Title: Fulfillment of Duty
Author: Deb Hicks
Summary: Who is the greater threat to Dietrich and Troy: an old enemy--or an old friend?
Note: Sixth and last in the "Duty" series; sequel to Duty, Family, and Other Inconveniences . Originally printed in FLANKING MANEUVERS 3

---

The crowd flowed around the food table, sampling the impressive array of hors d'oeuvres. Through the milling guests, Troy watched one person walking around the room, talking, sipping the fine champagne, smiling at the girls from the office. With an old familiarity, the man felt Troy's eyes on him and looked up. Troy smiled very slightly, thinking how, with the bright sunlight coming in through the windows he could almost see the glitter in the coffee-colored eyes. He didn't motion or gesture, but Dietrich started toward him anyway.

Propping himself against the glass wall as close as he dared to Troy without touching, Dietrich said with a smile, "Albert seems to be enjoying himself."

"Considering the amount of champagne he's put away, I'm not surprised," Troy said. With a chuckle, he added, "Hope Sarah forgives him tonight."

Dietrich took a sip of his glass. "Have you told him yet?"

Troy glanced suspiciously at his partner. "Told him what?"

Very levelly, Dietrich said, "Have you told Albert and Sarah his retirement present is four weeks in Hawaii?"

Troy looked at the dancing couple, ignoring the embarrassment of being caught. "Thought I'd let it be a surprise."

He didn't ask how Dietrich had found out. It didn't matter. The only thing was that once more he had been caught in the middle of a sentimental act. Clearing his throat, he looked up to change the subject--and was entranced by the glow in the sable eyes. A wave of love swept down his chest, lifted his mouth in a wider smile. Raising the glass toward Dietrich he let all the love that had been built over seven years reach his eyes. A blush colored Dietrich's fair skin and he looked toward the dance floor without meeting Troy's amused smile.

In the center, alone as if in the whole world, Albert and his bride of sixty years were kissing while the band played a slower tune. Troy watched a touch of whimsy shade Dietrich's eyes, felt it echo through his own mind.

"Hans," he said quietly.

His lover looked down at him. Dietrich smiled, sensing what he wanted to say. Raising his glass, he said, "To other partnerships that last sixty years."

Troy touched his glass to the other, then leaned back. After a minute and with a barely restrained smile, he said, "Hans Troy."

"What?" Dietrich questioned, turning as if to check his hearing.

"If I could share my name," Troy said lightly. "Hans Troy sounds kind of silly."

There was a pause from beside him, then a slight cough. "Samuel Dietrich is not bad," Dietrich noted, his voice breaking just the tiniest bit.

Troy sipped his glass and added, "Sixty years should be a breeze, as long as you don't argue over job specs too often."

Still looking at the dancing couple, Dietrich said levelly, "Only as often as needed to keep you in line."

This time they met each other's eyes and laughed.

"What are you two laughing at?" Hitchcock demanded from behind them.

Troy controlled his blush and quick flash of nervousness from old habit. "About keeping partners in line." At least he wasn't lying this time, something he still hated to do, even though he had gotten good at it.

Hitchcock regarded him for a moment, obviously considering the answer. Something in his gaze sent a quick warning shot of adrenaline down Troy's spine. He'd known that look in Africa, when Hitchcock had figured out things Troy hadn't wanted figured out.

Sensing his discomfort, Dietrich came to his rescue. It was his turn to raise the glass, toward Hitchcock. "Congratulations, Senior Accountant."

Hitchcock smiled in pleasure. To further distract him, Troy asked lightly, "Think you can handle it?"

As in the Sahara, the slight questioning of his abilities immediately derailed Hitchcock from his thoughtful track. "Sarge," he chided, "you got nothing to worry about."

Troy looked into the smiling blue eyes. "Okay, but no parties while Hans and I are in that meeting tomorrow."

The statement brought a quick frown to Hitchcock's face. "You sure I can't go along? I'd like..."

Troy laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hitch, I'm leaving you in charge tomorrow. Don't waste it. This is your chance to impress the boss."

A wicked smile touched the young face. "So, if I sign some big deal tomorrow you'll be impressed?"

Beside him, Troy could feel Dietrich's amusement. Carefully, he said, "I'll be just as impressed if you don't blow up the place."

"Sarge, that wasn't my fault!" Hitchcock protested. "I didn't know the site..."

"Hitch," Troy said firmly. "Your date is getting bored. Go dance."

"You got it," Hitch said quickly.

With a smile, the blond moved toward Ruth, the newest and so far, longest lasting of his girlfriends. Beside Troy, Dietrich chuckled.

"Do you think he will ever cease calling you Sarge?" he asked.

With a smile toward his youngest department head, Troy said sincerely, "I hope not."



Handing Troy a piece of paper, Hitchcock said, "The bank approved that signature account for Dietrich for half a million."

"Good job, Hitch," Troy said sincerely. "Looks like everything we need on the layouts."

Hitchcock grinned, losing all the years and experience he'd gained since the first time Troy had taken him on; he could almost hear the bubblegum popping. "Piece of cake, Sarge."

Troy shook his head at the old saying. They had spent the day checking on several possible new sites for their growing business. Hitchcock had more than done his homework on the buildings, reaffirming Troy's decision to hire him.

"And finally, some guy from the State Department called twice, said he needed to talk to you ASAP. I told him you were out for the day and he said he would stop by first thing in the morning."

"State Department?" Troy wondered. "Didn't say what it was about?"

"Nope."

Feeling a chill of apprehension, Troy muttered, "Hope it's not about Hans again."

He shook off the feeling, though he put it in the back of his mind to tell Dietrich, just in case. "Catch you tomorrow," he said, grabbing his coat. "I was going to hit the bridge site first thing in the morning, guess I'll be here instead. Hans will be over at the supply area before coming in."

"Ah, Sarge?" Hitchcock interrupted him. Awkwardly, he said, "Ruth wanted me to invite you to dinner tonight, sort of a celebration of me getting the promotion."

"Tonight?" Troy hedged, his thoughts turned to the tall German who would be waiting for him at home. Moving around the crowded, chaotic desk, he glanced at the calendar, trying to think of a way to get out of the engagement.

"If you've got a date tonight..." Hitchcock started.

The warning tingled along his nerves again. Troy smiled, knowing he would have to cover. "No. Nothing special. Sounds good. What's the plan?"

With a wide smile, Hitchcock gave him the name and address of an upscale restaurant and the time. Troy nodded. "Great. I'll drop home, change and meet you there."

The boyish grin lit the handsome face again. "Ruth really likes you and thought it would be nice to get to know each other better."

"I'm looking forward to talking to her," Troy said.

The sunlight from the full window, sparkled in Hitchcock's blue eyes. "You know, she's got an older sister about your age, maybe..."

"Git!" Troy ordered firmly. "I don't need a matchmaker."

Laughing, Hitch headed for the office door. "See you tonight, Sarge."



"I don't see why you can't come," Troy argued.

Dietrich smiled, watching Troy fidget with the tuxedo tie. He closed the distance, sliding his arms under Troy's, staring into Troy's blue eyes in the floor length mirror. Troy stopped playing with the tie, allowing Dietrich to finish tying the bothersome object.

"If you were to take me," Dietrich explained softly. "It would be far too revealing, since Hitchcock did not invite me."

Before Troy could reply, Dietrich tilted his head down, kissed lightly along the man's neck, teasing at his ear. Troy sighed, leaning back against him. Dietrich lowered his arms, held Troy tight.

"I love you," Troy whispered.

"I know."

"Do you know how much I hate this?" Troy said tightly.

Dietrich was warmed by Troy's arguments, by the love so evident in his outrage. It was an outrage that he was more than familiar with, an outrage that he experienced every time one of them took one of the secretaries out on a date, an outrage at the lies that seemed to fill their lives. Stepping slightly away, Dietrich turned Troy.

"I know," he said in a low voice.

"Maybe I should cancel...."

Dietrich cut him off by tangling his hands in Troy's thick dark hair, claiming his mouth in a hard, deep kiss. When they eased apart, Troy was smiling.

"Yeah," he started, "I know - it doesn't matter."

Stepping away, Dietrich put his hands on his hips, squinted at him, surveying the evenings dress of black tuxedo and simple cotton shirt. He gave a slight nod. "Nice."

"Nice?" Troy said in mock outrage. "That's the best I get?"

Fighting to maintain his detached demeanor, Dietrich said, "For now, yes."

Troy closed the distance this time, wrapping his arms around Dietrich's waist. "And later?"

"We shall see," Dietrich said silkily, untying the neatly done tie with one quick jerk.

Troy chuckled, reaching for the tie as he headed for the door that connected their two apartments. Dietrich trailed after him as far as the dividing door. Troy grabbed the bush hat as he started to leave.

"Sam!" Dietrich protested. "You are not taking that hat. Bad enough you wear it when we go to the sites."

"Hey," Troy lightly, "Hitch won't recognize me without the hat!"

"Sam," Dietrich said firmly.

Smiling, Troy put the hat back and took his heavy coat off the hook instead.

Just before he closed the door, Dietrich called, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Forego dessert," he suggested. "I'll have something for you later."



He heard the key turn in the lock and switched off the single lamp that he had been reading under. The wide room fell into darkness, expect for the sparkling lights of the New York skyline. Dietrich rose, moving toward the table as the door opened slowly. A flare lit the dark for an instant as he lit the single candle in the middle of the table.

"Hans?" Troy called in puzzlement from the door.

"I promised you dessert," Dietrich said quietly.

Troy dropped his tuxedo jacket on the couch before joining him by the table. For a moment, he stared down at the artistically designed cheesecake and strawberries, then up at Dietrich.

"It looks delicious but...." he said hesitantly.

Dietrich regarded him levelly. "But?"

The blue eyes raked down his lean frame, noting the gold bathrobe that was loosely tied around his waist. Before Troy could answer the question, Dietrich came around the table, stood very close without touching.

"Did you think," Dietrich tried to sound outraged, "that dessert meant something else?"

"Yeah," Troy breathed quietly. He reached for the single tie that was Dietrich's only protection.

Dietrich slipped just out of reach. "Really? What did you have in mind?"

Troy moved again, grabbing the tie, jerking it loose. The robe fell open to reveal Dietrich's swelling cock. Dietrich smiled, pulling Troy to him, immediately kissing along his shoulder over the soft cotton shirt.

"I had in mind," Troy picked up, "taking you to bed and reminding myself how lucky I am to have you."

Reaching for the ivory buttons on Troy's silk shirt, Dietrich was already urging them in that direction. Troy's shirt fell open. Dietrich kissed along his collarbone, shoving the material off the broad shoulders, letting it drop to the ground.

"Hans..." Troy hit the door, reached around and grabbed the knob.

Dietrich pressed him against the hard wood, claiming his mouth for the first time. Troy groaned, sucking Dietrich's tongue deep into his throat. Dietrich echoed the sound, drowning in the passion, in the heady taste of his lover. They broke part, both panting.

"Damn, Hans," Troy complained, finally getting the door open behind him. "How do you keep doing this to me?"

