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The following work of fiction contains graphic homosexual interaction, violence and non-consensual sex. With this work of fiction the authors do not condone in any way any form of intolerance and injustice, e.g. racism, sexual harassment, incitement of hatred, religious hatred nor persecution, xenophobia and misogyny. Neither do the authors through this work of fiction promote violence nor make light of such grave matters as genocide, any taking of human life, murder, execution, rape, torture, persecution of sexual orientation.

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August 1984, Afghanistan

It had gone wrong. So fucking wrong, Dan was screaming when the bullet impacted in his thigh, stumbled backwards, fell, just knew it was over. Wrong, goddamned wrong, was losing it all; goat-fuckers, duty, sanity and his life. Pain, bullets, blood and screams, and those motherfucking Mujas dying like flies all around him.

Fucking Russians, they'd done it this time. He'd under-estimated the Glorious Red Army. Cock-sure. Cock ... nothing. No more. Reduced to trying to crawl out of the worst of this hellfire. Shot at from left, right, centre. Only a few more minutes and they'd be under fire from behind as well. Really fucked. Truly buggered, right up the arse this time; bullets, RPG, staccato of AKs and any old GMP.

Gripping the flesh wound on his thigh, Dan slung the rifle onto his back, pistol in one hand, dragging himself forward on hands and knees, desperate to get to the outcrop of rock he'd recced earlier. Blind to the dying, deaf to their screams, his own pain bridled with clenched teeth and that never-ending greed to live.

Crawling like a dog, eating dirt, using the dead and dying as shields, he had to get away, or they'd figure out that the man beneath the native rags was nothing like the Afghans. Turkey. Merc. Dead as a dodo after interrogation and torture, unless he'd be lucky and kicked the bucket beforehand. But fuck, he wasn't ready to die yet.

Damned Russkies. Damn them all and their ambush, and thrice damned his rag-tag of insurgents, unable to hold the village.

Dan managed to crawl two, three feet, the rocks came closer, hope was just about in reach, when he heard more than felt a bullet, too close, impacting on the rock, a sound that made him throw himself down to the ground, belly first. Swallowing dust, dirt, and blood, then pain. Felled like a fucking bull shot with a dart gun, ready for slaughter.

The bullet had ricocheted off the rocks, would have killed him if he hadn't thrown himself down. Grazed his temple. Hit with force. Blood. Pain.

Over.

* * * * * * *

"We're finished here, Major."

"Very well, Captain. Congratulations."

The man gave him a crisp salute, and people were pulling out. A massing of effort, men, and gear. This was as much an example as would do. Part of a massive offensive designed to drive the enemy back, and underground, and generally out of the way.

There was a mass grave, the bodies had begun to bloat and posed a health risk this close to the outpost. There was that smell in the air, sour blood, and oily smoke.

Vadim walked into the settlement, what was left of it, saw soldiers standing guard and was pretty sure everything had been looted already. Intelligence had worked with this one. They assumed they'd hit a lieutenant of one of the warlords … no names, just bets being hedged. He was only here to confirm.

And that he did. He began to turn stones, metaphorically and literally, trying to find a scrap of information which faction exactly had been bombed and shot into the stone age, which of the many foes was no more … and found a bergan that didn't belong here. He knew that one, knew the smell, the frayed, bleached thing. Thought, Dan, then thought mass grave, then thought Dan would not survive in the mountains.

He sat there, hands shaking, thought of their last encounter, force and need as always, and thought again of the mass grave. Thought of the turkey that had been Dan's comrade, and dread crept up and turned his throat to lead. What if, this time, it was actually what he had feared?

He stood, composed himself, hid the bergan in its exact spot, and left to radio the Colonel. He was pretty sure the insurgent leader had left for the mountains, might be wounded, requested permission to hunt.

Hemming and hawking, too valuable, but the target was valuable, too, and permission was given. Vadim got his kit from the Hind helicopter, and watched the men leaving, wrapping up, knew what they were thinking. The crazy Spetsnaz was out to get himself killed. But that was exactly how the crazy Spetsnaz had made Major, that was what the grandfathers said, and, eventually, Vadim was left alone, with the stench of bodies and the settlement, aware that vengeance was in the air. If the Mujas had any forces left in the area, they'd come crashing down on him. He should be out and gone as soon as possible.

* * * * * * *

Pain. Heat. Stench and weight. Impossible to move. Restricted. Bound and Held. Panic.

Dan woke, unable to see, impossible to move. Couldn't fathom where he was, what had happened. Dizzy, thirsty, head spinning from the bullet impact, face a sticky mess, eyes glued shut with blood.

Bodies. Felt hands, arms, legs and torsos. Fabric, rags, felt and wool, smell. Blood. Stink. Flies. Too much weight and heat, and panic rose like bile in his throat. Alive, but amongst the dead. Pried his eyes open, tried to move, froze when he heard voices and pain shot through his leg, almost screamed.

Stared at by a face, bloated, ripe-swollen skin stretching grey-black over distorted features. Mouth wide open, eyes bulging, dimmed like brack-water.

Dead. Everywhere. Decay and horror. Unable to move; unable to die.

Welcome to hell, McFadyen, the face seemed to smirk. We got you at last.

Hours that felt like Days. Weeks. Dead and alive. Rotting corpses, exploding flesh. Fermented shit, curdled blood and bile. The heat drew in flies in the millions. Bodies oozing, fluids drenching, horror.

Death. Please, dead.

Let me die.

Don't talk to me. Faces, bodies, rotting and torn. Limbs, flesh, skin.

Don't touch me. Leave me.

Dead.

Please.

* * * * * * *

Vadim searched the settlement again. No Dan. No more bodies. Checked the surrounding area. No. He stood above the pile of corpses, blue and black, the stench like nothing else in the world. Unforgiving heat. Had no idea what he'd do if Dan was in there, but there was only one way to confirm his death.

Vadim downed half a bottle of vodka, trying to psych himself up for the deed, then climbed down into the mass grave. "Fucking hell", he muttered, one of Dan's expressions.

He reached down to shift the first body, the stench was so bad it made him retch, every fibre in his body telling him to get away from this, from death. Some of the bodies were half-burned, skin had turned to ashes, torn open in the heat to reveal raw and half-cooked flesh underneath. Piss and shit, and the stench of death, and Vadim's stomach churned restlessly, until he climbed out again, dizzy with exhaustion, and relieved himself of the vodka and the bile, wound the rag around his head again, and continued the search.
He checked their faces, whatever their bodies looked like, even if they were only in pieces, even when they had been shot trough the face, had been ripped apart and were missing half the face or jaw. He needed to find Dan.

Near the middle, there was a tall, bulky body, and Vadim closed his eyes. No. Please, no. He climbed over to him, treading into flesh and blood and guts and knelt down beside that body, lying on his front, wearing one of those rags, but blood-soaked, dried blood, native clothes. Reached for the shoulder to turn him over, and did, and at least the face was only covered in gore and not mutilated. He didn't care any longer about whatever warlord, whatever Mujahideen, just grabbed that body and placed it over his shoulders, a heavy load, stumbled forward, tied rope to Dan and pulled him out of the hole.

That was when the body twitched.

