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Sensation came back to him first. Pain, like a lance in his head. The sharp and grinding stab of ribs cracked, if not broken. His arm, oddly numb and immobile. Hearing returned next, more gradually. It took time for the ringing in his ears to quieten, for the roar of his own pulse to calm. Eventually, he could hear his own breath as just one of the sounds in the world, alongside the distant, discordant whine of machinery, and the nearer drip of water.
Sight did not return. He tried forcing his burning eyelids open. He saw a blinding flash of light and nothing more; the pain in his head redoubled. Perhaps he betrayed himself by some expression or sound, because then, a little distance away, a voice said, ‘You’re awake, then? Good. Don’t strain yourself too quickly - that explosion didn’t do anyone any favours.’
Erich frowned at the sound of the voice he would know anywhere; the voice that had haunted and thwarted his ambitions for decades upon decades.
‘Bigglesworth,’ he rasped out, and coughed, painfully. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘You shouldn’t be surprised,’ Bigglesworth said wryly. ‘That explosion was your doing, after all.’
But Erich shook his head. No - that didn’t seem right. He had rigged the place to explode, but he would not have detonated it while he - they - was still inside.
‘Rather a neat trick,’ Bigglesworth continued, and his voice was scornful now. ‘I suppose, had your timing been better, it would all have looked like an accident caused by some of the chemicals themselves. It’s likely no-one would have thought to check whether the safe with the codes had been accessed. And even if they had been able to check, they would have found the code book precisely where it had been in the safe. I suppose you have memorised the codes?’
Erich had - he had always had a memory like a camera. The codes, several dozen of them, long strings of letters and digits combined, swam nauseatingly in his aching head, but he was certain he could access them if he needed to.
‘I can’t let you go until Algy lets me know that it’s all been squared away on our end.’ Bigglesworth’s words were firm, but Erich might have convinced himself that there was a trace of regret to them. ‘Unless you’d be willing to give your word that you will make no attempt to pass the codes on to your people?’ And there - hope plainly tinged those words in that way Bigglesworth had, where he so frequently treated Erich’s own plans and priorities as a personal affront, and as a disappointment when Erich refused to behave as a good British citizen might. It was baffling, and infuriating.
‘I would do no such thing,’ Erich returned harshly.
Bigglesworth sighed. ‘Pity,’ was the laconic response. Erich waited for - censure, perhaps, or a lecture, or further argument. He felt strangely off-kilter when none were forthcoming, and Bigglesworth subsided into silence once more.
Erich used the time to take stock of his situation as best he could. He was lying on dirt and straggly grass, but there was something folded and soft - a pullover, perhaps - pillowed beneath his head. His left wrist ached; exploring it with his right hand, he found a metal bracelet which had been closed a touch too tightly, and which fastened him quite securely to slender tree of some sort. He tested the length of the chain - enough to allow him to sit up, dizzily; not enough to allow him to stand, and the strength of the slim tree trunk - too much for a man to snap with bare hands alone, particularly with broken ribs and a spinning head.
He tried again to open his eyes, but again could make out nothing more than an agonising flash of light, much too bright to be tolerated.
‘Keep them closed for a bit,’ came Bigglesworth’s voice in the dark. ‘You must have been facing the explosion when it happened - but I don’t think you were close enough for it to have done real damage.’
Easy for Bigglesworth to say, when he clearly had full use of his sight. But it had been better the second time, and despite the instinctive panic of suddenly not being able to see, Erich didn’t feel that there was anything that suggested acute and serious injury. He held grimly to that thought, and pushed all others away.
‘How long do you propose to keep me chained up here?’ he demanded instead, because there might still be a chance for him to deliver the codes before Lacey and his compatriots worked out how to nullify the whole project.
‘Not - not long,’ assured Bigglesworth. ‘Algy should be back in an hour. Maybe two.’
‘He’ll be surprised to see this place in ruins,’ sneered Erich.
‘Yes,’ said Bigglesworth mildly. ‘It’ll put somewhat of a dent in our plan to work out just what was in those bombs of yours.’