They slipped into the main room of Dietrich's apartment, closing the door behind them. Dietrich's answer was to move again, needing the touch of the soft skin beneath his hands. Troy shoved him away a little, sinking into the nearest chair and whipping off the last of his clothes. The sight of Troy naked in front of him actually stopped Dietrich's advance. He stepped forward, lightly stroking over the muscled chest, touching reverently to the small white scars. They joked sometimes, taking turns bragging about each mark. Troy won for number, Dietrich for variety. Now, Dietrich lowered his head and licked over each rough mark.

"So handsome," he muttered in German.

The fire banked in his blood erupted in Troy's. With a near growl, Troy shoved Dietrich back against the door and began to lay featherlight kisses over his chest and down his stomach. Dietrich leaned back, hands kneading Troy's back, letting the teasing touch carry him a little higher.

"Sam...." Dietrich whispered, turning his head sideways to give his lover better access. The kisses flowed down his neck, across his shoulder.

Small hands, rough now from handling tools rather than guns, rubbed across his ribs, touched lightly over the prominent scar on his chest. Dietrich smiled, his own hands moving slowly around Troy's hips to card through the dark, tight curls encircling the hard shaft. He grasped as Troy's head went down, hot tongue laving over one taut nipple. The heat pounded through his body, arching his back, making him thankful for the door that was holding him up. He slipped one hand under Troy's chin and brought him closer, sealing their mouths together. Desert heat was in the kiss, joining the embers already in his blood. He plunged into Troy's mouth, tongue dueling, forcing a soft moan from the shorter man. Easing away from the kiss, he wrapped the muscular body tight, pulling the American as close as he could.

"I love you," he whispered.

"If we don't lay down," Troy returned with a soft chuckle, voice rough with passion. "I'm going to fall down."

Echoing the sound of amusement, Dietrich said, "I take it you like my idea for dessert."

The eyes that had first touched his across an exploding fuel depot, that had taunted him in numerous encounters and later in many dreams, now glowed at him. "I like anything you do," Troy said, just before he claimed Dietrich's mouth in another hot kiss.

"Except disagree over business," Dietrich said as he broke the kiss.

Sliding away a little, Troy said, "No, I even like that. Reminds me you're not perfect."

Grabbing his lover's hand, Dietrich moved them to the large bed, not bothering to turn the cover down. Troy lay back, opening his arms to Dietrich. Smiling, Dietrich positioned himself on hands and knees above his lover's body. He leaned down, kissing along Troy's square jaw, over his lips, ignoring the urge to take the hot mouth. With deliberately slow moves, he kissed down the strong chest, resisting Troy's efforts to urge him lower. Troy moaned, arching again. Dietrich lowered himself to the familiar body, sighing at the pleasure in the hard muscles under him, sliding slowly down until their cocks frictioned across each other. Troy offered his mouth again and Dietrich lost himself in the wet deeps, in the desire and love that filled his soul.

Troy's arms came around him, and he suddenly found himself under the wiry American. Without a word, Troy slipped a little sideways and grabbed a tube of KY off the nightstand. Dietrich waited, content for the moment to let Troy lead. Transfixed, he watched Troy uncap the tube, sensuous in even that minor a move. He ran his hands down Troy's slightly furred chest, over the narrow hips. Their differences made him smile. Troy was short muscled and compact, compared to his own lean frame; Troy's skin very dark against Dietrich's fair complexion. Dietrich reached out, stroked Troy's cock, also different, shorter but thicker.

Stretching out next to him, Troy feasted on Dietrich's mouth. At the same time, a hot, slippery hand took his cock and began to slowly coat it. Dietrich arched up, panting with the touch. It still amazed him that they had found the perfect harmony, each knowing what the other wanted and needed. With a quick kiss to Dietrich's stomach, Troy came to his hands and knees.

Moving behind him, Dietrich ran his hands down Troy's back, lightly over the round ass. Without warning, he lowered his head and licked down the tight crevasse, teasing at the puckered muscle.

"Damn, Hans..." Troy moaned, dropping into German.

"Soon, love, soon," Dietrich answered in kind. He filled one hand with the slippery gel, tugged at Troy's full cock and heavy balls with the other. Bringing his hand up, he smeared the gel along the trail his tongue had followed.

"Hans, come on," Troy demanded. "I want you inside me."

The answer was two large fingers sliding easily through the muscle. Troy gasped, hissing at the relief of being filled, if only slightly. Dietrich moved his fingers, easing them in and out, watching the play of light across the oil and soft skin. He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to come to his knees and claim what was his. For a few more minutes, he twisted and teased, kissing along the strong back, down Troy's thighs, moving sideways enough to enjoy the sight of Troy getting lost in the lust. Whimpering with need, Troy shoved back, driving the long fingers deeper.

The wait was too long for Troy; he moved, swinging around to push Dietrich onto his back. Dietrich chuckled at the familiar aggression. Their mouths met and Dietrich sucked Troy's tongue deep into his mouth, teasing it like a small cock. Twin groans filled the well furnished room. He reached up, held Troy's head as he reversed the move, driving his tongue into Troy's mouth. Troy moved then, straddling him and easing away from the kiss.

"You're too good for my good," Troy said huskily, still in German.

"You are so handsome," Dietrich sighed.

"Want you," Troy panted, body slowly sliding against Dietrich's.

"I noticed," Dietrich said dryly.

Dietrich's breath caught as Troy gave him the same crooked grin that had captured his heart so many years before. The love that filled his chest coupled with the lust that flooded his groin, leaving him near drunk with joy. Troy balanced himself carefully with one hand next to Dietrich's waist; his other hand grasped Dietrich's stiff cock, held it steady as he lowered his body slowly down. Dietrich closed his eyes, fought the urge to thrust up, concentrated on feeling the slow, sensuous slide of his cock into Troy's tight body. Everything narrowed down to the feel of the hot, oiled muscle, to the erotic weight of Troy's balls coming to rest on his stomach. Dietrich opened his eyes, needing to see what he could do to his lover. Troy's head was down, hair in disarray around his handsome face, his eyes narrowed so that only a hint of blue sparkled at Dietrich.

Dietrich's hand came up, stroked down one tanned cheek. "Perfect."

Troy turned his hand slightly, licking along Dietrich's fingers. Dietrich gasped, the simple move turning to music in his veins. Despite his best effort, his hips moved, dragging his cock down, sliding slowly back into the slick passage.

"Yes..." Troy whispered tightly, slamming down, driving Dietrich's cock solidly into his body.

Dietrich gave himself to the movement, to the tight grip on his swollen cock, to the incredible heat and the unbelievably exotic feel of Troy's heartbeat in their joined bodies. Troy leaned forward, then back, shoving the cock deep. Dietrich whimpered, fighting with all his will not to give in to the demands his body was making. He forced his eyes open, concentrated on his lover, watched the passion etched on Troy's face, watched the smooth flow of muscle under tanned skin.

Stroking along Troy's chest, he whispered, "I love you."

Troy leaned back, forcing himself away from the fire that threatened to finish them too soon. His expression this time was another one that Dietrich was more than familiar with, one full of hell and mischief. Years earlier Dietrich had felt that smile slide into his blood, had felt the addiction of it, and fought with all his soul not to give in - to no avail. Now, he felt the jolt of it every bit as much as he had in an Antwerp hotel.

"I like when you smile," Troy said, grinning.

Dietrich laughed. "I was thinking the same thing of you, love."

"Yeah?" Troy wiggled back down, bringing a gasp from Dietrich's throat. "But you've got a voice that would melt ice."

At that moment, with Troy slowly tightening the muscles around his cock, talking was the furthest thing from Dietrich's mind. He shoved up, breathing becoming more and more difficult. The quiet beat in his blood began to pick up, building on their steady, slow rhythm. Reaching out, he gripped Troy's dark red cock. Troy threw his head back, driving up into Dietrich's hand. They were in perfect harmony, his hand moving to Troy's, his hips rising as Troy came down. He closed his eyes, let himself climb with the music. Troy's softly whispered endearments added melody to the song.

"Sam...." he panted.

"Tell me what you want," Troy ordered, rough voice shaking Dietrich's soul.

Dietrich brought his hands up, rubbed rough fingertips over Troy's nipples, bringing another deep groan from his throat. Trailing down the sharp muscle, still unable to believe, even after so many years, that Troy was willing to give him everything, he whispered, "I want to take you, hard, feel you under me."

The muscles around his cock tightened as Troy shifted, rolling them over, putting Dietrich on top. Dietrich moaned at the sheer sensuousness of the surrender. Troy brought his legs up, offering Dietrich free movement as his hands roamed down Dietrich's flanks and squeezed his ass. Troy had a smile of triumph lighting his face. Dietrich pulled out, groaned at the slow slide of his cock in the tight body, heard it answered by Troy as his hard cock raked over too sensitive nerve endings. He shoved back in and Troy arched off the bed, crying out. It was perfect. Closing his eyes, letting his whole world narrow down to their joined bodies, Dietrich took over the conducting, set the pace.

His thrusts became hard, deeper, sliding far into Troy's body, giving himself completely to the man he loved. Troy met each move, moaning softly as Dietrich's moves sang through his body. Dietrich looked down, watched Troy stroke his solid shaft, his hand keeping time to Dietrich's thrusts. Dietrich covered the smaller hand with his own, playing at it as a fine instrument. The symphony had reached its fourth movement and was driving toward the finale. Dietrich clamped down on the beat flooding his veins, fighting to hold off his own climax, fighting to hold onto the soaring notes. It was a fight he knew he would lose.

"Yes, dear God... Sam!"

Their movements became erratic, uncontrollable.

"Hans..."

Troy's body locked down, his cock spraying white over their joined hands, his muscles pulling Dietrich deep into his body. For a dozen heartbeats, Dietrich held onto the movement, transfixed by the sight of Troy coming, his mouth squeezed tightly shut, face flushed with lust.

"Hans," Troy breathed again, one final spasm trembling through his body.

The almost subliminal cry of his name added the final note to Dietrich's song. Arching back he drove into Troy's body, crying out, flooding the tight passage with his offering. Troy shook in reaction. On shaky arms Dietrich held himself over Troy long enough to lean forward and claim the sensuous mouth in a soft kiss. Then he rolled sideways, falling back on the bed, exhausted. Troy lay there, still breathing hard. Dietrich wrapped his arms around his lover, held him close and tight while the last of the climax shook them. They lay that way for a long time, listening to the fading music.

It was Troy who finally rolled limply sideways. Dietrich smiled as he felt the soft kiss to his chin. Forcing his eyes opened, he found himself drowning in blue. He stroked Troy's cheek.

"Wish I could do that," Troy said with a smile.

Totally lost, Dietrich asked, "Do what?"

"Kiss you in that position," Troy explained.

Chuckling quietly, Dietrich admitted, "Being taller does have its advantages."

"Have you been selling secrets to the Commies again?" Troy asked suddenly.

Dietrich squinted at him. "What?"

"State Department's coming by tomorrow," Troy said with just a hint of a smile. "But don't worry, I'll bail you out again."