* * * * * * *

Dead. Mercy, at last. Gone. That face didn't speak to him anymore. No more accusations of why and what and how come he hadn't died, the only one, while all others were rotting in heaps of mutilated corpses.

Dead.

At last. Free, no longer restricted. His accusers had left, no more weight on his body. Floated. Taken. The Gods had Mercy upon his Soul. Hell and purgatory. Guilt and questions. Why hadn't he died, how dare he survive. No longer. It was over. Thankful. No more eyes that stared at him. No longer hands that were pulling, dragging. Not anymore tied to legs and limbs, arms and heads that were moving around himself in ever decreasing circles.

Dan groaned with pain when Vadim put him down on the ground. Unaware.

Dead. Free. Only the final questions to answer. Would there be heaven or hell, and a god he'd never believed in.

* * * * * * *

Vadim checked Dan for wounds. Alive. Or dying? A wound in the leg looked painful, but not life threatening. The thing at his head was worse, though. He carried him off into one of the less demolished houses, found water, stripped him, cleaned up the blood and other mess. Working silently. Hoped there were no Mujas close, no way he could carry Dan in this state. Maybe after nightfall.

He dribbled a little water between the other's lips, just elated he was alive, but wary because he was in a bad state. Out there. He didn't react much to words, to being touched, even light slaps to the cheeks did exactly nothing more than a blink, or a flutter of eyelashes.

* * * * * * *

Fluid. Lips. Something touched Dan's lips and dribbled into his mouth. No!

Dan shrieked, eyes tore wide open, seeing nothing. Fighting. Arms flailing. No, not this, no! He'd been granted reprieve in death, no more of this, no more stench and drying blood, no more shit and guts running into his mouth.

Fighting, screaming, pressing his lips together, whole body convulsing. No more, no more. No tendrils of putrid body-puss snaking its way into his mind and taking his sanity. Eating away with clouded eyes and open-mouthed grins, lips torn away from teeth, black-swollen tongue stretched out at him, trying to kiss. To taste. To take.

He was theirs.

No!

Vadim pulled back, too surprised to restrain Dan. Fuck. That looked like shock. Or worse. Madness. They didn't move like that in shock, did they?

He left him in peace, hoped the other would calm, and he did, probably from exhaustion more than any real calm.

Needed to get out of here. Couldn't risk the whole night. No way.

Vadim began to scout, found a cave up in the rocks, might have served this village well at some point in time, but no sign of it having been used recently. Trekked up there twice, once with his gear and Dan's kit, another time with Dan's naked body wrapped in a blanket slung across his shoulders. He rested, made a fire, shielded it, then trekked down one final time to bring as much water as he could, because he just didn't want to risk being seen. Not even in a forsaken valley like this.

Dan was shaking. Eyes closed. Unaware of being moved, yet aware of the motion.

'Let me die'. Mouthed. No voice, no sound.

Trembling all over, refused to open his eyes. No more skull-stares and flesh-rotten greetings from the ones who'd died around him.

"Let me die." Whispered. "Sorry." Repeated. "So sorry." Lips moving again and again. So sorry, so sorry, so sorry, forgive me, don't stare at me, don't talk to me, don't touch me, don't feed me. Not your putrefied flesh in my mouth, nor your rotting stench in my nostrils.

"Die …" Begging.

Vadim stared at him, shook his head and returned to the cave mouth. Dan had lost it, lost it completely. He knew nothing about how to deal with this, didn't even know exactly what it was, dreaded to know.

But just couldn't put a gun to the other's temple and pull the trigger. Too much they'd done, and too much he still wanted to do. The man meant too much. Simply did. But he needed a solution to the problem, and he was pretty sure stroking his forehead and telling him all would be good wouldn't do.

He rolled Dan over on a blanket and insulation, covered him with another blanket, looked into the face and felt a forlorn pain that was unbearable after the hope. What to do? He rested next to him, hoping for a miracle, then let his hands run over that smooth, powerful back, trying to take a little of the tension out, nervous that would trigger another of those reactions, dug in the pack for Vaseline, and began to massage, knead the muscles, trying to make the other aware, aware of himself, and aware he was alive. And that that wasn't the worst place to be.

Dan shuddered. Touched. Moved again. Couldn't understand how his body could feel the imprint of hands, why the stench was replaced with another smell. Were they pulling at him? Trying to get him to join them in the mass grave, trapped between bodies upon bodies. But he could move. Arms twitched. Lost.

Dan whimpered.

Vadim worked like the masseur had worked, starting on the lower back, moving up, tackling the tension that just didn't subside, went carefully ahead, tried to get the muscles to relax, murmured under his breath much like Dima did when working on a dying man, and shook his head, discarding that thought at once. Dan was alright. He needed rest, that was all.

They continued. Dan felt those hands, touching, not pulling. Couldn't understand. Wanted to scream, let out a pained moan instead. Where, what and why wouldn't they let him die. Trying to open his eyes, shadows and shades, movements, something above him. Someone? He cried out, tried to sit upright, fought against the hands once more. A demon. Out to get him, a tall, broad-shouldered beast, and he was about to scream, unseeing eyes wide open, when the red firelight shifted, fell onto hair.

Blond. Memories. Eyes, pale. Remembered.

"Who are you." Whispered, slumped, then focussed. That man. No demon. A glimmer of recognition in his eyes before he fell back onto the blankets.

"Vadim", said Vadim, meeting the wide-eyed gaze, hands still on the shuddering body. "It's me. You're … alive." Worked down over the buttocks, felt the tension under his fingers, wanted nothing but to dig into that body, claws, teeth, tongue, take the terror away. Maybe …

I do it after a shit day at the office, when he's out there and nothing else can reach the bastard.

Shit day at the office indeed. Amidst this insanity, that made perfect sense.

Dan lay prone. Shuddering, trembling as if cold was wrecking his body. "Vadim." Whispered. Who are you - who am I. Alive, dead?

Body moving towards the hand, seeking protection from the shadows. Nameless terror, but he'd be safe under the wings of the broad shouldered demon. Remembered the hair. That name. Recognition of something deep, profound, reaching on a level where conscious thoughts did not matter.

"Protect me." Big words - small voice.

Vadim's hand scooped more Vaseline out of the tub, warmed it between his fingers, rubbed it between Dan's ass cheeks, one hand splayed between the other's shoulder blades, to calm, and soothe, and keep him down, just in case he began lashing out again. "Trust me", he said, and meant it, and hoped he would. "I'm here."

"They want me." Dan whispered, tried to scoot closer but the hand between his shoulder blades kept him down. Stilled. Easier to stay in this place, beneath the demon's wings, and the strangely familiar touch. "They're waiting for me. They kept talking to me with their rotting faces. Want me." Dan trailed off, wrecked by a shudder.

"They'll have to fight me for you." Vadim didn't believe in hell, damnation, or gods. Only knew Muslims thought they went straight to Allah, whatever happened. Nothing could keep them away from their god. Dan - was a different matter. He needed something, and Vadim remembered Mark's moment of complete awareness, of trust, of longing, deeper and more powerful than anything else he had thought possible. He pushed away thoughts of his own lust, he didn't want to take advantage, all he wanted to do was bring Dan back into his own body.