‘They were not my bombs,’ Erich said, nettled.
‘They were bombs you were arranging transport and activation of. That makes them yours, in my books.’ Bigglesworth’s voice was strained with emotion - that bitter disappointment he often showed when another man’s choices did not match up to his own - and Erich’s temper flared, despite himself.
‘Unless you are willing to take on personal liability for all the acts of the British government, I don’t see why you should expect me to do so on behalf of all my employers.’
‘I take full responsibility for what I do for the British government,’ was Bigglesworth’s sharp response, and Erich was relieved when he seemed content to let the matter drop at that.
He leaned back against the tree, and wadded the pullover to make a barrier between his head and the bark. At least it was shaded where they were - or perhaps, the sun had started to sink below the horizon. The uncertainty of his situation was aggravating.
‘What time is it?’ he asked Bigglesworth eventually. Speaking made him cough again, his throat parched and gritty from the dust. Pain blossomed in his head and ribs from the sudden movement.
‘I’m not quite sure,’ was the careless response. ‘And at any rate, knowing the time can’t change when Algy will arrive.’
Erich ground his teeth. 'May I at least trouble you for a drink of water, if you are intent on keeping me chained here with no idea of how long your colleagues will be?’
There was a short silence as his request was evidently considered, and then Bigglesworth asked, ‘Are you certain you can’t give me your word not to try to take the codes to your employer? The odds of you making it to them in time must be remote now. And it would be a lot more - convenient for us both, in the meantime - if I could release you...’
Erich recalled the last time they had crossed paths, on the sweltering plains of Liberia. He had extended a hand of friendship to Bigglesworth then, and had been scorned and betrayed for his efforts.
‘You have your honour,’ Erich said stiffly, ‘and I have mine.’ What the Russians would think of any agreement he made with Bigglesworth, particularly as the air between them was heavy with suspicion over Zorotov’s death, Erich did not like to consider. But more than that, he was speaking the truth - in his work lay the last vestiges of his pride.
‘Very well,’ Bigglesworth murmured, but made no move that Erich could hear towards providing water.
‘Bigglesworth,’ Erich said again, some time later, irritated at being made to beg for a simple drink.
A taut silence stretched, and then Erich heard shuffling; the careful crunch and grind of cautious movement across a ground littered with debris; the metallic scrape of a canteen being handled.
‘Don’t move,’ said Bigglesworth tightly, sounding closer to Erich’s ear than he had expected. ‘I’ll place the bottle next to your hand - but if you knock it over, or think to attack me - I won’t be getting you another.’
Erich was thirsty enough that he sat obediently still until he heard the scraping sounds of Bigglesworth’s retreat before he reached blindly for the bottle. It was at his right hand - the free one - and Erich gulped down the lukewarm water gratefully.
‘It’s all we have,’ Bigglesworth said quietly. ‘It’s all yours, I don’t mind. But we shan’t have more till Algy returns. I thought I should say.’
Erich stilled. There was a little more than a quarter of the canteen left, judging by the weight and hollow slosh. He was not overly concerned about going without water in the time that it took for Lacey to return. Even if Lacey was delayed, Bigglesworth made his presence inevitable. But there had been something odd to the quality of Bigglesworth’s voice.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked sharply.
‘Nothing you need to worry over,’ Bigglesworth replied, still in that odd, quiet tone. He sounded almost - dreamy, as if he were not all quite there.
Erich dragged his eyes open again, a hand shading his face from the sky. This attempt, with a little more time having passed, with the sky purpling towards dusk, he could see an impression of dark shapes against a too-bright world. But he couldn’t, in the few seconds he managed to keep his eyes open, pick out Bigglesworth’s slender form.
‘Are you hurt?’ He surprised himself with the urgency of the question.
‘It’s all right, really,’ murmured Bigglesworth. ‘Algy will be here soon.’
Erich snarled. ‘Untie me, you fool.’
Even without being able to see him, Erich could tell that Bigglesworth was smiling, a little. ‘You won’t give me your word… to not try to give the codes away,’ he pointed out.