"My papers are all in order," Dietrich said tightly, remembering very unfondly the last visit, when he had been taken in and questioned about war crimes.

"Hey," Troy kissed him lightly on the nose. "I was only kidding. I don't think they even want to talk to you. It's me they asked for."

"Well, try to be polite," Dietrich reminded him. "They don't have a very good sense of humor."

---

He was standing by the bed, hand going for his absent gun, even as he realized what the noise was that had brought him awake too fast. A warm hand touched his and Troy looked down into the sleepy gaze of his lover.

"It's someone at your door," Dietrich volunteered quietly.

Troy took a deep breath, nodded. Sudden noises still had the nasty habit of throwing him into instant alertness. He frowned down at Dietrich as he reached for his bathrobe.

"How come you don't have this problem?" he questioned.

"That's what sergeants are for," Dietrich said, as he slid back under the covers.

Glancing at the clock, he wondered aloud, "Who the hell could be here at four a.m.?"

Closing the door softly behind him, Troy took a quick glance around to make sure nothing incriminating had been left out and crept quietly across to leave his bedroom door slightly open. The pounding started up again.

"Hold your horses," he said loudly, reaching for the chain.

"Open up, Sarge."

Troy's hand froze on the knob. It was Hitchcock. He pulled the door open to be confronted by the young blond propped against the wall. For a moment, they stared at each other. Hitchcock blinked, pushing off the wall and staggering into the room as Troy held the door. Troy frowned as his old friend went by him. Hitchcock was completely drunk. His first thought was that something had happened between Hitch and Ruth. He flinched, having been down this road with the younger man before.

"Hitch," he sighed.

The blond whirled and even from six feet away, Troy could see the anger in the blue eyes. Confusion now replaced Troy's sympathy. "What the hell is going on?"

"I'm tired of being lied to," Hitchcock nearly growled. "I want the truth."

Carefully, suspecting what he was going to ask, Troy said, "You're gonna have to tell me what you're talking about first."

"Are you and Dietrich fags?" Hitchcock said loudly.

The room turned cold around Troy as he stared Hitch. All the patent excuses and denials came firmly to mind. "What the hell are you talkin'...."

He should have seen the punch coming, but shock made him slow. His head snapped sideways and he hit the floor hard. Hitchcock was on him immediately, straddling his hips. Rough, strong hands grabbed his robe, half pulling him off the ground.

"You goddamn queer," Hitch hissed. "All this time I thought you were someone I wanted to be like, someone..."

"Hitch," Troy growled. "You're drunk. You don't know what the hell..."

Hitchcock's hand came up, but before Troy could move to defend himself the man was yanked away and practically thrown into the nearest chair. Dietrich stood next to him, offering him a hand up. Troy made it to his feet, staring at Hitchcock. The anger was gone now, replaced with what looked like sorrow.

"How could you, Sarge?" he whispered.

"Hitchcock," Dietrich said firmly. "You are drunk. Whatever you may think you have discovered is going to seem very foolish by tomorrow, once you sleep off the hangover."

The calm, clear voice seemed to reach through Hitchcock's alcohol haze. He looked up at Dietrich, the anger returning. "How did you do it to him?" he slurred. "This is your fault."

With surprising speed, Hitchcock was on his feet, swinging at Dietrich. Troy grabbed him, anger and protectiveness overriding his shock. Spinning Hitchcock around, he gathered a handful of shirt and pinned him to the wall.

"I don't give a damn what the hell you think," Troy warned dangerously. "You do not take a swing on a friend of mine in my house! And if things were reversed I'd tell him the same thing."

For a moment Hitchcock looked lost and sad, then the defensive anger sprang back up. "Get your filthy hands off me, pervert," he growled.

Troy's grip tightened, shoving him a little harder against the wall as he fought for something to say.

"Let him go, Sam," Dietrich said calmly behind him.

Whipping his head around, Troy snapped, "You heard what he..."

A strong hand touched his arm. "Let him go, before you both do more harm."

His quiet, strong words made Troy take a step back. He released Hitchcock with an exaggerated gesture. The blond nearly fell as his support suddenly vanished. Something in Dietrich's words, and Troy's, seemed to have reached through his haze. Troy watched him blink a couple times, staring from him to Dietrich. Twice it seemed Hitch wanted to say something, and twice he snapped his mouth shut. Finally, he turned, nearly falling over a chair as he headed for the door.

Troy sighed, shaking his head, though at what exactly he couldn't have said. As Hitchcock reached for the door, he said over his shoulder, "Hans, call a cab. He'll never make it home like that."

With a sad smile, Dietrich nodded. Troy took two quick steps, gently snagged Hitchcock's arm. His old friend tried to pull away, but was far too drunk to accomplish it. He did his best to glare at Troy.

"I'm leaving," he slurred.

"I know," Troy said. "I'm going to take you downstairs and put you in a cab. If anything happened to you, Ruth would be very upset." Quietly, he added, "So would I."

The walk downstairs was made in stony silence. As they came out into the cool night air, Hitchcock managed to pull away. Troy watched closely, making sure he didn't fall down.

"Where's your car?" Troy asked. There was no answer. "Okay, you can find it tomorrow."

"Gonna quit tomorrow," Hitchcock slurred.

Troy took a deep breath, sighed it out slowly. "Hitch, look, whatever you might think is going on between Dietrich..."

"Shut up," the blond slurred. "I don't want to hear it."

There hadn't been many times in the desert when Troy had heard that absolutely flat tone of voice, but there had been enough that he knew not to continue, for now. The cab pulled up. Hitchcock climbed slowly into the back of the vehicle, and promptly leaned back, mostly asleep. Troy held the door for a minute, giving the cabby the address and more than enough money for the fare and a large tip.

The man smiled at him and jerked his head toward the handsome blond in the back. "Friend of yours, huh?"

Troy smiled sadly back at Hitchcock and said, "I hope so."



Dietrich was waiting for him with a glass in his hand. Troy took it, wandering absently to the window. Dietrich knew the signs, knew when Troy put those walls up, there was no one who could breach them. Twice before he had seen it happen, once when they had received word that Tully's infant daughter had died and once when they had fought over something that Dietrich no longer remembered.

"I should have listened to you," Troy said quietly.

For one chilling instant Dietrich remembered his warning about ruining Troy's life; he took a sharp breath at the fear that washed through him. By his next breath reality flooded back down - Troy loved him. He looked up and found Troy staring at him.

Real anger, something he'd not seen in those beautiful eyes in many years, flashed at him. "Damnit, Dietrich, how could you think..."

Dietrich closed, took him in a deep, firm kiss. Easing away, he ran his hands through Troy's black hair, touched lightly along his cheek. "It was a fleeting thought, love. I still have trouble believing in fairy tales."

"I meant," Troy explained, "that you were right a year ago when you said Hitch was too sharp not to catch on."

Remembering the comment, Dietrich said, "I had hoped he just wouldn't think about it."

"Yeah," Troy sighed. "I think he's been thinking about it a while. Last night didn't help."

"Last night?" Dietrich wondered.

"Ruth keep asking the typical polite questions, the kind it's hard to answer. Why wasn't I married? Had you ever been married? Did I have a steady?"

Seeing the despair in Dietrich's eyes, Troy turned his head far enough to kiss along Dietrich's wrist. The heat that traced along Dietrich's veins at the move was soft and loving. He sighed, kissed lightly over Troy's mouth.

"Those fairy tale endings might be over," Troy said regretfully. "Depending on what Hitch does and who he tells."

Pulling his robe tight, Dietrich sat down in the displaced chair he had tossed Hitchcock into. "If word reaches the government, we won't be able to bid on any more contracts."

Troy only snorted, took another sip of the whiskey. "Hell, Hans, we could end up in jail if he convinces someone at the police we've been screwing each other."

"We wouldn't be there long," Dietrich observed casually. When Troy gave him a puzzled look, he explained, "I'm sure we could get word to Moffitt. You and he are very good at jail breaks, if I remember correctly."

"True," Troy admitted, smiling. "How would you feel about a cattle ranch in Argentina?"

Dietrich put on a considerable show of thinking it over. "No, I think not. Too many Nazis. Perhaps Canada?"

Laughing quietly, Troy moved to the bar and sat the glass down. Dietrich took a deep breath, facing the seriousness of the problem. "Perhaps it would be better if I return to Germany sooner than planned."

Troy whirled. "What?"

"If Hitch does talk around the office about why he is resigning, it might be better if I were to spend less time in New York so as to be less obvious," he offered. "Once we have decided on a new building there is no need for me to stay for the actual move."

The look on Troy's face was one he had seen very often in their long, strange relationship, sheer stubbornness. Troy came over, stood directly in front of him. "If Hitch talks about us, if he reports us, if he fucking well buys a billboard in Times Square about us, I don't care. If we run from this, we run together, and only when nothing else works."

Dietrich stared at him, at the steel in the blue eyes, at the determination that had so often bested him in Africa and saved his life in Berlin. "Together," he confirmed.

Troy leaned down and touched him softly on the lips, breaking away before Dietrich could deepen the kiss. "Besides, I don't think he'll do anything, at least not anything beyond quitting," Troy explained. Dietrich's raising an eyebrow at that statement made Troy shrug. "You know Hitch, he's a hothead. But under that temper, he's fair. He may hate the idea of us together but I don't think he'll deliberate harm us."

Taking a deep breath, Dietrich said, "I pray you are right. I don't like cows."

---

Troy arrived early at the office the next morning, he and Dietrich having spent a restless night after Hitchcock's visit. Dietrich had headed for one of the construction sites upstate. Promptly at nine, Hitchcock walked into his office, laid a single sheet of paper on his desk and, before Troy could say anything, marched back out. Troy sprang up, ready to follow, only to have the door blocked by Linda, his secretary and two men in suits.

"Mr. Troy, these two men are with the State Department, they said they have an appointment."

Kicking himself for having forgotten about the government visit, Troy had to resist the urge to ignore them. He took a deep breath and motioned them in. "Thanks, Linda."

The men entered far enough to let Troy close the door. Holding out his hand, one man said, "I'm Richard Anders. This is Thomas Milton."

The two were cut from the same mold, Troy noticed with amusement; both middle-sized, middle-aged and dark-haired. The unthreatening kind of person best suited for this kind of work. Troy shook hands, then pointed toward two chairs that barely fit into the cramped office.

"Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"We know you're busy, Mr. Troy," Anders started. Pulling out something from his inside pocket, he held it toward Troy. "We'll get right to the point. Do you know this man?"

Taking the picture, Troy took a sharp breath as his jaw clenched. The man in the small black and white photo was Ernest Beckmann, ex-Nazi colonel. Glancing up at the two men, he said tightly, "Oh yeah, I know him. That's Colonel Beckmann. I had a few run-ins with him in North Africa."

Milton leaned forward, eyes now lighting intensely. "Would you be willing to identify him official?"

"I've already done that once," Troy snapped. "What's going on?"

"Beckmann was being held as a war criminal after your testimony in 1943, sir," Anders picked up. "But he managed, during the turmoil in the African campaign..."

"You lost him," Troy realized sarcastically.