The ring, resistance, but yielding, warm, living flesh. Vadim knelt between Dan's legs, kept them open with his own legs, pushing a finger into the body, easing it in, the other hand on his lower back, the man, sprawled, nothing but strength, even now, strength that was confused and had no focus, off kilter, no will that held him together.

Suddenly something in Dan that forced him to focus. Something his body felt. Somewhere. A centre, sensations, inside of him, but tiny. Insignificant, yet there. Tried to focus, feel, but his mind flittered away again. Murmured sounds and words with no meaning. Brought back for another second to that something inside, this point in his body that made more sense than anything else.

Dan stilled for a moment, seemed to gather his thoughts, before his mind was lost again.

Vadim leaned in to check whether Dan's breathing had changed, he thought he'd heard something, then proceeded, pulled the finger out, Dan was nicely slicked up now, and entered him with two fingers, thumb rubbing against the ring, feeling it relax slightly, listening into the other's body for any sign of panic, murmuring softly in Russian, about trust and about being there, then joined a third finger to the two inside.

Dan felt that focus again. More now. Back again and moving, centring. Never leaving him alone, and he started to pool all of his thoughts towards that one point. Nothing else mattered. Just the protection from the shadows and that focus. Inside his body. Safe.

He shivered, minute movement of his hips as if getting closer to that thing inside of him. Dan murmured nonsense, about shadows, death, life and guilt. About killing and murder, duties and genocide. About corpses and bodies, lust and living.

The body responded, finally did. Vadim ran his free hand down Dan's flanks, down the powerful back, leaned in to make contact with his body, not restricting, not crushing, more a touch of body against body as his fingers stayed exactly there, firm, but gentle, not forcing, waiting for the other's body to yield, movements minute as he joined a fourth finger, amazed at the flesh that allowed this. He'd seen it, no doubt it was possible, but Mark certainly had a lot more practice. Listened to the body speak, the shift of breathing, the shudder running through that strong back, the flowing and subsiding, tensing of the legs, bare toes stretched as if Dan was trying to push something away.

Dan felt alive. One in that single point that made sense. The intrusion that was part of himself. His mind curling around that focus, unable to notice anything but the sensation inside him. Stretching, asking. Felt as if his demon demanded. What? That pressure point kept increasing in intensity. Demanding him to focus? Live?

Dan's breath evened out. No more shallow desperation; no more air being pulled into burning lungs that remained filled with the putrid stench of rotting corpses. Breathing instead like a dragging of wings. Birds. Slow and steady, circling above the mountains, focussed on nothing but their prey. Like his body. Centred in the intrusion, the demand to live and to accept - to yield.

Dan moaned continuously. Didn't realise it was his own body, crying out quietly as it opened up. Accepted.

Vadim reached for the Vaseline, pulled back a little, added more of the stuff, fingers close together, trying to make this easy on Dan, but could feel him respond, slowly return, maybe. It sure as fuck would override anything else. Shit day at the office, rotting bodies. Fear of dying. Even a fucking death wish. He felt his shoulder tense from the control, from the work to keep the pressure up, slowly moving his hand back and in again, not fucking, not truly, he wasn't quite sure there was a word for it, just a different way of touching, even if his body thought it was about sex. How could he not desire Dan, open like he was now, and how could he, in that fucked up state that he was.

You can only do this if you are not only in control of him, but yourself. A man who's out of control can be restrained, but you need to do this without the comfort of the rope. If you can't, you're not able to do this. And you'll never understand what it actually means. You think it's about power? That's like saying living is about driving a car.

Dan was lost, yet caught. Didn't have to think, not required to act. Wasn't needed nor wanted, just allowed to feel. To be, not do. Felt nothing but that something inside himself, more and more, growing with intensity and slow-tender yet relentless demand. Further, more, opening wider, accepting, his body growing accustomed to the intrusion until that intense focus became part of him. The part that wanted to be alive, that refused to listen to dead eyes and bleeding mouths.

He had no idea what he was doing. His body merely reacting. Moaning, whimpering, sounds he'd never allowed himself. Small cries, needy groans he'd have berated himself for. Didn't matter. Nothing did, just that powerful sensation. Body and mind focused, hips moved on their own accord, backwards, further, moving and shifting, legs opening further, as far as they could, until he was on his knees, face on the ground. Following the demand inside his body.

Vadim listened, and Dan's sounds were driving him insane. He would have liked nothing more than drive himself into that shuddering, sweating, gleaming body that seemed so hot to the touch now, claim him completely, and pulled his lips from his teeth. Control just as fierce as need. Kept thinking of the intricate dance between Mark and Darren, the less Darren actually took for himself, the more Mark gave, begged, the more Mark was his - and wasn't that a mystery that needed exploring? Forcing his fingers apart, sweat trickling from his forehead with denial and concentration, he put the fifth finger between them, and moved in again, the row of knuckles the main problem, and how to do it but just try and go ahead. It took forever, and part of him hoped he wouldn't have to go that far, didn't have to go to the limit, because his hard-on was already torture.

Dan sobbed, let go of everything. Abandoned. Thoughts, pain, fear and madness. Pushing backwards in a slow continuous movement. Elegant, the way his body moved on its own, taking in that hand, accepting the fingers and moving steadily in the flow. Mindless, on instinct.

Crying and sweating, trembling, he moaned and whimpered, lost in base desire and deepest need, no notion of what he should or could do, just a body that was nothing but centred sensations; a body that reacted at last. Pulled away from death and decay, Dan's cock giving proof of life, almost flat against the stomach, foreskin retreating and dark purple head glistening with precum with every further breach of that hand through yielding muscle, deeper into his body.

Vadim muttered tender insults, curses, his hand engulfed in that powerful heat, muscles closing his hand to form a fist, and he moved to kiss Dan's back, lick the sweat from it, while offering resistance to the body that moved on instinct, the smallest motions, moving inside, against Dan in ways that surprised and amazed him, opening and closing that fist against the resistance.

Dan pressed his head against the ground, arms wide as if spread-eagled, crucified by that fist inside his body and the unbearable intensity, yet he was craving forever more. Muscles in his body tensing-relaxing, one second steel hardened ropes, the other as loose as the tears flooding down his face. Unaware of any of his physical reaction, just one large surface of skin and feeling.

Dan's fists surreptitiously opened and clenched, as far stretched out from his body as possible, while his back arched to push his arse higher. Breathing fast now, yet deep, drawing air into his lungs. Alive, and he cried out for more. Senseless, pushing backwards, driving himself onto the fist that owned him. Took him, possessed him and allowed him to live in return.

Vadim noticed the raging need and reached around Dan's body, his own need killing him now, seeing Dan like this, hell, yes, just like Mark, Dan, who was so fierce about it, about his body, about the rape and just the thought of doing anything like this to him. Nothing like it, now, and not the cheap whore thing that Gavriil had done. Took the heavy cock and pumped it, slow, intense, hand also slicked up with the Vaseline, small movements inside, leisure strokes on the cock, he, himself, groaning with need, but unable to do anything about it but rub himself against the tensed leg, like a dog, whatever.