‘How could that matter at all time like this?’ Erich demanded, working aggressively at the metal cuff around his wrist. He managed to scrape the skin off at the base of his thumb and just above his wrist bone, but accomplished no more than that. ‘A compromise, then - if you are hurt, I’ll tend to you as best I can, and I’ll send for help as soon as I arrive at the town. Both our causes can be served.’
‘But my cause has never been to live at all costs,’ Bigglesworth said, simply, and fell quiet again.
Erich cursed. There was blood around his wrist now, sticky and distracting and doing nothing to ease the path of the bracelet off his wrist.
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Bigglesworth’s voice was apologetic, and barely louder than the sound of the wind through the trees. ‘I didn’t - didn’t mean to do it up that tightly. My hands were a little shaky. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
‘I’m not the one with the injury that needs worrying about,’ said Erich, grimly. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Bigglesworth sighed, a long, slow breath out. ‘I suppose it was - something from the explosion… It’s all right. I’ve bandaged it. And it’s stopped… it’s not hurting any longer.’
‘Bigglesworth,’ said Erich in desperation. ‘I give you my word I will make no effort to give the codes to anyone. Unlock these cuffs, blast you!’
‘Oh,’ said Bigglesworth faintly, with damnable delight shining through even the soft exhale of that short word. ‘I knew I could - count on you, Erich.’
Erich forced his eyes open, squinting against the bright flare of pain. Blessedly darker now, with everything silhouetted against a violet sky. There was Bigglesworth, a hunched shape against the ground, not five yards away. Even in the dim light, his vision a hazy blur, Erich could make out the pale smudges of his hands and face, turned hopefully towards him; of an ugly dark something across the white of his shirt.
‘Unlock this cuff,’ Erich ordered firmly.
And Bigglesworth propped himself up on shaking hands and knees, and crawled with painful slowness towards him. Erich could hear his breathing now, the gasping, shallow pant of it, the effort it took to breach the small distance between them.
Biggleworth’s strength gave out when he was almost close enough to touch, without any warning or word, just pitching forward as his arms collapsed beneath him, cheek hitting the dirt without making any effort to break his fall. He lay, eyes half open, gazing at Erich without any distress at all.
Erich snarled at him and threw the entirety of his weight against the cuff on his wrist. His shoulder jolted as though it were being torn apart, and there was fire along the line of his injured ribs, and he could feel something begin to give in his wrist - but still the cuff kept him trapped fast.
‘It’s all right,’ Bigglesworth murmured again, the words soft and blurring together now. ‘You did your best, Erich. You’re not to blame.’
Of course he wasn’t to blame for the pig-headed, unwise, laughable choices of a British pilot. But Erich disliked losing, no matter how often it seemed to happen these days.
‘You wouldn’t give up so easily if it was me,’ Erich snapped at him. And what he had meant was that Bigglesworth was not displaying enough of the tenacity and dogged determination he showed in destroying every plan of Erich’s that he had ever come across in their long association. But perhaps what Bigglesworth heard was something else entirely, because there was a sudden flare of light in his eyes, and he made one desperate, uncoordinated attempt to half-rise, and reach out his hand to Erich.
The key lay a scant inch from Erich’s grasping fingers. Bigglesworth had stilled entirely now, save for the shaking that had come over him. Erich stretched towards the key with every fibre and sinew - felt the pull and tear of things in shoulder and wrist, but a hundred times more acutely, felt the certainty that he must retrieve the key. When he did, it took a moment before his numb fingers could grasp it, but then it was the work of seconds to unchain himself and rush to Bigglesworth’s side.
That there was some kind of ugly wound was evident. Bigglesworth had bound it as securely as he could with his shirt, but Erich could tell by touch that blood continued to soak through the material. They had no bandages - nothing more than the clothes they were in. Erich took off his own overcoat and shirt, snagged the pullover from where it had been his makeshift pillow. Typical of Bigglesworth, he thought bitterly, to give it over for his prisoner’s comfort, rather than using it for his own first aid.