"He pulled the same trick he'd tried with you, taking another prisoner's place," the agent admitted. "With trying to keep track of all those prisoners, he effectively got lost in the shuffle. After the war, he was released."

"Damn," Troy uttered.

"We've recently located him and have him under surveillance. With your positive ID we can bring him in and turn him over to the War Crimes Commission."

"Bring him in?" Troy demanded. "You mean he's here?" Before either man could answer, Troy waved them off. "I don't want to hear it. Just tell me what I have to do."

Troy noted the relieved glances between the two men. "If you could come to the office and swear out an affidavit," Anders said.

"Now?" As much as Troy wanted Beckmann back behind bars, he desperately wanted to talk to Hitchcock.

"The longer we wait the greater the risk he'll get out of the country," Anders explained.

"Okay, okay," Troy agreed. Standing he reached for his hat. "Let's shake it."

On the way out he left word for both Dietrich and Hitchcock on where he would be.



"Thank you, Mrs. Kosky," Dietrich said politely after she explained where Troy had gone.

Puzzled over what the State Department needed that was so urgent, Dietrich resigned himself to waiting for his partner's return. Heading into their shared office, he rummaged over the messy desk, searching for the paperwork for the afternoons dock check. On top of the piles of paper, was Hitchcock's resignation. The resignation was neat, one line, didn't mention any reasons, just that he was resigning; he also gave two weeks notice. Dietrich almost smiled. Troy had been right about Hitchcock's sense of duty, he wouldn't say anything to anyone. While that much at least made him feel a little safer, he still didn't want to see Troy lose the man's friendship, not after all they had been through. He also felt a wave of loss himself. He liked Hitchcock, had since he'd seen the man's devotion to his fellows in North Africa, and even more so since he had joined them. They would never be as close as Hitch and Troy were, but Dietrich felt he was a friend.

Standing, Dietrich moved down the narrow hall to Hitchcock's office, squeezing past two clerks who smiled at him. Hitchcock's door was closed, which was unusual for the young man. Taking a deep breath, and wondering if this were a good idea, Dietrich knocked.

"Come in."

Hitchcock's sky blue eyes met his as he opened the door, then immediately flicked away. Dietrich ignored the wordless dismissal, closing the door quietly behind him. Not quite sure where to start, Dietrich paused to study the young man in front of him. The hangover Hitchcock was suffering was very obvious; he was pale, with dark rings under his eyes. A touch of pity and exasperation cut through Dietrich's original anger.

"What gave you the insane idea," he lied calmly, "that Sam and I might be more than just good friends?"

He was glad to see Hitch flinch slightly at the accusation in his voice. But the blond answered flatly, "What the hell difference does it make? I figured it out."

Dietrich purposely glanced down at the paper he had carried with him. "I'm sorry you feel this way," he said sadly. "Perhaps if you were to talk to Sam when he returns this afternoon."

Hitchcock only shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about." He looked up and the blue eyes, behind the gold rimmed glasses were distant, filled with more sorrow than hatred. "If that's all, Mr. Dietrich?"

Ignoring the comment to think about what the young man's expression told him, Dietrich asked, "Are you more upset because you think we might be lovers or because you think Sam lied to you?"

That hit home. Anger brought Hitchcock to his feet. "If that is all, Mr. Dietrich?" he repeated coldly.

Seeing that he was only making the situation worse, Dietrich started out. Stopping near the door, he put his hands behind his back. Honestly, he said, "I am sorry to lose you as a friend, Mark, but I am more sorry that you are willing to throw away Sam's friendship." He watched his emphasis on friend make Hitchcock flinch.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he returned to his office long enough to pick up his coat. He thought of delaying his drive to the docks, wanting to see how Troy was, wondering whether the try at reconciliation had been a good idea or if Hitchcock would only be more unreceptive when Troy returned. With a sigh, he started out, hoping the drive would give him time to think.

---

Troy stormed back into the office, going directly to Hitchcock's office without even noticing the closed door. The blond glanced up in complete surprise. "Troy," he snapped. "Whatever you want..."

Ignoring the sudden cold that the use of his name started, Troy leaned over the desk, putting himself nose to nose with Hitchcock. "Colonel Beckmann is in town and has been following me. He's probably seen you too."

Hitchcock blinked at him, startled by the complete change in subject. "Beckmann? How..."

Waving it off, Troy said harshly, "The State Department decided that using us as bait was the best way to track him. But they've lost him as of this morning, so out of the goodness of their hearts they decided to let me know, in case he tried something."

"Tried something?" Hitch repeated. "But why? There were lots of other people who saw him in Africa, after we got the right picture."

Troy took a deep breath. "I know, but a lot of the men at that hearing didn't come home. Besides the four of us, only two others can actually testify that he is Beckmann."

Hitch sat down, forgetting that he was supposed to be angry at Troy. "Think Tully and Moffitt are okay?"

"Yeah," Troy explained. "Beckmann's been here for nearly six months after slipping away from the Russians. They think he's trying to collect some money from a group of sympathizers before disappearing to South America. He's traveling under a Swiss passport. If we, if I couldn't identify him right away, they were afraid he would slip away."

"And he takes the money and disappears forever," Hitchcock concluded.

"Yeah," Troy answered.

There was a moment of silence, and in that instant, Troy saw Hitchcock's earlier anger return, though it was touched with confusion this time. He waited, letting his young friend work through his reaction, both now and the night before. When the blue eyes connected with his, they were, much to his dismay, filled with more than just anger, the betrayal was back as well.

"Okay, Sar... Mr. Troy," Hitchcock said tightly. "I've been warned. I'll be careful."

"Hitch..."

"Is there something else you needed?" The voice was cold again, though it seemed to Troy that the chill was more forced now, not as deep.

Deciding he had nothing to lose, Troy sat down, then asked quietly, "What made you think..."

"I've had this conversation with Dietrich already," Hitchcock said firmly. "And you have my resignation."

With that final word, the hard eyes turned to the paper on the top of his desk. Troy knew enough to know when to leave it. Part of him still wanted to believe that everything would be all right, that Hitchcock would see past all the lies and myths, would remember shared dangers and friendship. But for now, Troy accepted that Hitchcock would need time to find his way past the anger. That thought stopped him. Why was Hitchcock so angry? Disgust, he would have expected, even hate, but so far what he sensed was betrayal and anger.

Standing, he said, "Think this over, Hitch. I don't want..."

Hitchcock was ignoring him. Nodding, Troy left the small room, idly noting the thunderstorms outside the window. He frowned; normally he liked storms, but today they seemed to reflect the forbidding mood that filled his world.

---

A slight chill snaked its way down his back, bringing Troy's thoughts away from Hitch and Beckmann. He glanced down at his watch. It was almost three. Dietrich should have been back just after lunch. Frowning, he hit the intercom.

"Sarah, did Hans say if he were stopping anywhere besides the docks?"

"No, Sam," the secretary answered back. "Do you want me to check with the dock foreman?"

It was silly, Troy knew, to worry about a grown man, an ex-Panzer captain, being a couple of hours late. Shaking his head, he realized that as transparent as he was being, it was amazing more of the staff hadn't figured out the same thing Hitch had. "No..." Another chill went down his back. The hell with propriety. "Yeah, do that, Sarah. That old truck hasn't been running that well lately."

He turned his attention to the papers in front of him. With all the sudden strange developments in the past day, nothing had gotten done. With a sigh at his hatred of paperwork, he picked up the first stack. A slight smile touched his mouth; he could chide Dietrich later about being gone, maybe get him to catch up with the office work.

Half an hour later, the phone rang, jarring him out of drifting thoughts again. Rubbing his face, he reached for the phone. "Troy," he said crisply.

"Troy..." Dietrich started, voice tight and worried.

Before the German could say anything else, another voice cut in. "Greetings, Sergeant Troy."

The warning chill he'd had all day now settled into his veins, turning his blood to ice. He knew this voice, remembered pain and darkness and a hatred that was nearly all consuming. "Beckmann," he growled.

"So good to know you remember me," the man said smoothly. "Now, I have something you would probably like back - your partner. It's very simple. I need to get out of the country, so I am willing to sell him to you for $500,000. Bring it to 12325 115th Street by 6:00."

The connection clicked dead, leaving Troy too stunned to move. Fear and disbelief warned for control, with fear winning. Pushing out of the chair, his only thought was to get to the bank. Training and instincts he'd not used in years stopped him. Taking a long, deep breath, he sat back into the squeaky chair. He forced himself to calmly look at the situation as he would have any mission. Beckmann had Dietrich. A sharp pain raced through his system at that mere thought. Unconsciously, he raised his hand to the old scar under his ear, heard again the shouted questions, felt the riding crop bite into his skin. His mind supplied him with the frightening image of Dietrich crying out in pain. He shoved the thought away. Beckmann had asked for a small enough amount that he would have no problem getting the money on very short notice. The Nazi colonel was rushing things so that he would have no time to bring in the authorities or to think through his options.

He had no doubt about what Beckmann really wanted - him, dead. There was also no doubt about Dietrich's fate if he paid. Beckmann would not leave any witnesses. A smile, cold and hard, touched Troy's features. They had done it before. All he needed was help.

---

A hard shove staggered him and he hit the wall he couldn't see. Dietrich slipped toward the floor, unable to stop himself with his hands bound behind his back. Hitting the cold floor, he took a deep breath to steady himself. The blindfold, combined with the dizziness from being hit on the head, was disorienting. From the conversation he had heard when he'd been forced to make the phone call, it was obvious that the man holding him and Troy knew each other. The strong German accent was unmistakable, leaving Dietrich to assume their previous meeting must have been during the war. Troy and he talked about their part of the war easily now but Dietrich knew there was much left unsaid about the rest of the years.

A chair scraped against floor. "So then," the man said conversationally. "How did a fine German officer come to be partners with a man like Sergeant Troy?"

Contempt dripped over the name Troy, which sent a wave of anger through Dietrich. Fighting down his first impulse, which was to tell the man what he thought of him, Dietrich considered his options. He shifted, trying to relieve the pressure on his wrists. The only change was that the ropes cut deeper.

A slap snapped his head around, driving his cheek into the smooth stone wall. "Silence will not help you," the man said coldly.

Dietrich's present faded around him, taking him into darkness and fear - a fear he had hidden many times, fear for Troy, fear over losing the man he loved. The fear snapped him back to reality, and he knew with complete certainty that this man intended to kill Troy.

"I didn't realize this was an interrogation," he answered calmly. Knowing that might gain him another slap, he continued quickly, "We were enemies in Africa. During the fighting I came to know him rather well. He was an honorable soldier. After the war, he offered me a position."

He tensed, waiting for another hit, but the man only laughed. "Americans know nothing of honor."

"If that is the case," Dietrich argued, "why are you counting on Troy paying the ransom for me?"

"He needs you," the voice said just as reasonably. "You are obviously the mastermind behind the business. He can't afford to lose you."

"You think he is stupid enough to risk his life for money?" Dietrich returned.

"Yes," the man answered with a slight chuckle. "Money is the only thing Americans understand."