Dan came within seconds, no more than a few strokes, and he crashed like never before in his life. His voice echoed across the mountains, swallowed by the rocks and the cold of the night as he screamed, losing himself. Thrashing, his whole body shuddering, flailing. Choking on tears and sounds, too much sensation. Intensity scalding, drilling into his core and bursting out with insane explosions of energy, pain, and life. Alive. So fucking alive that very moment, he had no name, no past, no future, and all he was, was a body, cumming, and nearly killing itself with its might.

Dan collapsed. Out of his mind, but in his body. Trembling uncontrollably.

Vadim pulled free when Dan lost it, another thing he'd learnt that strange night in London. Slowly, but firmly, his own need didn't matter, he didn't manage to get there, it didn't matter, not right now. Wiped his hands on the ever-present, ever useful rag, moved Dan away from the wet patch, shifted his weight for him because Dan didn't have enough control or focus now, judged by the way his body went slack, but in a good way.

He covered Dan with a blanket, to keep the heat inside, then stood and walked off towards the mouth of the cave, checking if they had attracted any attention. Realised it must have taken hours, dawn was already approaching. Took a moment to finish himself off, thinking of Dan, naked, in this cave, fully his, and yielding, begging, asking for more, begging for his cock; willed his hand to be Dan's throat, lips, forced himself to feel the heated breath against his groin, then, more violent, breaching that body, doing with his cock what his hand had done, ah, deeper, stronger, more powerful, and Dan pushing back, moaning and groaning and cumming. Vadim bit a curse down when he did, again wiped his hands, put the uniform in order.

Then returned to share warmth, and nothing more.

* * * * * * *

Sleep. Darkness. No dreams, no voices nor rotting faces, no dead and torn limbs holding him down. Dan's sleep was unconsciousness. Mercy.

Warmth. Waking. He wasn't sure if the darkness was inside him, behind or before his eyes, but he felt warmth and a touch, a close presence. Felt sore, too, a strange pain, but all he remembered was this focus, this something that had turned his body and mind into utter abandon, but what this 'something' was, he didn't know. Knew nothing, barely his own name, just the source of heat in his back, the ache deep inside, and the feeling as if this 'something' was still inside of him, still protecting, connecting.

Half-awake, Dan scrambled more than moved with any coherence, turned and rolled over onto the other side, curled up in a foetal position and burrowing into the heat. Closer. As close as he could, the memory of light, fire, and demon.

Vadim was awake, felt Dan's breath against his chest, shifted his legs to allow him to lie as close, and pushed a fold of the blanket back to make sure Dan was fully covered. Dan. Always him. Always, and again and again. This time, the Brit hadn't even been there for his desire, was just a comrade, on a deeper, more fundamental level than Dima, Sershka, or Alyosha. Stronger than Platon, even though he sometimes missed the courageous little conscript. He did the numbers. Yes, indeed. Platon, had he lived, would now be home in Russia, with his girlfriend, if she had still wanted him back.

He ran his fingers through Dan's hair, carefully, checking that wound that had freaked him the first time he'd checked on it. The swelling was profound, the skin broken and discoloured. Something had hit him there with plenty of force. Had to hurt like a motherfucker.

Dan twitched, his head jerking, moaned at a pain that was somewhere other than inside his body. Moved his head, craned his neck, so close to the other's body, the heat was everywhere. "Don't let them take me." Whispered.

Vadim gave a smile. "They're all dead, Dan. You're alive." And thank whatever force for that. Blind chance. Destiny. The odd pattern of physics, too complex to calculate, but still a pattern which, sometimes, made things look intentional.

Dan wasn't awake, wasn't quite there yet. Moved his head again to nuzzle his face into the other's chest. His head hurt, while turning his hands that had been curled into fists. Palms out and against the other. Connection.

"I need to check on your leg."

Dan just grunted something, no understanding what those words meant. Vadim had cleaned and bandaged the wound yesterday, but feared that last night's exertions might have been not exactly what that leg needed. Felt oddly guilty, but at least he'd fulfilled the objective. Dan was no longer fighting and screaming his head off.

He shifted, making sure Dan didn't lose too much heat, and gave that wound a check-up, while Dan lay perfectly still, curled up and into himself. Letting himself be handled like a puppet. It looked like a flesh wound, the bullet had passed through, without doing any damage to bones. Would hurt, hurt plenty, but not incapacitate. Vadim bandaged it all up again, with dressings that he'd salvaged from a turkey and given to Dima, and Dima had shared his stock with him as well. Something to the end of it being too damn convenient if he died of gangrene. Dima was alright.

Dan's eyes remained closed, just breathing, was easier. Started to hurt like a motherfucker, head trying to explode from within, hammering against his skull, and his leg was on fire. Concentrated on another pain, that ache deep inside him, the soreness that was unfamiliar and kept reminding him of his sanity and saviour.

Vadim dug into his thigh pocket and found the antibiotics, also from a turkey. Thank you, bitches, thought Vadim and offered the pills to Dan, reaching behind himself for the canteen. "Take these."

Dan opened his eyes, looked uncomprehending at the other's hand. Dark, dark eyes, big, deep, just staring. Trying to get his head around what he had been asked to do. White things. Pills. Tablets. Take.

Take. Swallow.

Suddenly made sense. "Blowjob?"

Vadim frowned. "Not … right now. Antibiotics. Gangrene's a bitch, and that …" mass grave, "place I found you wasn't exactly clean. Come on." Opened the lips with his fingers, gentle, manoeuvred the pills onto the tongue, and offered the canteen, placing it against Dan's lips and Dan swallowed. Lips Vadim had seen so often getting him off, lips that could just as easily sneer. Lips he'd kissed exactly once, and that mainly to muffle a scream and because no other touch would do. And what exactly could Dan do to fend him off? Nothing. He leaned in to touch Dan's lips with his, felt the touch like a tingle, knew he should be pulling back, but pressed in closer, licked those lips, could taste the water on them and the dust and the misery and thought how very fucking fitting, the touch warm, no teeth now, no sneering. Shit. He wanted him, wanted him badly even in this state.

Dan responded immediately. Lips seeking, hands palming at the other's chest, wanting that touch, warmth, this softness. Something deep and tender, connecting straight through his centre, with the remaining sensations inside himself. Body and mind being one.

Vadim pulled away. "I … need to scout the area. I should be back shortly." Just a few hours. Allow the other to rest.

"No!" Dan's voice was low, but his hands scrabbling for the other. Bereft, alone. "Don't leave me."

Vadim covered Dan's hands with his and pressed them against his chest. "I won't leave. I'm here. Sleep, Dan. Rest." A bold-faced lie, he really needed to do some scouting, couldn't have anybody walk in on them, not his side, not the other, nobody.

Vadim wedged the open canteen between the bergans, checked his daypack and took the rifle, checked again on Dan, who had drifted off to sleep before he could realise Vadim was leaving.

Sleep. Rest that his body and mind sorely needed. Dan slept for hours, the meds doing their job, his body in pain but his mind too exhausted to notice.

* * * * * * *

Vadim went back to the settlement; the mass grave clearly marked with a cloud of buzzing flies, and, most of all, the stench. He covered his face and did recce, thinking of Dan who waited up there in that mountain, but needed to take his time to be completely sure.