Bigglesworth cried out when Erich pressed the pullover against the wound and tied it tightly in place with strips from his own shirt; a ragged sound of pain that escaped even his iron will before being quickly stifled between clenched teeth. He was shaking uncontrollably now, cold sweat on his skin, gasping quietly for air. Shock, Erich thought calmly, but he had no brandy or blanket or way to call for aid. What he did was lie down close to Bigglesworth, heedless of the pain in his ribs or shoulder or arm, and tug his overcoat over the both of them, and press in close to share the warmth of his skin.
It seemed a long time before Bigglesworth calmed, and came back to himself with a shuddering breath of resolve.
‘Thanks,’ he said shakily, ‘I think. I suppose that was necessary, but it was quite - unpleasant.’
Erich ran a gentle hand over the new makeshift bandage, and was relieved to find it still dry. ‘You don’t seem to be bleeding any longer.’
‘Oh,’ said Bigglesworth. ‘That’s a relief. Now we just need Algy to arrive. I can see I was lucky that you were here—’
‘You should save your strength,’ Erich interrupted brusquely. ‘Don’t talk.’ He could feel his own heartbeat, racing in his chest and at his throat. Adrenaline from a danger already past.
Bigglesworth made a disconsolate noise of disagreement, but, to Erich’s vast relief, made no more sounds other than that of even, quick, breathing. He held them together, Bigglesworth’s head tucked against his arm, fingertips resting on Bigglesworth’s chest to feel the reassuring rise and fall, listening with his whole body for the sound of a machine that he would normally have run from.
‘Over here,’ Erich called harshly, when the plane eventually landed and Lacey’s call for Bigglesworth filled the clearing. The unexpected sound of his voice brought Lacey running, all caution abandoned. He swore viciously when he saw the state that Bigglesworth was in, but his hands were very sure and gentle as he ran them over his captain, checking for the extent of his injuries.
‘I’m all right,’ Bigglesworth protested weakly. ‘Erich here’s done a very neat job with the bandages.’
Entirely unexpectedly, Lacey’s eyes met Erich’s, and they shared a wry look that almost had something of comraderie in it. Then Lacey shot an urgent look at the twilight sky, and his mouth set in determination.
‘Help me get him in the Auster,’ Lacey ordered Erich. ‘There’s a medical kit and a blanket in the back you can use - but I can’t waste any more time with the light nearly gone. I suppose,’ he said sharply, once they had taken off, and Erich was holding a limp and dazed Bigglesworth against his chest to protect him from the worst of the aircraft’s movement, ‘I can trust that you were not the cause of this?’ But Lacey had taken no action to indicate that he thought Erich posed a real danger in the circumstances, and Erich did not dignify him with a response.
‘Twenty five minutes to base,’ Lacey said grimly. ‘He’d better hold on for that.’
‘I will,’ murmured Bigglesworth somewhat crossly into Erich’s shoulder, surprising him, as always, with that indefatigable tenacity of purpose. ‘You needn’t fuss so.’
There was no way Lacey could have heard Bigglesworth over the drone and rattle of engines, but he turned around anyway, and his tight smile suggested that he didn’t need anything as mundane as words to know what Bigglesworth’s thoughts were.
The rest of the flight passed in an instant and an eternity. Bigglesworth, closer to unconscious than conscious by then, seemed to find some measure of comfort from the presence of someone by his side, and Erich’s hold on him did not lessen for a moment.
Lacey landed the machine on the grass in front of the small hospital, likely in breach of a myriad of flight regulations. His shouts brought staff running from inside, white coats bright in the darkness.
Erich hung back and watched the scene unfold - Bigglesworth, efficiently transferred to a stretcher, still contrary enough to be protesting weakly; Lacey’s quick steps by his side the entire way as they vanished into the building.
Erich thought about what must inevitably await him in Russia now, in Germany. About how this, in all likelihood, would be the last time that he ever crossed paths with Bigglesworth again. And he found that there was peace in the thought, after all - and that he could meet his fate, in the end, without regret.