---

"I need your help," Troy said firmly as he opened the door into Hitchcock's office.

Hitchcock came to his feet, his temper flaring. "Look, I'm not going to tell anyone, I'm going to work out my two weeks, so why don't..."

"Beckmann has Hans."

Hitchcock staggered to a stop and Troy leaned over the desk toward him. "Beckmann's making it look like a kidnapping. I deliver the ransom in two hours or he kills Hans."

"Why?" Hitchcock questioned, anger over the other question momentarily forgotten. "You're the one.... Bait."

Straightening, crossing his arms in front of him, Troy said, "Yes. And I'm going to take it. I know Beckmann though, he'll try to kill us both. I need you to act as backup, to help me get Hans out of there."

The younger man sat down slowly, gaze locked with Troy's before flicking away. A long minute passed with neither of them moving, finally, Hitchcock said, "You guys are... screwing, aren't you?"

Startled by the question, Troy felt his jaw clench. "What the hell difference does that make now?" There was no answer, only the nervous blue eyes that refused to met Troy's. Anger flooded through Troy, followed by a wave of disappointment. He stepped forward, voice low and dangerous. "Do you really hate us that much?" His voice rising, he gestured impatiently. "All right, maybe you don't owe Hans anything, but you owe me! I carried you into a German aid camp; offered you the last of the water when you..."

His statement died off. He had promised himself he would never do that, would never make his friends feel indebted over anything that had happened during the war. At that moment, he desperately wanted to ignore the promise, but he couldn't. Troy took a deep breath, twisted the hat in his hands and turned slowly for the door. "Don't be here when I get back."

Slamming the door with considerable force, he headed to the parking garage. Once behind the wheel of his truck, he let despair take him. Leaning forward, he rested his head against the steering wheel. It had been a long time since he had felt this helplessness, this impotent anger. A wry, sad smile touched him. Most of the times when he had felt this way, it had been because of the man he was so desperately trying to rescue. He refused to think about what his life would be like without his tall German.

The passenger door jerked open and Hitchcock jumped in. Meeting Troy's eyes, he said, "Drive."

---

"Do you intend to kill me also?" Dietrich questioned with as much neutrality as he could manage.

"Where did you serve, Herr Dietrich, besides Africa?" the voice questioned.

Seeing no purpose to the question, Dietrich answered flatly, "Sicily, then Cassino after North Africa."

"No, Herr Dietrich, I do not intend to kill you. You are a fellow Wehrmacht officer, a veteran of the Third Reich. If everything goes as planned, I will kill Troy, take the money and escape this country. Your location will be made known. A few hours of discomfort only."

Dietrich took a deep slow breath, fighting the chills caused by the blatant talk of killing Troy. He thought once again of snapping a question, of asking the man who he was and did he expect Dietrich to sit calmly while his partner was killed. Before he could do anything a rough hand grabbed his chin, forced it up. Something cold and metallic touched his lips as he tried to jerk away.

"It's only water, Dietrich," his captor explained.

Relenting, he took a few swallows of the warm water. He was eerily reminded of the canteened water that had kept him alive in the desert. As he finished the water, the grip returned, harder, forcing his jaws apart. A tight gag was shoved through his teeth and tied behind his head. An instant later he knew he was alone in the room. He struggled for a minute against the ropes before giving it up as useless. Leaning back against the wall, he forced his spinning thoughts to the problem.

The fact that he was blindfolded was a good sign his captor actually did intend to turn him loose. It didn't matter. He knew Troy wasn't stupid; he wouldn't just walk into the trap without a plan. At the same time as Dietrich took comfort in that fact, he admitted to himself that were their situations reversed, he would give the man anything in return for his lover's release.

---

"Back door?" Hitchcock suggested as they drove slowly past the address.

"Or a window," Troy countered.

They circled the block of old apartment buildings. Most were uninhabited, but a few still showed a light or two. The one they were checking had a single light shining on the first floor. Coming to the corner, Troy stopped. Pointing to the glove compartment, he said, "My service pistol is in there."

Nodding, Hitchcock opened it and took out the weapon.

"It's the only one we have," Troy reminded him quietly, not liking the idea of going in unarmed but seeing no other option.

Hitchcock gave him a quick, feral smile, reached into his coat, and produced a weapon. "Brought my own," he explained.

Chewing thoughtfully on his lip, Troy fell back on old habits, outlining the quick plan. "Find the light switch, it should be on the first floor, probably in the hall. When you hear me yell, hit the switch."

A worried look touched the younger man's face. "What are you going to do?"

With a shrug, Troy said, "Get as close as I can to Hans, then grab him as I yell. Then we just hold out until the police get here."

Hitchcock took a sharp breath. "That's not a very good plan, Sarge."

Putting on his best, I'm-in-charge look, Troy demanded, "You got a better one?"

"Same old thing, huh, Sarge," Hitchcock said, shaking his head.

Looking over at him, Troy said seriously, "Hitch, we get Hans out. That's the mission on this one - get him out."

The light blue eyes studied him. After a long minute, Hitchcock nodded. "We'll get him out."

Encouraged by the sincerity in the stern voice, Troy ordered, "Five minutes."

Shoving the gun in to his coat, Hitchcock stepped into the night. Troy started the car, easing it around the corner and toward the front of the building. There was a chill creeping up his back very much like the one he had felt during that long cold night in Berlin, not knowing if Dietrich were dead or alive, not knowing if they could save him or not. A brief smile touched his lips. It had taken only three of them to outwit the SS; this time there was only one Nazi colonel up against two of the Rat Patrol. They would pull this one off. He refused to consider anything else.

Parking, he counted off the five long minutes, picked up the briefcase and went toward the door. The front door opened to reveal what had once been a beautiful, large entrance hall. Remnants of tile mosaics still covered the floor. On the right a large marble staircase dominated the room, still beautiful despite missing several steps and part of its railing. There was a hole under the stairs where a cloakroom used to be. Troy noticed all of this in one quick glance before all his attention turned to the center of the room.

Dietrich was sitting on the floor, up against the fall wall, blindfolded and gagged. Relief washed through Troy as he saw him move, struggling against the ropes. Forcing his vision away from the welcome sight of his lover alive, Troy scanned the rest of the floor. The shadows were too deep to penetrate, leaving him unsure of who was nearby. The upper level, however, was open to the first floor, which meant that Hitchcock had a good view of everything. For just an instant he wondered if Hitch would be there. The thought vanished as soon as it formed - he would be there.

Staying to the shadows, Troy called out, "I'm here."

The only answer he received was an increase in Dietrich's frantic struggles. Troy's jaw tightened.

"Sit still, Dietrich," he ordered. "I'll have you out in a minute."

"Step into the light."

Walking calmly, into the light, Troy said, "All right, Beckmann, I'm here and I have the money."

"Very good, Sergeant. Place the money on the floor and kick it toward the right wall."

Troy kept slowly moving forward, knowing the next few minutes were the most dangerous. Ignoring Beckmann's command, Troy started toward Dietrich, fiddling with the case as he did. "I'm not stupid, Beckmann. I know you want me dead." Ten feet separated him from Dietrich.

"Stand still!" Beckmann shouted.

Eight feet. He popped open the locks on the case, revealing an empty interior. "No money until Hans is out of the room. The money is in the car. We both go out. I leave the money on the curb."

"No, Sergeant..." Troy heard the hatred and anger, knew -

"Hitch! Now!"

He lunged, grabbed Dietrich's arms, took them down, rolling. Pain ripped along his shoulder as darkness covered the room, punctuated by flashes of gunpowder. Bullets hit the wall where they'd been, more answered from near the door. Trying to cover Dietrich and move them out of the area, Troy heard a different gun firing upstairs. Trusting Hitchcock's fighting ability, Troy practically threw Dietrich into the deeper darkness under the stairs. More shots sounded from upstairs, bullets striking the wall where Dietrich had been a heartbeat before. Troy followed Dietrich into the meager safety, landing on the floor with a gasp.

Ominous silence filled the room. Spinning Dietrich around Troy jerked out his pocketknife and cut the ropes away from the narrow wrists. Dietrich jerked the gag down.

"Who is that?" he demanded of Troy.

"Colonel Ernest Beckmann," Troy growled. Raising his voice, he called out, "Hitch?"

"Yeah, Sarge?" came the immediate reply.

"You okay?"

"Fine," Hitchcock assured him. "But I've lost Beckmann."

Troy took a sharp breath. He and Dietrich were under the main staircase, but there would be the backstairs and the fire escape. A very familiar tingling started along his back. He touched Dietrich's arm, making sure he was okay. A hand covered his, just as silent in reassurance.

"Just like old times," Troy commented quietly.

"Speak for yourself," Dietrich admonished. "I personally have never been stalked by a crazed Nazi colonel."

"We need a safer position." Even as he said it he started to move, and a strong hand grabbed his arm.

"We got to find out where he is," Dietrich insisted.

Despite the danger, Troy almost smiled; Dietrich's English started breaking down when he was hurt or tired. "You are not going to do anything," Troy snapped. "You aren't even armed!"

A single shot sounded above them, then silence. Troy resisted the urge to call out, the more he did that the more likely he was to give away both his and Hitch's positions. The total dark that had followed the lights out was now giving way to dim streetlight through shattered windows. Troy crouched, one hand still on Dietrich's arm, thinking.

Dietrich spoke first. "I can help distract him, at least, while you and Hitchcock close in."

Another shot hit the wall far closer to their position than Troy wanted to think about. With a short breath, he said, "Okay. See if you can get him talking. I'm going to slip out and go upstairs, that's where the shots are coming from."

The hand over his tightening for just an instant. "Be careful."

With a cocky tone, Troy said, "Always."

"Beckmann," Dietrich called.

Troy sprinted into the dark, tuning out Dietrich's voice, all his senses keyed to the floor above, to finding Beckmann and Hitch. Shapes appeared in the darkness, were identified and dismissed. He reached the top of the stairs, stopped, partially hidden by the still strong square banister post. Downstairs, he could hear Dietrich continuing to try to reason with Beckmann, telling him that it would be better to surrender. A barrage of shots exploded not thirty feet from where Troy was crouched, cutting off Dietrich's voice.

For a fraction of a second, Troy stared into the darkness, making sure of his target. The muzzle flashes had been over the rail, pointing down. Hitch would not fire in that direction. Coming slowly to his feet, he raised his gun--and a shadow moved directly opposite--Hitch. Troy frozen, unable to risk firing; if Beckmann moved, Troy's shots would hit Hitchcock.

"Hitch! Down!"

Five years had not blunted the reaction time to that command. Through the gloom, he saw Hitch hit the dirty wood floor, at the same instant as Beckmann whirled toward Troy. The shots sounded as one and Troy felt the bullet tug at his sleeve. His aim was perfect and the Nazi colonel crashed to the floor. Troy sprinted forward, gun still on the downed man; from the other side, Hitchcock also approached with drawn gun. One glance was enough to tell them that Beckmann had finally gotten the justice he deserved.

"Hitch, get the lights," Troy ordered. "The police should be here any minute. Even in New York, that was a lot of shooting."