His patience was rewarded when he found a body that had crawled away - tried to flee despite the wounds. The man was panting, soaked in blood, fingers turned into claws. Vadim turned him around, checked the face. To him, they all looked the same, beards, hawk noses, bony features, he was pretty sure he recognized the structure of the other's teeth from the photo. The man was delirious with pain and exhaustion. He'd been responsible for killing Soviet prisoners of war, had organized and plotted, and fought, and was now just dying flesh in the sun. Vadim had no time to take prisoners, didn't want to burden himself with yet another, and was pretty sure he was dying anyway.

"Make your peace with Allah", he muttered and pulled the pistol. He was exhausted, didn't relish this the way he would have, like the country, the years of war had sapped his enthusiasm for it. He didn't even hate the man anymore. All he really wanted to do was go back to Dan and make sure he was alright and would survive.

He pressed the muzzle under the man's jaw, made sure it was aligned to send the bullet straight up into the skull, then squeezed the trigger, and holstered the gun in the next moment. He stood, checked whether the shot had drawn any attention, but nothing.

It was far away enough from the cave. They were safe. Stolen time, yet again.

* * * * * * *

When Vadim returned Dan had moved to the other side again, less pressure on the leg, and was curled up within the blankets, the canteen empty. Without waking, he had drunk the water, on instinct, then fallen back to sleep. Deep, regular breathing, unruly hair sticking out of the blankets and into his face. Not even twitching, nothing, just breathing.

Vadim washed himself, then joined Dan on the blanket, moving his arms around the other, head to his shoulder, cradling the back of his head, one leg over his to pull him closer. He'd long lost any idea what this man was to him, only knew he had no words for it, no concept, lover didn't quite fit it, even if it was technically true, comrade … wrong allegiance. And they weren't friends. He knew at least that much. "Rest up", he muttered in Russian, and, mostly to keep himself awake, talked. Talked about Moscow, about the neighbours there, then remembered a story he had liked. The Firebird. He couldn't tell a good story to save his life, but he had read that story to Anoushka back home.

Dan was listening to the sound of that voice long before he realised he was waking. Began to make sense of words, sentences, the language that had become a second home to him. English. Russian. He almost felt more at home in the latter.

Awareness returning into his body, and with it came pain. His head was pounding and his leg was in agony. But there was warmth, and closeness, arms that should feel restrictive but instead felt right. There. Around him and on him, close to him, and he lay still. Listening to the voice and tales of folklore and stories, while trying to make sense of the sensations in his body.

Remembered blood, death and decay, horror. A shot, his leg, then something against his head. Pain, injuries. After that? Nothing. Shadowy figures and movements, then tears and terror, but something there to protect and focus, keeping the horror away. Rotten stench and putrefied bodies, the memory pushed away, not allowed back at the surface.

Soreness. Could feel a sensation inside his body he'd never felt before. Stretched. Entered. Taken and used and oh so filled and centred and one with something … he just didn't know what.

Finally awake, Dan was slowly trying to make sense of it all, checking his body and mind, seemed he had lost many hours. "My arse hurts." Astonished at the sound of his own voice, the croaked words of a stranger. Brittle, abused.

Vadim placed a kiss on that forehead, much like he would kiss Anoushka, and nodded. "Yes." How to explain what he'd done? Better not. "Needed to … ah." No delicate way of putting it. "Uhm. Give you focus." He winced. That sounded bad.

"Focus." Dan cleared his throat, parched. Dreaded to move his head, pounding away with a jackhammer inside. "Don't understand." Thoughts already flittering forward. Couldn't quite hold onto anything. Too much effort.

Opening his eyes, he looked at Vadim. It took him a moment to cut through the blurry picture, before he made out pale eyes, sharp-featured face, shaved blond hair. Dan smiled. Childlike. For just this moment. "What happened?" Murmured. Why are you here, why do I hurt, how did I survive, and what are those hours that I have lost.

"You were under the boot of the Red Army when it came down", said Vadim. Easier to speak Russian now. "It nearly crushed you. I was tasked to find a rebel leader, and found you amidst … the ruins." Vadim reached to the side and offered the canteen again. "You were in shock. I waited for you to return. I think it was shock, you were far gone." Vadim's jaw muscles tightened. "Something hit you in the head, another shot in the leg. Dehydrated, but nothing serious."

"I remember death." Dan shuddered, reached for the refilled canteen, drank in deep gulps. Finished and wiped his lips on the other's uniform. Every movement hurt his head. "Remember stench. Couldn't move." Handing the canteen back, Dan suddenly tensed. "I was buried alive." Shook his head, fuck the pain that caused. "No, don't want to remember." Closed his eyes instead.

Vadim ran his fingers down Dan's face, careful to not touch the wound. "Rest. Just the usual stuff. Just war, Dan." Maybe I'll tell you one day, but not now. It made me fucking throw up, and you were in there, what? A day? Two? Fucked up? "You are safe, for the moment. I need to leave in maybe two days, three when I'm stretching it." And I will, of course. Stretch my luck again, just to make sure you're alright. Worse than friendship could hurt.

Dan kept his eyes closed, smiled again. Was much easier to simply listen to the voice, feel the touch, and refuse to remember. Could feel the lead descending onto his limbs, taking his mind back down into sleep. "Got food?" Too tired to eat, yet his body was hungry. Didn't wait for an answer, already dropping off within moments.

"Plenty", murmured Vadim and felt the insane impulse to make Dan eat Russian food, as if he could just invite him after a cold winter day into the apartment and feed him with a stew that had been boiling away for hours and hours, and keep pouring him tea, and show him food that he probably didn't know. Nothing like the rations that he did have and despised, or the nuts and dried fruits that he kept because they kept him going in the mountains, far better than the rations managed. No, a long, relaxed dinner with friends, with vodka, and courses upon courses, saved for for weeks, if not months, only to have one feast.

"I'm delusional", he muttered. "What's going on in your stupid head, Vadim", he cursed softly. It was wrong, wanting that, wrong trying to share these things, or even feeling the impulse to. Not in the middle of a war.

But Dan was asleep already, his face smoothing and his breath evening out. Just a man, not an enemy. Wounded, tired and hurting. Sheltered by another.

Vadim only left his side to piss, or prepare tea, or check the surroundings for any sign of Mujahideen activity, but nothing he could spot, and he didn't venture far from the cave. At the moment, they were both living off his rations - and the food in Dan's bergan, and all Vadim did was make sure Dan had all the rest he needed. Taking a strange pleasure from Dan lying close and needing his help, his care, and even his protection. It was like repaying him, and it was also like owning him on some level. Which was probably not the nicest thought, but it was this sense of belonging that Vadim cherished.

Dan had no idea what time of day or night it was, nor how long he had slept, when he woke once more. Had neither a clue where he was, what had happened, and why the fuck he was hurting. For a moment, while waking, he couldn't even fathom out why he was warm on one side, and why there was something heavy across his body. Moving, sluggishly, until his leg protested and he hissed.

Vadim opened his eyes when something pulled the blanket off his shoulder, and it registered with him. He looked at Dan in the near-darkness. "You alright?"

