich stared, caught in the warm gaze of his hazel eyes, and for a moment couldn't have remembered his own name. Bigglesworth's fingers didn't still, rubbing his skin.
Erich swallowed. "My head hurts less," he whispered, surprised to realise this was true.
Bigglesworth smiled at him. "Do you care for something to drink?" He spoke in a quiet voice, ever conscious not to cause additional pain.
Erich looked about without moving his head. They were alone in the cabin. "The others?"
"Ginger is outside, refuelling the machine," Bigglesworth said. "Algy and Bertie went to grab a bite. We can join them if you feel up to it. There's at least another half hour until takeoff."
His determination to act as if everything was normal made Erich's chest sting. "Sorry for putting you through that," he murmured, curling his hands next to his chest when Bigglesworth let go.
"Apology accepted," Bigglesworth said easily. "I'm unharmed and it really was my own fault for startling you in your sleep. You had some water drops trailing down your neck from the cold compress," he explained. "I went to brush them off, unthinking. I'm not surprised you reacted how you did. I've seen soldiers do worse after a really bad day."
"It's no excuse," Erich sighed, sliding an elbow under himself and trying to rise. He wanted to be on the same level when talking with him. Bigglesworth's hands went to his shoulders, helping him sit up on the floor, and Erich leaned back against the opposite row of seats. "Did I strike you?"
Bigglesworth's fingers touched his own chin lightly. "It's nothing," he said. "You gave a bit of a fright to Ginger and Bertie, though. They came out worse than I did."
"How is that possible?" Remembering how he'd come back to himself in a position to kill Bigglesworth, he clenched his hands into fists, and then was instantly forced to relax them since any kind of tension worsened his headache past the bearable limit.
Bigglesworth said, "I knew once I got through to you, it would be all right." He had an odd look in his eyes, studying Erich as if he was satisfied with the outcome.
"You are unbelievable," Erich muttered. Bigglesworth smiled that little smile of his.
Erich could happily blame his head injury for what he did next, which was lift a hand and brush Bigglesworth's jaw very lightly with his fingers, as if to soothe the hurt he'd caused. "Sorry," he said. Bigglesworth nodded, or maybe he leaned into the touch, it was hard to tell because Erich pulled his hand back.
The part of him capable of thinking wondered how he had dared touch him so intimately. A door had swung open between them and Erich didn't know what lay beyond. The look in Bigglesworth's eyes was different now. Wistful. But he said nothing about the touch, which Erich understood to mean they were not talking about that, either.
For a time they sat in silence, Erich thinking idly that despite the terrible day preceding this moment, the intimate atmosphere between them in the cabin of the aeroplane was to be treasured. His head hurt, but he'd been distracted from it and it felt like the pain was less as a result.
"I did mean to wake you once we landed, although not quite like this," Bigglesworth said eventually with a smile. "I suppose I needn't check if you remember who you are and what happened."
"I'm myself," Erich assured him.
He thought he couldn't erase the past hour from his mind if he lived another hundred years. And while the stress of the events had obscured one particular point in the moment, now Erich found himself circling back to it over and over in his head. He could almost still feel Bigglesworth's body laying underneath him. He knew now how his body felt. How unexpectedly lovely it was, pressed up against his.
"Oh, you're awake," Lacey said flatly, as he and Lissie returned to the plane shortly after. Hebblethwaite also poked his head in.
"Our turn for lunch?" he queried, looking between Bigglesworth and von Stalhein. In the intervening time, Bigglesworth had helped Erich back to his seat, and took the one across the aisle from him.
"I'll sit this one out," Erich demurred the lunch offer. Bigglesworth offered to bring him something to eat in the cabin, which Erich also refused. He was in no way prepared to deal with another liftoff on anything but an empty stomach. He'd eat when they landed in England.
"You're sure?" Bigglesworth looked at him. "Will you be all right?"
Erich assured him he would be. Lissie piped up, for Bigglesworth's sake, "Worry not, we're here."
Lacey brought out a spirit stove. "I'll make us some tea. You drink tea, don't you?" He looked balefully at Erich.
"As a converted Londoner, I'd have to, purely out of self-defence," Erich muttered.
He was rewarded by a light laugh from Bigglesworth, who put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. His eyes met Erich's warmly. "We shan't be long."
"The sandwich stand is the best one," Lacey called after the two men as they walked off from the plane down the tarmac into the main building on a small aerodrome close to an Italian town.
Lissie went to check the instruments on the newly refuelled plane, while Lacey got a kettle to a boil on the spirit-stove stood in the aisle. He puttered with it in silence, getting out three metallic mugs to serve as teacups. Von Stalhein watched his hands distractedly, allowing his mind to be occupied by the minutiae to keep the rest of the crushing wave of thoughts at bay. He thought about sleeping and reared back from the idea with dread. It would take some time before the thought of sleep would be anything other than frightening. His mind circled back to the moment when he had realised the man he was fighting was Bigglesworth. It was useless to try to stop thinking of it. That was all that occupied his thoughts. Erich wondered how long it would take for Lacey to bring up what had happened earlier, while he'd been trying to land the plane. The wait became interminable until finally von Stalhein broke the silence.
"It's no excuse, but I truly did not realise it was Bigglesworth."
Lacey looked up. His eyes scanned von Stalhein's face. "You thought he was the Soviet agent who gave you that concussion?"
"That's right," von Stalhein agreed, somehow discomfited by the easy way Lacey had accepted his word for it. He thought he'd have to argue to make his point. But Lacey only nodded.
"We've all had waking nightmares after a rough mission." He returned to making tea.