Without waiting for the lights, Troy shoved his gun into this coat and turned for the stairs. "Hans..."

The lights flashed on.

"Jesus Christ," Hitch said from above.

Troy looked up to see shock on Hitch's suddenly pale face. Following the stricken gaze down, he felt his chest constrict. Dietrich was lying next to the wall, slightly on his side, his left arm under him A wide pool of blood decorated the filthy tiles around him and splattered the yellowing wallpaper. Troy stood, breath and movement impossible. His vision narrowed down to the blood, more blood then he remembered seeing in the hot Sahara sands. Somewhere in the darkness he heard Hitch yell about an ambulance. He didn't feel himself move, didn't feel the near-stumble down the stairs, but suddenly he was reaching a hand out to the still body, praying for a pulse.

"Don't be dead... Please... You better not be dead, damnit," he said hoarsely. A pulse beat softly under his fingertips and Dietrich moaned. The sound broke through Troy's shock. "Hans, thank God."

Ripping off his jacket, he threw it over Dietrich. One hand dug into his jeans pocket, searching for a handkerchief while the other felt along Dietrich's back, trying to find the source of the blood. "You're going to be okay," he said firmly. "You're not going anywhere."

"Sam..." Dietrich whispered.

Troy shifted, nearly lying on his side to see into the dull brown eyes, his hand tight on Dietrich's shoulder. "I'm here. I'm here. There's an ambulance..."

"Okay?" Dietrich's smooth voice was soft and faraway.

"We're okay," Troy assured him.

Troy's hand found the small hole in Dietrich's back. Thankfully, it was not near his spine and too low to be in his lung, but he was bleeding heavily. Troy pressed down hard, and Dietrich arched back.

"Sam...hold..."

Dietrich didn't finish his request, but Troy knew what he wanted, needed. For a fraction of a second Troy resisted moving him, knowing it might make it worse, but they both needed to hold on, both needed to know the other was there. Troy curled his legs under him and slipped his arms gently under Dietrich's back, lifting him, resting his lover against his chest, dark head under Troy's chin.

"I've got you," Troy assured him, stroking the sweat damp hair. "Hold on to me. I'm not going to let you go. Just like Berlin, I'm not going to let you go."

A soft sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh echoed through the darkness. Troy looked down at the man he loved; there was sorrow in Dietrich's dark eyes. "It will... never be over.… They will never leave us.... alone.…"

"No," Troy said firmly, fighting the tears that were threatening his voice. "It is over. I don't care if we have to live alone on some desert island, no one--no one--is going to take you away from me."

Dietrich's hand moved, and Troy took it, bringing it to his lips, pressing it tight to his cheek, offering his love as strength. The sable eyes were filled with pain, but there was love shining behind it.

"Stubborn... American..." A moan escaped Dietrich's white lips.

"You're going to be okay," Troy said, knowing he was repeating himself, knowing he had to believe the words. "Hitch is waiting outside for the ambulance. This isn't North Africa or Berlin. We'll have you in a hospital..."

"Hitch doesn't... hate you," Dietrich whispered, hand tightening weakly around his. "It's just difficult... finding out your... hero isn't perfect."

Pulling him tighter, Troy kissed him tenderly, fingers soothing over his cheek, brushing at the pain caused tears. "Loving you is the only perfect thing I've ever done." When a slight smile touched the pale face, he added, "Okay, except for a few of those explosions, they were pretty good."

"...love you," Dietrich whispered, barely able to give sound to the words.

Troy's mouth touched softly over Dietrich's lips. "I love you."

Dietrich only smiled, his sable eyes drifting closed, head falling against Troy's chest.

"Hans...." Troy pleaded, fingers tight around Dietrich's wrist. "Hans." Tears flooded his throat. The pulse under his fingertips was growing fainter and he wrapped the limp body closer. "Goddamnit, Dietrich, you can't die!"

The doors behind him crashed open and a minute later they were in an ambulance speeding toward New York General.

---

Someone took his wrist, steadied his hand and put a cup of coffee in it. Troy stared at the paper cup for a minute, then looked up at Hitch sitting next to him in the cramped waiting room. He had not even realized the man was with him.

"Thanks," he said quietly, sipping at the hot liquid. It wasn't very good but it eased the tightness in his throat.

He glanced up at the clock. It was barely seven o'clock. They had been in the hospital only an hour, yet it seemed as if he'd been waiting forever. Troy jumped as a child suddenly began wailing in the chair across from him. A hand touched his arm.

"Come on, Sarge," Hitch urged. "Let's go someplace quiet."

Troy shook his head. "No. I want to be here when the doctor comes out."

"I'll leave word at the desk," Hitch said gently. "They'll find us."

Another stretcher rushed past them, carrying a pregnant woman. At the desk someone was arguing with the nurse. The child was crying now, tired and irritable. Troy nodded, suddenly liking the idea of someplace quiet. Hitch stepped away. When he came back, Troy rose and followed him down the hall. He stopped as Hitchcock opened the door, surprised to find himself being led to the chapel. It was dark, quiet, and deserted though, so he took the refuge. He walked down the aisle, sat on the hard pew near the wall, in the shadows. Hitchcock followed him. The dark and silence were a balm on Troy's nerves and he took a deep breath, sighed it out slowly. They sat that way for a long time.

"You really love him, don't you?" Hitch asked finally.

Troy stared at the floor for a minute. There was no denying it. And he found, with the feel of Dietrich's fragile body still in his mind, he didn't want to. "Yeah, guess I do."

That brought a thoughtful look to Hitchcock's face. After a long silence, he said, "I guess I never thought about men like ... like... um, you know, being in love."

A blush crept up Hitchcock's fair face and Troy laughed quietly. "Guess I never thought about it much either, until it happened."

"How long have you and Dietrich been together?" Hitch asked softly.

A dozen possible answers filtered through Troy's tired mind; since a moonlit desert night, since their first meeting, since before they had even seen each other. "Since Berlin," he finally said.

Hitchcock stared at the dark wood floor. Sadness joined Troy's worry. He had always loved Hitch like a little brother; it hurt to think that he was going to lose him.

"Hitch, I ..."

"Dietrich asked me," Hitch cut in, "if I was more upset over you two being... together or over being lied to."

"What was your answer?" Troy asked.

"One takes some getting used to," Hitchcock admitted. "The other really did piss me off."

"I'm sorry," Troy sighed. He was not good at apologies. "Seems like lies always backfire, doesn't it?"

Hitchcock looked up at Troy, candlelight reflecting off his glasses. "I guess I understand why you did it."

"Thanks."

A blush again colored the fair face, and Hitch said, "You're going to think this is really dumb."

"If it's about men like Hans and me," Troy volunteered, "it probably is and I've probably already heard it."

"Well," Hitch was now a deep shade of red, "I heard that a man could be turned into a... like that by being, uh, sodomized by another man."

Despite the serious of situation, despite the pain that was echoing through his heart and shoulder, Troy was forced to clamp down hard on a laugh. "Turned, huh? That's a hell of an idea." Light dawned, and Troy couldn't control his slight laugh this time. "That's why you were so mad at Hans! You thought... Hans....! Shit... "

After an embarrassed moment, Hitch joined in the laughter. "I guess that was kind of stupid."

Silence feel again, and Troy momentary amusement died as he glanced at his watch. "Damn," he said quietly. "He's got to be okay."

An arm went around his shoulders, drawing a barely hidden flinch. "You always said Dietrich was one tough SOB. Take more than one bullet to get him."

"Yeah," Troy admitted. "But he's taken a lot more than one in his life."

"Sarge," Hitchcock once again ventured a question. "Was... is Hans the only..."

"Yeah," Troy said. Feeling a blush of his own, he admitted, "After the first time with Hans, I thought of asking Moffitt, out of curiosity. Never did work up the nerve though."

"Did you ever think about..."

Troy didn't even give Hitch a chance to finish the question. Leaning away in outrage, he said, "Hell no! That would have been like asking my brother!"

A warm smile touched Hitchcock's face. Shyly, Hitchcock continued asking all the questions that Troy had asked his own brother once, repeating some of the same bullshit that Troy had believed before David and Dietrich had shown him the truth. And Troy found himself telling the whole story, from the night in the tent to the startling realization in the Berlin cell. The time passed faster, through with each tick of the clock, Troy's worry deepened.

He stopped up, paced away. "Damnit, I should have killed Beckmann when I had the chance! I've got to find out what the hell is going on!"

"Sarge." Hitch followed him up, grabbed his arm but he shook it off.

"It's been nearly three hours!" Troy complained. "They must..."

"You must be Mr. Troy," a calm voice said from the door.

Troy snapped his attention away from Hitchcock to the man standing just inside the small chapel. He was wearing a doctor's smock with a stethoscope around his neck.

"I'm Troy."

The man came forward, extended his hand, which Troy took on reflex. "I'm Dr. Morris, head of surgery," the man explained in a thick Boston accent. "I just received a report on..."

"Is he alive?" Troy demanded.

Morris smiled, obviously used to the question and pleased with the answer he could give. "Yes, Mr. Dietrich is alive and doing well."

Troy closed his eyes, thanking God for suddenly returning his life to him. He took a very deep breath and let relief wash through him. A hand slapped his arm and he half-turned to find Hitch smiling broadly at him. "See," the younger man said cheerfully, "nothing to worry about."

"Actually," Dr. Morris added, "getting shot very probably saved his life."

"What?" Troy asked, very confused.

The doctor reached into his coat pocket and offered something to Troy. Holding out his hand, Troy stared at the small piece of metal Morris dropped in it. He looked up at the doctor, shaking his head.

"That's a piece of shrapnel," Morris explained. "Probably left from whatever gave Mr. Dietrich the nasty scar. We found it when we x-rayed to locate the bullet. It was only a few centimeters from a main artery. He probably would have never known it was there--right up until it moved enough to puncture the artery, then he would have bled to death before anyone would have even known he was in trouble."

Troy stared at the small piece of metal, then slowly squeezed it tight in his fist. His legs wobbled just a little but he fought them under control. "What about this time? How bad is it?"

"Not bad at all actually," the doctor assured him. "He was in shock from the blood loss but once we got that taken care of he stabilized quickly. The bullet hit a rib and nicked an artery, but did little tissue damage. That little souvenir took us longer to take care of than the bullet. He should be up and about in a week, maybe ten days."

"I want to see him," Troy demanded.

"No," the doctor returned just as firmly. "He'll sleep through the night..."

Troy stepped forward, ready to argue, when Hitch grabbed his sore arm, forcing a gasp from between his teeth. Whirling around, Troy was ready to take on Hitchcock as well as the doctor. He never had a chance.

"Good grief, man, let's have a look at that," he said, reaching for Troy's arm. "Why didn't you see one of the nurses! There is blood..."

Looking a little sheepish, Troy admitted, "I forgot it was there." Defensively, he said, "It's nothing."

"I'll decide that!" Morris snapped.

"Yeah, Doc," Hitchcock offer helpfully, "it might be serious enough to keep him overnight, don't you think?"