"Hungry." That was easy. Identifying the major feeling in his body. "Thirsty?" Number two was getting a bit more complicated, and he was having a hard time trying to figure out the rest. "Head hurts." Like a motherfucker, but at least less than before. "Leg …" remembered that one, made sense, and he shifted again, stilled, moved his head, ever so slowly. Looked up, trying to make out the shape close to him. "Arse?" Had already forgotten he'd asked before.

Vadim gave a low chuckle and reached for the canteen, opened it and held it to Dan's lips, digging for dried fruit when Dan had taken a few mouthfuls of water. Slipped small pieces between Dan's lips, allowing him plenty of time to chew and swallow, and offered water afterwards. "The leg looks alright. You'll enjoy that for a while longer."

Taking his time to swallow and chew, then drink some water, Dan was starting to feel more human, yet didn't realise that being hand-fed wasn't quite what special forces guys did. The liquid and fruit sugar seemed to help with his head. He groaned as he tried to stretch, very carefully, at least he had his limbs under control. Some sort of progress.

"Aching." Dan tried to prop himself up on his elbow. Feeling every bone in his body from lying down too long. Frowned. "Remember stuff I don't want to remember." Wiped his lips with the back of his hand, equally slowly, looked questioningly into Vadim's face. "Remember bits of something else. Vague. Hazy. Something inside me? Some kind of focus?" Frowned again, lost, seemed his brain was playing dirty tricks.

Vadim nodded. "Yes. Something inside you. But it's not what you might think." Shit, that sounded wrong, and maybe guilty, too, only it was the pure, unadulterated truth. "Some kind of massage. Needed to … ah, get you to relax. It worked."

Dan blinked slowly, rubbing his hand over his face. Eye to eye with the other. Occasionally struggling to keep his gaze focussed, but at least he was starting to believe this mind wasn't going insane. "Massage inside?" His flummoxed, almost childlike expression seemed comical.

"Well … yes." Shit, like Vadim had taken advantage of a seriously disturbed man. Somebody in his care.

"Don't understand." Dan was rubbing his nose, "You said it worked. Will I feel better if you did it again? Still fuzzy. Head's weird. I was out, aye?"

"Out and gone. Looked like shock to me. Or something close to that, anyway. Shell shock? Dima would know, he's the medic."

Dan nodded slowly, said nothing for a while.

Do it again. Oh yes. Why not. The memory of Dan's sounds and movements tensed Vadim's stomach, in a good way. Different from that other memory of yielding. Lusting after Dan, any way he could have him, even if it meant this, and not the other thing. He shuddered at the thought. "First time I did that. No idea. No experience. I was … just trying out something I've seen once."

"Where did you see that massage?" Dan yawned, stretching again, every movement slow, deliberate. Unaware of being naked. Burrowed into blankets and sleeping bag, and the heat of the other's body.

There was really no answer to it. Some things Dan was not supposed to know. Like travelling to London to kill people. "Uhm. Some guy's place. Did it on … his partner."

"You been to other soldiers' places who massaged each other?" Dan's dark eyes grew wide, something wasn't right there, but couldn't put his finger onto the whole thing.

"Not quite."

"And why does my arse still ache? Not bad, just weird. Strange massage." He smiled, a trusting smile. Dan McFadyen, SAS, was right now Dan. Just Dan, no more. Mind still foggy.

"Not strictly something a masseur would do." No, yours never got that far inside. Just a couple fingers. "Normal masseurs, I mean." Hoped Dan would just stop asking.

"So what kind of not normal masseur was that, then?" Dan was shuffling even closer, while Vadim won time, the heat from the other's body welcome. "But if it's good, and I think it was good, you think you can do it again?"

Vadim grinned. "I … yes, I could, but I think a traditional massage might be better at this stage."

"Why? What's wrong with the special one? Or does that ache come from you sticking stuff up my arse?"

Shit. He'd been honest about worse things. Vadim inhaled deeply, felt his body tense, expecting a punch, or anything really. "Yes. But not what you think."

Dan's easy simpleton smile froze. That … was something very bad. Yes? Yes. Had to be. Remembered ... nothing right now, just a vague recollection of something very bad and very dark and very painful, but it seemed too far away and disconnected, he felt as if that Bad Thing had happened to someone else.

"What do I think?" He frowned, lost.

"I didn't … fuck you." But I want to, always wanted to, and right now fucking want to. "Might feel like I did but I didn't." Apologising for something he'd never done. Felt guilty even for apologizing, for trying to not think about it. Shit. Dan had sworn to kill him if he ever did. He remembered well.

"I remember …," Dan's dark brows drew together with concentration, "… fucking you." Memory like bright sparks flashing across the surface of his hurting brain. "Good memory." He smiled again, guileless, slowly images were coming together, one after the other.

Vadim just barely breathed. Oh yes. Very good memory. It increased the tension in his body, up a couple notches. Shit. He wanted Dan. Wanted that body, wanted to feel him squirm with need.

"You fucking me, that's a bad thing?" Again this intense concentration. "I don't remember. Just something forbidden. Long ago." Dan paused, "Is fucking me not a good thing? Unlike me fucking you?"

"It's a very good thing", said Vadim, voice strained. "Something … I liked a lot." Hand reaching out to run over Dan's back, tracing the spine beneath the flesh, rested in the hollow above the ass. "I'd kill to have you."

Dan moved with the hand, like a slow-coiling snake, until he froze again, some memory triggered that he couldn't quite fathom. "Kill …" Thinking. Memory came back with each hour, mind getting clearer, but too many puzzle pieces still missing.

"Kill who?"

"Figure of speech. I'd do anything to have you." Vadim inched closer, making more contact, lips touching Dan's delta muscle.

"Anything?" Dan moved his head enough to rub his face against the other's.

Asking for something Vadim knew he couldn't have, and still wanting it. On the off chance that a beaten up, shell shocked and wounded man wouldn't resist. Fuck you, Vadim, you're an utter bastard.

"You done it before? Is just that I can't remember right now." Eyes dark, Dan's gaze was innocent. "You fucked me before?"

Vadim winced. "I did." Now, what? Admitting to something that was forgotten for a couple blissful hours? Ruining the chance for a repetition with the word 'rape'? "You … didn't like it." Understatement of the war, in a war full of understatements. Growing trees. Rape is just bad sex, is it, Vadim? Violence just impatience? "I hurt you." I wanted to kill you. He shook his head and pulled back, body protesting the distance. "You should rest."

"OK." Dan frowned again, couldn't remember, impossible. Nothing except those long-ago shadows, something dark and awful, profoundly nasty, and deeply terrifying. Yet it didn't make any sense. The feeling of being close to that man, of being taken care of by the Russian, and that disturbing, truly unpleasant memory of yore, those didn't go together.

"Not tired, though." No, but Dan could feel himself drifting off yet again when the blankets were tugged around him and the fruit and water were kicking into his system. The warmth of the other's body and that all encompassing sensation of belonging. It was good. It was right. He was alive and would be taken care of.

He fell asleep again before he could protest once more, his brain resting, healing. Memories and mind returning while he slept deeply and undisturbed.

* * * * * * *

When Dan woke again, he was alone. Couldn't feel the heat anymore that had been enveloping his sleep and guarding his mind. He felt different when surfacing, strange. The hazy cloud that had kept his memories at bay had dissipated, and there were flashes of images that made his mind reel and his body jerk. Breathing, concentrating on drawing air into his lungs and expelling the warmed breath through his nose, he started to check his body. Functional. Sore. Leg hurting, head in drilling/pounding pain. Arse …

Oh.