"I would not willingly harm him," Erich said, forcing himself to get the words out in the open. "Nor any of you, for that matter."
"I know." Lacey didn't look up from the tea. He was frowning, and Erich had the impression that he was using his task as a way to keep his hands busy and avoid further talk. He was about to give up this line of conversation, when Lacey said, still adjusting the spirit-stove flame, and not looking at him, "Biggles spoke to each of us personally before taking you on. I had veto. If I thought for an instant you'd turn on us, you wouldn't be on this mission, Biggles or not."
He turned off the spirit stove and put out the three cups for tea.
"You're kind of a trouble magnet, aren't you?" Lacey was saying as he poured. "First field mission with us and you run into a potential Soviet agent. Some sort of luck." He shook his head.
Erich's chest felt hollow. "I took care of it," he said, still somehow building a defense, long past the point where he believed in it himself. Damned stubborn thing.
"You sure did," Lacey said. He didn't sound sardonic or in any way gleeful, just matter of fact.
While Erich peered at him, trying to find the angle he was playing, Lacey looked up, his mouth twisted in a slanted smile. "I find I don't mind it so much when you're on our side." He stretched out the cup of steaming tea to Erich. "Here."
Erich took the cup with nerveless fingers, wrapping both arms around it for comfort. Lacey's face still had the same earnest look.
"Well, drink it," Lacey insisted, in a miffed tone. "What, do you honestly have an objection to my tea?" He sounded vaguely disbelieving.
Bringing the cup to his lips, Erich hid his expression behind it. He was stricken. It occurred to him that Lacey meant what he said; he was complimenting Erich for dealing with the unexpected issue of the other agent. There was no angle. There would be no attack, no knife hidden in a smile waiting to strike between his ribs. Lacey, like Bigglesworth, was an honest sort of man, a good man, who deservedly or not would treat Erich decently just because he was a decent sort of person. Just like the rest of them.
While Erich was still parsing that revelation with his aching, fuzzy brain, Lacey walked over to Lissie in the pilot seat, handing him his own cup, then returned to sit across from Erich. He said, "Do you want to stretch your legs outside? Biggles is taking a while." He looked longingly out the aeroplane window, his own desires somewhat plain to see.
Erich was well familiar with the nervous itch to do something when you were forced to wait. He'd been the one delaying everyone. If Erich told Lacey to go by himself, he wouldn't, because Lacey had clearly charged himself with looking after Erich and apparently took the job seriously. It was odd, but not unpleasant. Erich finished his tea and handed the empty cup back, grasping the chair handle afterward to support himself as he went to rise.
Immediately, Lacey jumped to his feet, offering him an elbow. "Hold on."
Von Stalhein grasped the elbow with a mix of gratitude and vague embarrassment and pulled himself up. His headache worsened momentarily, making him dizzy, but Lacey stood there patiently until he got his bearings.
"Thanks," he murmured, letting the arm go.
Lacey hmmed noncommittally and preceded him out of the aircraft. The climb down the two steps felt dreadfully dangerous in his dizzy state, but Lacey waited the entire time in case he stumbled, and finally they ended up in the shade of one of the wings, resting by leaning against the body of the plane. The small main building of the aerodrome lay straight ahead across the take-off lanes. The sun was a little too bright for his eyes, but in the shade Erich found he could tolerate it well. The outside air helped quench some of the vaguely queasy feeling in Erich's stomach, and together with the tea, he felt the best he had since the injury. It felt good to stand after spending so long in a sitting position. The slight breeze swirled across the tarmac, raising little dust swirls on the ground, but they were shielded from it by the machine.
"So on the pain scale of one to ten, as Biggles says, what are you at?" Lacey said companionably, staring at the cloudless blue horizon.
"Five," Erich offered honestly, after some thought. It occurred to him that the last of awkwardness between them had vanished somewhere along with the shared tea. Funny how that worked; maybe Bigglesworth had been onto something.
"Well, that's better. Biggles will insist on taking you to our place, so you might as well be ready for that." Lacey's voice was a mix of exasperation and humour, and his eyes when he glanced at Erich twinkled, inviting him to share in it.
"He is incorrigible," Erich said with a helpless wave of fondness rolling through him, accompanied by something new, a sense of longing. His mind cast back to the way they had sat next to one another on the floor, the intimate moment that was only theirs.
"You love it," Lacey joked shortly.
"I do." The admission fell into a silence. He thought for a moment he might have said too much.
But Lacey— Algy only smiled. "Good."
In the distance, Erich saw the subject of their discussion exit the aerodrome building and head their way, the fair hair sparkling golden in the sun. A slim, almost boyish figure with a carriage that suggested military training and years of experience. Even from so far away, just from his silhouette, Erich recognised him. He would have recognised him anywhere. He would have known him from his pinkie finger.
Even half out of his mind with pain and confusion, some gut-level instinct had made Erich stop when he had registered that the body under his wasn't an enemy. A bone-level certainty, when he couldn't think and he couldn't see. He'd known.
Just as Bigglesworth had told him, certain, that he knew Erich would stop. It was the same.
And later, when Erich had touched his face, he thought Bigglesworth would have leaned into the touch if Erich hadn't pulled his hand back. The knowledge was simply there, unfurling within him. He'd never thought he could have that. Past a certain point he had stopped believing he would have friendship and companionship again, let alone something so fragile and miraculous it made him dizzy in a whole other way to believe in. But believe in it he did, thanks to Bigglesworth.
Chest tight, Erich wondered if he would ever get used to having his world turned over by this one person.