"No, I don't...." Dr. Morris stopped, meeting the smiling look on Hitchcock's face and the scowl on Troy's. He shook his head. "I'll bet you guys served together. Yes, we'll probably have to keep you, Mr. Troy. I even know a bed I can give you."

As he was tugged out of the room, Troy turned far enough to smile back at Hitch, who winked at him. "Thanks, buddy. See you tomorrow."

"I doubt it," Hitch returned. "I'll take all your calls at the office."

Trying to look worried, Troy said, "Okay, but stay away from the Ridgeville site, they're dynamiting tomorrow."

---

The light was just at the edge of his consciousness, just within reach. Somewhere far away someone was calling to him but it wasn't the right voice. It was however, very persistent, and finally Dietrich managed to get his eyes open. He was lying on his side, propped up on pillows. The room was dark and he could hear the faraway sound of traffic. It was easy, even only partially aware to know he was in a hospital. He had an old familiarity with the places.

"Mr. Dietrich?"

The nurse smiled down at him and he squinted, trying to see beyond her. Troy had been with him, had held him. Troy, that was the voice he was waiting for, the voice that had called him out of darkness before.

"Sam?" he whispered hoarsely.

The nurse didn't answer, instead she offered him a spoonful of ice chips, which he took gratefully, letting them ease his too-dry throat. As soon as she removed the spoon, he asked again, "Sam?"

Smiling, the nurse stepped sideways and pulled aside the white curtain. Dietrich squinted. Troy was in the bed next to him, sleeping peacefully, a near smile on his lips. He was wearing a hospital gown over his pants.

Before Dietrich could ask, the nurse volunteered. "He sat with you for nearly four hours. Dr. Morris finally ordered us to give him a shot to get him to sleep. We told him it was a painkiller."

"Is he... okay?" Dietrich asked softly.

The nurse came back to his side and offered him some more ice. "He's fine. He has a bullet crease across the right shoulder, took a dozen stitches. He'll be sore but it's nothing serious."

"Hans?" a beloved voice questioned.

Dietrich shifted his eyes again, watching as Troy struggled into a sitting position. The nurse was at his side immediately. Troy's face took on his stubborn look as he prepared to fight her. Instead of arguing, the nurse merely lowered the bed rail and helped him up. Dietrich smiled at his lover's look of confusion as the nurse lowered him into the chair at Dietrich's bedside.

"Now," she said firmly, "I'm going to be back in twenty minutes to see that you're both back to sleep."

As soon as the door clicked shut, Troy was on his feet, lowering the rail on Dietrich's bed, sitting carefully next to his lover. He gently pressed a kiss to Dietrich's lips, hand stroking the slightly stubbled cheek. The touch was brief, light, full of love and relief. Dietrich smiled through the kiss, sighing at the feel of Troy's other hand carding through his hair. When Troy broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against Dietrich's for a moment.

"Goddamn, you scared me," Troy said softly, voice barely breaking. "I love you."

Dietrich looked up at the man who shared his life. Troy had the look of a man too long without sleep; there were dark circles under his eyes. But beyond the exhaustion, the sapphire eyes glittered with relief. That, more than anything, assured Dietrich that he was going to be all right. Dietrich tried to move his hand, could only manage to barely touch Troy's bad arm.

"And I love you," Dietrich said.

The lopsided grin met his gaze as Troy sat back into the chair. "I'm still trying to figure out if you're the luckiest or unluckiest bastard in the world."

Squinting at him, Dietrich managed to convey his confusion without words. Troy reached toward the small table by Dietrich's bedside, then took his hand, turned it over and dropped something in it. Dietrich brought his hand closer, examining the small piece of sharp metal. Before he could ask Troy repeated the doctor's story in a few short sentences. Silence filled the room as Dietrich stared at the piece of shrapnel.

"I think," he finally ventured, "that... God ... has a sense of humor."

Dietrich offered the object back to Troy. "What happened after...?"

"Long story," Troy said with a yawn. "And I think that nurse was serious."

"I love you," Dietrich repeated with a smile. "Go to bed, then go home."

Troy nodded, once more taking a quick kiss, before climbing back into his bed. Dietrich smiled. They had cheated fate once more.

---

Sighing contentedly, Dietrich watched Troy move away from the table, going to set the dishes in the sink. He was feeling good tonight, really well for the first time in the four weeks since the shooting. A smile touched his lips; well, and ready to show Troy exactly how well. Rising slowly, he came up behind his lover, reached over and sat his water glass in the hot water next to Troy's wineglass. He pulled his hand back just far enough to lay it on Troy's shoulder, stroking.

"No," Troy said firmly.

The response was expected and only made him smile. He leaned close, pressing Troy against the sink, kissing lightly along his shoulders over the soft blue cotton shirt. "If I am well enough to return to work tomorrow," he said quietly, "then I am well enough to make love to you tonight."

"That's what you said last week," Troy accused, sliding gracefully out of reach.

"That was a week ago!" Dietrich returned more sharply than he meant to. He hadn't been ready, just desperate, and had ended up paying for it. "I am fine now."

"You said that last week, too," Troy said loudly. "And spent the night curled up in pain."

Without looking at him, Troy abandoned the dishes and retreated toward the bedroom. Dietrich smiled, noting that he had escaped to their shared bedroom, rather than his own. Loosening the top two buttons on the black shirt he had worn just for tonight, he walked slowly into the other room. Troy was staring out at the stormy New York evening. Lightning danced on the rooftops, arched through the dark clouds. Without a single doubt, Dietrich knew Troy was thinking of another storm far away and long ago.

Straightening, Dietrich put his hands on his hips. He was more than familiar with Troy in this mood. It was the first thing he had learned of the American - how stubborn he could be! But two years together had taught him there were other ways to get Troy to do what he wanted. Dietrich went to the bed, rather than closing with his lover as he wanted.

"Very well," he said calmly, reaching for the belt over the tight black pants. "Then I will just have to make do on my own."

From across the room, he saw the lovely blue eyes light with surprise and suspicion. "You wouldn't," Troy denied. "It's not your style."

Dietrich fought back a smile as memories of a similar conversation came to him. "Don't bet on it."

A slight smile touched Troy's stern face as he also recognized the phrase. Now as then, he refused to give in. Dietrich only gave him a glare, as he had then, and turned slowly, very slowly, dropping the shirt off his shoulders. Half expecting the door to slam behind him, he glanced out of the corner of his eyes and saw that Troy was still standing near the window, not looking at him, but not leaving either. Dietrich made sure he eased the zipper down quickly enough that Troy heard it.

Troy's blue eyes flashed him a dare this time rather than disbelief. Smiling, Dietrich sat down, removed his shoes. He undressed slowly enough to be enticing, quickly enough to not give Troy a chance to consider leaving. The idea, which had seemed rather foolish, was starting its own kind of excitement. His cock was already half-risen just on the thought of trying to get Troy to bend that considerable will to him. He could feel those dangerous blue eyes watching him, but refused to look up.

Sitting down on the bed with a soft sigh, he reached across to the nightstand, pulling out the new tube of gel he had purchased just before the shooting. There was a barely audible sound of complaint from his lover but nothing else. Dietrich laid it on the bed next to him. Closing his eyes, he let his hands drift down his chest, over the smooth, insensitive scar, lightly touching both nipples before sliding lower to brush just once over his cock. Sliding his legs a little further apart, he let one hand card through the dark curls around his cock, while he moved the other back to the left nipple, pinching hard. A whisper of sound told him Troy was moving.

Barely opening his eyes, he watched Troy move very steadily toward the door. He moaned softly, and Troy stopped, whirling around then leaning back. Even from across the room, Dietrich could see the desire darkening the sapphire eyes, making Troy's breath come a little faster. He knew he had to make his move; Troy was on the edge, ready to bolt. Dietrich fingered the head of his cock, toyed with the rolled back foreskin. Sliding back into the bed, he bent his knees, let one hand grip his hard shaft while the other teased around the tight entrance to his body.

"Sam..." he whispered.

There was no way that Troy could ignore that single word spoken in that tone of voice. The beautiful eyes closed and Troy took a deep breath. But he still resisted. Dietrich moved his hand slowly along his cock, and nearly smiled. Troy had long ago given away what he thought Dietrich's most sensuous feature was.

"When it rained like this at Miss Ruby's," Dietrich said smoothly, softly, wielding his voice like a hypnotic device, "I would think of you. I'd remember the taste of your mouth in the desert night, the blue of your eyes when you defied me, the flex of your muscles when I held you."

His hand moved a little more insistently, his voice going very low, almost subliminal. "Mostly I would remember that single stormy night when we were one. The feel of your body claiming mine..."

With a small whimper of defeat, Troy moved, though he approached with such hesitation that for a moment Dietrich wondered if he had been fair in his seduction. Then the small hands closed around his arms, and Troy knelt between his legs, eyes glittering with love.

"God, whatever made me think I could resist you," Troy admitted.

"A foolish error on your part," Dietrich said firmly, knowing they each still heard the word sergeant on the end of the statement.

Echoing Troy's laughter, Dietrich reached for him. But Troy gripped his wrists, held them down to the bed. Dietrich waited, knowing Troy was too far gone to turn away now. When the American pulled back, his expression was serious again.

"Okay," he agreed. "But we're gonna be careful. Which way is going to pull your muscles the least?"

With Troy within his reach, Dietrich felt like snapping that he didn't care. Remembering the anguish on Troy's face seven days before when the pain had made him cry out stopped Dietrich. He thought about it, watching Troy's handsome face, the soft, crooked smile, marveling again at how much he loved this man.

"Leaning against the bed," Dietrich said after a minute.

Without giving Troy time to think about it, Dietrich slid forward to the edge of the bed, putting his cock within easy reach of Troy's mouth. Smiling, Troy licked slowly across the swollen head. Dietrich moaned his approval. Troy's tongue traced down the large vein, licked up the hard, hot shaft, before sucking it deep into his mouth. Dietrich arched back, barely able to keep his movements under control. He took several deep breaths, holding still, entranced by the sight of his cock sliding through Troy's lips. The wet velvet tightened as he pressed slowly into Troy's throat, sliding against the hard tongue. His eyes drifted closed in pleasure. A strong hand rolled his tight balls and Troy began to suck. Dietrich groaned, nearly giving into the heat that was flaming along his nerves.

"Stop," Dietrich begged softly, tangling his hands in Troy's coarse, dark hair.

Troy's hand moved to replace his talented mouth, stroking hard and steady along Dietrich cock. "Why?" Troy asked, innocently.

"You are a devil," Dietrich accused. "Do you think I don't know what you are thinking?"

The infuriating, crooked smile was his only answer. Shaking his head, Dietrich let himself slide to the floor. Concern filled Troy's handsome face as he guided Dietrich down. Dietrich gave the slightly open lips a single kiss, then turned. Troy ran his hands down Dietrich's back in silence. Dietrich grabbed a pillow, covering his slight wince as he did and put it under his knees. The addition of the pillow gave him enough height that he could brace his thighs against the side of the bed and lean over it. Troy stroked lightly up his back, reached over and took the tube of gel, the other hand gently rubbing the still healing muscles. Dietrich sighed, feeling the tightness ease.