Couldn't quite remember, just fuzzy sensations, things that had kept him sane in the midst of insanity, and the feeling of being held, tethered, kept from falling into the chasm of madness. Death, horror, and the invasion of his body.

Dan opened his eyes before moving, peering across the cave.

Vadim sat near the fire, idly toying with pieces of wood, pushing them into the centre, taking one of the sticks and lifting it in front of his face, gazing into the glow, fascinated by the way fire moved and softly hissed, how the wood made the faintest sounds. He glanced over at Dan, back at the stick for a second, then dropped it into the flames. "Tea?"

Dan tried to answer, but his voice wouldn't let him. Croaked out a sound, cleared his throat. "Aye." Sitting up, he almost fell over with dizziness. "How long have I been here?" Holding his head while closing his eyes against the nausea and the pounding ache. Got a lot better when he didn't move.

"About thirty hours." Vadim poured tea, stirred it, and came over, sitting down next to Dan and placing a hand on his chest.

"Shit." Thirty hours. Holy fuck. A lot more than he had imagined. Had no real recollection of what had happened, just increasingly clear ideas of what had taken place ever since those dead eyes …. No. Felt the hand on his chest, stopped moving for a while, until the pounding in his head subsided to a dull ache.

"Go easy. You're banged up pretty good." Vadim waited, patiently, as the mug in his hand steamed, then pushed an arm under Dan's shoulders and lifted his upper body enough to push the bergan underneath for support. "Plenty of food and water. No enemies."

"Cheers." Lifting his eyes but not his head, Dan's gaze was a lot deeper and more serious than it had ever been. Just studying the other for a while. Silent, before taking the tea and warming his hands. Vadim returned that gaze, clear light blue eyes darker as they were turned away from the fire.

"I'm getting my memories back." Stating a dry fact while still watching, Dan took a first sip of the tea. The stuff tasted like manna from heaven, not that he had a fucking clue what manna would taste like.

Vadim glanced to the side, the only indication that he felt guilty. The rape was back. What he had done was back, everything was back, and there would be questions. Of course there would. "That's good."

"I was pretty much out, huh?"

"Shell shock does that. Can make soldiers completely deaf and blind. Vegetables." Vadim shook his head. "Guess you should go on R&R for a while. See if something's broken. Get healed up." But the thought of Dan going back home was painful. Shit. What if there was something broken? Dan could just as well have turned into a raving lunatic. The human mind was pretty resilient, but sometimes it could be very fragile - with no reason why some people broke and some didn't. A mystery.

Taking another sip, Dan felt like laughing for no reason. The taste of tea brought to his mind the way every goddamned Brit seemed to cling to that fucking proverbial bit of bloody national beverage. Nothing a fucking sip of fucking tea couldn't cure.

"You didn't fuck me."

Vadim shook his head. "I didn't." I wanted, but I didn't. It would have been raping a corpse. Or a child. Not that far down yet.

Dan nodded slowly, not to get that damned pounding going in his battered head again. "You could have. That's what you wanted."

Vadim glanced up, then looked to the side again. "Guess I learnt my lesson." Shit. What lesson? What fucking lesson? Had he been trained like a dog, threatened and beaten often enough? Scared often enough? Fuck me and I'll kill you. An end to their twisted game, an end to everything that was sane in an insane place, or the other way round, insane in a sane place, no idea. Thoughts racing. Wanting the man too much to have it end like that. It wasn't worth the price. No longer.

Again Dan's slow, deliberate nod, even though he wasn't quite sure if he actually understood what Vadim had said. Didn't matter, he might understand the Russkie one day, or perhaps he already did, just taking his time to move from subconscious to conscious.

"Thanks." Simple as that, sipping his tea. "That's fucking decent."

Vadim nodded, then, at the strangeness of it, flashed a smile. "You're welcome. Just … don't do this too often. Might get second thought." Or third, or fourth.

"Yeah ..." drawing out the vowel, Dan placed the mug onto his lap, cradling it in his hand while just looking. Dark eyes and steady gaze. Studying, watching.

"And that other thing?"

"What other thing?"

"My arse is still sore." Dan felt his fingertips, each touching its opposite, heated on the mug.

Oh shit. Back to the interrogation chamber. "Should pass. Just rest." Vadim tried to make it sound normal, because explaining it would possibly not be good. I just fucked you with my hand. No big deal. As long as it wasn't my cock … no.

Dan ignored Vadim's reply, ploughed on instead. "I remember you kept me from going insane. Somehow." Lifted the mug, the last sip was lukewarm. "Shellshock. All that crap." Watching, always just looking. "It was good." Mug dropped back in his lap, empty now. "What did you do." Permission.

Vadim inhaled. No delicate way of putting it. Darren had called it something, but the word didn't actually fit, didn't actually work. Sounded too much like punching, like violence, when it really wasn't. "Massage. I … used my hand." Small pause, just a beat. "All of it."

"Holy fuck." Dan inhaled sharply, hadn't forgotten his threat. I'll fucking kill you if you ever try to shove your cock up my arse again. Don't make the mistake to think I don't mean it. Don't ever.

"No wonder my arse is sore." Felt a strange sensation of hilarity, bubbling right up from his core. He'd had a fist up his arse. That fist. And that fist wasn't a delicate little flowery girl's one. "A cock seems to be dinky compared to that." Looked pointedly at Vadim's hand, twisting the empty mug slowly in his lap.

Vadim looked at his hand, too, shook his head. He had no idea what 'dinky' meant, but he could guess. Something small and pleasant. When it really wasn't. "It … took a while." As if that was an excuse. Or an explanation.

"Aye. Can imagine." Dan's voice as dry as his words. "Should probably kick your arse for that, but whatever I do remember, was good. Strange. Freaked, really. Fucked-up good." Placing the mug beside himself, he dared to move slowly. Pleased to find his head complying with the careful movements.

Not that you're in any state to kick my ass, right now, thought Vadim, but kept silent. Wouldn't do to rile him. "Well, yeah. You … reacted. Came back."

"Where the fuck did you get the idea from?"

"Saw it done … somebody did it to somebody else. Said it was one way to focus, to stretch time … I saw what it did to the other guy."

"Wonder what it's like when not being totally fucked-up and spaced out." Dan couldn't imagine where Vadim would have seen that, forgotten he'd asked before. "I guess I'd have to be pissed as a newt instead."

"I could … well, do it again. At some point. And bring vodka." And jerk off before I do, because I have no idea what I will do to you when you're not half dead, half insane.

"Good idea. When hell freezes over." Dan didn't grin.

Back to normal. Back to struggling with the other even if there was nothing left to lose, nothing left to win. Vadim forced a laugh, like it had been a joke, and stood, headed towards the fire, where the rations had warmed up. Also dried out, but he didn't mind. As long as Dan stopped asking questions. As long as things were under control. "I guess you're hungry."

"Aye, guess so." Dan didn't actually know if he was hungry or not, couldn't read the signs from his body. "What's my leg like, by the way? Feels like raw meat in places."

"Got shot through, but most of muscle seems intact. Flesh wound. Hardly more than grazing. Might be ticket home." Vadim returned with the food and put it on the ground between them.

"Maybe." Dan shrugged, "home's overrated." Leaning forward, ever so slowly, seemed his head was starting to get used to the idea of belonging to a body that was supposed to function. "Where's home anyway." Reached for the food, hot, took it with his hand. He'd learned from the Mujas. "Home's the mountains." Began to chew, still watching. Always that dark-eyed gaze.

"Living like mountain lion. Fierce loner." Vadim shook his head. "I miss sauna, and proper food, and family. I miss books, and Metro, can do without walking thirty or fifty clicks in day, in this territory. Can do without getting shot at." Truth be told, somewhere he'd begun to lose the zest for war. It was now just a task, and one he could do, but he was no longer craving it. Maybe he was getting old.

Helping himself, Dan continued to eat, only now realising how hungry he had been. "Books?" Stuffing himself with another handful, chewing quickly. "You read books?"

Vadim looked up. "You don't?" It had never occurred to him that that was even worth asking. Of course he read books. He liked theatre and ballet, too, but if Dan thought reading strange, there was no point explaining Swan Lake or the Nutcracker Suite. A love that could not be and that killed the lovers. Self-destruction. Tchaikovsky had known things about love, there, some deep and profound and horrible truth about mortality.

"No." Dan was thirsty, glancing around for the canteen. "Used to read mags, broadsheets, crap like that. No time for books, no patience. What good would they do? They don't tell you how to survive."

"No, they don't do that. They are reason, not tool." Vadim smirked. "They hold more truth than Pravda. Politburo can't lie in Pushkin. Pushkin was there before we became Soviets. It means … if we have past, we have future." As close to political treason as he could come without showing too much.

"Truth? Reason to live? Bullshit. Food is a reason to live, a juicy steak with oil dripping chips; booze is a reason to live, getting pissed on beer and whisky with mates; sex is a reason to live. In fact, it's the best and biggest one." Finding the canteen behind him, Dan closed his eyes for a moment, felt dizzy and nauseous after moving his head. "What good has the truth done you, eh?" Uncapping, he took a swig of water, feeling better with every gulp.

"At least I know that there are many truths. It's about learning to think different thoughts. Know things that you never felt. You could know what being rich feels like, or being in love, without ever getting real feeling." Vadim shrugged. "Like guilt." Raskolnikov. Guilt leading to insanity, and, later, Siberia. "And it tells us who we are. What we are fighting for. I don't mean orders. I mean people."

"But that's bollocks, that feeling and knowing thing. How can you know if you haven't experienced it. I think your books are fakes. They tell you something you believe you know what it feels like, but you're lying to yourself. You don't. You just fell prey to a big old scam."

But what's the difference between a lie that is believed and the truth? Vadim shook his head. Paradox of his existence. Sometimes he thought it would be easier if he could believe the official story. Doublethink.

Taking another swig of the water, Dan leaned his head back against the cave wall, pulling the blanket closer around his naked body. "And what do you fight for? Why are you here?"

"The Russian people", said Vadim. "My family. People I hold dear." He smiled. "Trying to make this career. Climb ladder. Watch out for what's mine."

Career. Dan couldn't understand that one either. Mind not fully sharp yet, but he knew that he'd never felt he had to climb anything. No career, just doing what he did. Perhaps he just liked killing and evading getting killed. Great sum of how a man had spent his life. "So, that's why you're here?" Lifting his hand, he made a slow-sweeping gesture around the cave. "Watching out for your own enemy?" His lips quirked up into a strange half-smile.

Vadim smirked. "Well, in absence of my unit or properly cultured Russian, guess you'll have to do."

"Fuck you, too, Russkie." Dan grinned tiredly. "In that case, help me up. I'd like to go for a piss without keeling over or throwing up."

Vadim nodded, moved behind Dan and put his arms under the other's, steadying and pulling him up a bit, causing Dan to hiss, then took his arm and placed it around his shoulders, helping him walk by taking the weight off the side where the leg needed rest and healing. Couldn't help but stare at Dan's nakedness. He'd washed him, and massaged him, had been that close, and he still always noticed.

"Ah shit." Dan grumped, then kept his teeth clenched while walking towards the mouth of the cave. Remained silent until the reached a spot just outside. "Feels like I haven't moved for a week." The dizziness could have been worse, though, and he kind of got his bearings once he stood still. Looking down at his body he eyed his cock for a moment. Pondering, couldn't remember what he was supposed to do with it. Expecting the other to stay and steady him, Dan was swaying for a moment. "What did I mean to do again?" He frowned, kept staring at his cock, flaccid between the darkness of hair.

"You meant to piss." Vadim hoped it was only a concussion, not something major, not something that fucked Dan up worse. Hoped the skull was alright, some people walked and talked with hidden gruesome injuries, then fell over, dead.

"Fuck, yes." Dan frowned, felt the urge to shake his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, but the constant dull ache reminded him to stay still. "Seems my memory's shot to pieces at the moment." Took his cock, tried to relax, willing the piss to flow. "Can remember yesterday, though, and before. Kind of. Can't quite remember before you found me. Guess I don't want to." Letting out a sigh of relief when the urine started to trickle and then shot out in a mighty stream. Hadn't realised how full his bladder had been. "Shit, that's good."

Vadim swallowed. The way Dan's voice changed with that simple pleasure. If he could only have him under him, saying exactly that. Yeah, lusting after a man who was pissing and rested half his weight on his shoulder.
"Concussion." Vadim tried to pull his mind off the fact Dan was naked and in no state to fight. "I'll have to leave tomorrow. You better remember safer place somewhere around here. You're too close to one of our bases."

"Aye," two quick shakes and last drops, and Dan lifted his head, carefully looking over his shoulder. "Survived worse situations. I'll get out." How? He didn't have a clue, but he'd do it, somehow. Even if he had to crawl across the mountains, dizzy and disorientated, but he'd do it. Fuck that leg, his head, and the fact he couldn't remember things he should know.

Vadim frowned, didn't believe it, but had no other option but to take the risk. He couldn't stay here forever, and this was on the brink of getting very, very dangerous. "Yes. I know you will."

"Did you find my bergan? Haven't got a fucking clue where it is, but I guess that means nothing right now that I can't remember." Hopping on his good leg, Dan tried to put some weight on the injured one. Hurt like a motherfucker, but it would have to do. He could hole up another day, then make his way across the pass throughout the night. At least he remembered the terrain, and if he were lucky, he'd cross the path of some friendly Mujahideen. He wasn't going to die like this; not that easy to take down.

"It was down in village. I brought it up. That was how I knew you were there somewhere. I remembered your kit."

"You better. You usually help yourself to peanut butter energy bars." Dan flashed a small grin. "Right, nurse, take me back inside. Fucking freezing without clothes." Clothes, shit. Couldn't remember when last he had any.

"I'll help you put your spares on." Vadim manoeuvred Dan to turn around and brought him back into the cave, back to the blankets. "It's all right there. See?" His kit, Dan's kit. He could give Dan some of his stuff. To make sure he had it as easy as possible.