"Do you remember," Troy asked softly, "the first time I took you like this?"

The memory slipping into Dietrich's blood, raising his temperature almost as much as the steady petting of Troy's hands. He pushed away from the cool cotton quilt, urging Troy's hand around; the sure touch took his cock. Chuckling, he felt a slight flush warm his face and wondered, not for the first time, at his lover's ability to make him feel like a youth.

"I remember," he admitted smoothly, "that someone got carried away and managed to toss us both off the bed."

Troy leaned forward, molding his body to Dietrich's. "So, it was my fault?" Troy teased.

Dietrich shivered as the soft hair on Troy's chest tickling along his back and Troy's tongue traced the top of his shoulder. He started to turn his head, wanting to see the light in the blue eyes, but a slight tug on sore muscles warned him against the move. Instead, he answered calmly, "Naturally. I have far too much self-control to ever..."

He gasped as a single finger slipped into his body. The touch was fire, memories and promises. "Sam...."

A deep growl answered him and Troy kissed down his spine, each solid mark searing the flesh, fanning the embers. "Self-control my ass," Troy whispered playfully.

"No," Dietrich breathed, "unfortunately, not with your ass."

Dietrich barely heard Troy's deep chuckle, only knew the inferno that Troy's touch was fast building in his body. Another finger slipped through the tight muscle. Moaning softly, he shoved back again, begging for more. Desert wind and lightning filled his body. The narrow invader withdrew, then reentered, harder, carrying more gel, stretching, feeding the fire. Dietrich drew a deep breath, tried to control the shivers of anticipation.

"I love the feel of you under me," Troy whispered against his neck, kissing him slowly.

Muscled thighs pressed between his. Dietrich groaned as he felt the wide cock position itself. He took another breath, holding it, savoring the lust that burned through him as Troy pressed slowly in. A twinge of pain echoed along his stomach as he was entered; it was lost under the waves of flames that ignited each nerve. His world narrowed down to the place where he was joined with Troy, to the joy of being filled, body and soul. The taut balls pressed up against him. A deep moan sounded from the man sharing his love.

"God, Sam... Yes..."

"Damn, Hans, you're so good, everything with you is perfect..."

Troy slid back until only the large head of his cock held the muscle open. Dietrich groaned, savoring the slow thrust back in, the heat of Troy's cock joining the warmth of the oil, making Dietrich ache with need. He tried to push back, needing Troy deep within him. Troy kept his weight against him, refusing to let him move, hands holding his hips still.

"Easy, lover," Troy ordered. "Let me do it."

"Still giving orders. Sam, I need you... hard...." he begged. "Missed it..."

Soft kisses rained along his back, sending stream into his blood. "I'm driving here, buddy," Troy kidded quietly.

Dietrich took a deep breath, letting the fire steady. "Are all Americans so stubborn?"

"Are all Germans so impatient?"

By answer, Dietrich clamped his muscles around Troy's large cock, easing forward and back the few inches Troy would allow him. With a harsh breath, Troy shoved into Dietrich's willing body. Dietrich allowed himself a slight smile at breaking even that much of Troy's control. Before Dietrich could try anything else, Troy was moving, twisting deep into his body. Dietrich groaned, feeling the carefully controlled fires lick high under the hot wind. Thought and language vanished in the blue-white flames. Dietrich cried out, grabbing handfuls of the bedcover, begging for more as he tried to move back. The strong hands dug into his hips, held him as Troy began to move in long, deep thrusts.

The flames searing him did so with amazingly gentleness, Troy's hips moving just enough to friction along his nerves, not enough to fan any pain. Dietrich sighed, feeling the love in each slow impalement, in each flare. Troy moaned again, his rhythm changing, cock sliding faster now, though still carefully. The love evident in the control finished what the physical had started. Dietrich was suddenly there, falling into the inferno, the fire racing outward from his groin, consuming him. His muscles contracted and he cried out, arching back, only to be held down by Troy's strong hands. Troy's cock shoved deep into his body, his cry echoing Dietrich's. The love was almost a sob in both their voices.

Sheer exhaustion threatened hard on the heels of the ecstasy, pulling him toward limp lassitude. Stretching out his arms, Dietrich let his head fall toward the bed. He never made it. Troy pulled him up, around and into a tight embrace, claiming his mouth in fierce desperation. Dietrich gave himself to the kiss until he had to move back, panting for breath. To his amazement and horror, there were tears shining in Troy's eyes. Before he could speak, Troy wiped savagely at them, then once more pulled Dietrich hard to him.

"Don't ever, ever do that to me again," Troy growled.

There was no doubt in Dietrich's mind what he was talking about. He remembered a hospital room in Antwerp and a similar reaction he had experienced when told by Moffitt that Troy had survived his wound. With equal determination, he held Troy close and tight.

"I won't," he promised.

---

"Where are we going?" Dietrich demanded as Troy turned the truck east.

"To the office," Troy replied blandly, giving Dietrich a look that said he wondered about the man's sanity.

Taking a deep breath, Dietrich said calmly, "This is not the way to the office, Sam."

"Sure it is," Troy answered. "We finished the move last week."

"You moved the office!" Troy gave him that half smile again, and, as many times before, Dietrich didn't know whether to hit him or kiss him. "You could have informed me."

"Hey," Troy said lightly, "whose company is it anyway?"

Having no answer for that, Dietrich merely sat back for the rest of the very short ride.

Dietrich was pleased to note that it was one of the three buildings he and Troy had narrowed the search down to just before he had been shot. He also knew that there was a welcome back party waiting inside for him. Troy had made far too many phone calls from the hospital for him to not catch on. He had almost tried to dissuade his lover of the idea, but decided that perhaps they both needed a party after all they had been through. So, it was left for him to try to look surprised when the doors opened.

"Hitch managed to get an even better deal than the one we'd originally been offered," Troy said blandly, as they took the elevator up to the lobby from the parking garage.

"I am glad Hitchcock is going to work out," Dietrich said, smiling at Troy.

Troy returned the smile, both knowing that they weren't talking about the job. The bell chimed and Dietrich turned, ready to do his best acting. The doors opened and any thought of acting vanished under real shock. The lobby was packed, filled with far more people than just the office staff. Dietrich stepped off the elevator and was immediately hugged by a young woman.

"Birgit?" Dietrich asked.

"Ja, Herr Dietrich," she said as she dragged him further into the room.

He spotted more of his German office staff in the room, as well as many of the construction workers, looking distinctly out of place in suits and ties.

"You know, Troy, for someone recently shot, he doesn't look too awfully bad."

Dietrich whirled, to find himself staring at Professor Jack Moffitt. The tall Britisher laughed, offering his hand. "Hans Dietrich speechless, that was worth waiting for!"

Taking the man's hand, Dietrich smiled. Moffitt looked very much the same as he had four years earlier, only a touch of silver in the dark hair giving away the time past.

"Moffitt? Whatever..."

"Hidy, Captain," another familiar voice said from his left.

For the first time, Dietrich found himself facing the last of the Rat Patrol as a civilian. Tully Pettigrew still looked trim and tanned, at least from what Dietrich could see through the small herd of children surrounding him. For the moment, he couldn't think of anything to say. The others had known him in a situation other than North Africa; Pettigrew hadn't.

"I promise not to bite, Dietrich," the southerner said with a smile, extending his hand.

Shaking warmly, Dietrich suddenly found himself with one of the children wrapped around his leg. He smiled down at her, noting the familiar brown eyes and blond hair. Tully stepped forward and disengaged her from Dietrich's leg, then introduced each of the five children, one for each year he'd been home, minus one. As the introductions went on Dietrich found himself welcomed back by more people, some of whom he knew well and some of whom were new. He glanced around the room, looking for Troy, hoping for an explanation. When he spotted his lover, Troy was wrapped in a hug by his own mother. David Troy, very handsome in his RAF uniform, was standing next to them both, a hand on each shoulder.

"Still a handsome one, ain't he?" a voice said from behind him.

"Ja," the answer came in German. "I have always thought so."

This time he didn't quite complete the turn before he was swept into a bear hug. "Hans!"

"Mother?!" He grabbed his smaller, rounder mother in a hard hug, kissing her firmly on the cheek. "You flew over here? You got in a plane..." His attention was suddenly drawn to the other woman standing next to him. "Miss Ruby?"

"We really should stop surprising him," Moffitt said calmly, "or he may die of shock."

"Never saw him smile like that back home," Miss Ruby observed.

Giving his mother a final strong hug, Dietrich turned and lifted the small, southern lady into his arms. His smile only increased as he realized how careful he was being. Holding Miss Ruby after being hugged by his own mother was like handling a child. The woman returned his hold with surprising strength. Her words reached through his pleased shock and he realized how silly he must have looked, smiling like a crazy man. There was no time to think about it though as Troy suddenly appeared at his side, a tall, beautiful woman with him.

"Hans," Troy said with obvious pleasure, "I'd like you to meet my sister, Susan Troy."

Dietrich straightened, his smile fading into complete shock. For a fraction of an instant, Dietrich thought of coming to attention and kissing her hand as he had been taught to do; remembering her dislike of Germans stopped him. Troy's hand touched his shoulder.

"Susan, my partner, Hans Dietrich."

"I am very pleased to meet you," Dietrich said sincerely, half bowing despite his best intention.

She looked exactly like her mother, blonde, blue-eyed, with the same fire in the gaze that lit his lover's. For a moment, as years before Troy's mother had, she regarded him coldly.

"Thank you for saving Sam," she said. A slightly embarrassed half-smile touched her face and the chill faded. "I suppose I should have talked to you before this."

Hesitantly, Dietrich said, "I understand why you didn't."

Susan nodded. "Thank you."

They were both saved from terminal awkwardness by David grabbing her from behind. "Susie!"

Her younger brother dropped her just as suddenly, sprinting away, Susan in close pursuit. Dietrich turned to his smiling lover. Troy laughed. "She hates to be called Susie."

"I shall endeavor to remember that," Dietrich said seriously.

"Here you go, Dietrich," Hitchcock said as he suddenly appeared next to him. "Your morning coffee, just like normal."

Shaking his head, Dietrich told the young man, "I'd hardly call this a normal morning."

The unusual morning quickly turned to afternoon as the day was passed in warm friendship and small talk, in renewing ties and establishing new ones. During the whole time, Dietrich would suddenly find Troy beside him, and a quick touch to the shoulder would confirm the love he could feel from the man. As the caterers from his favorite deli were serving everyone, Dietrich found himself sitting on the bottom step of the stairs leading to a half-floor walkway. Troy came over and sat down next to him, following his gaze.

"What's so interesting?" Troy questioned.

"It has only just occurred to me," Dietrich said, "that my mother does not speak English and Miss Ruby does not speak German yet they have been together smiling and... talking the whole time."

Troy laughed. "My mom just joined them. I guess there are some things all mothers understand." He stood up, reached down. "Come on, time for the speeches."

Coming to his feet, Dietrich noted the devilish sparkle in Troy's eyes, and was immediately worried. "Speeches? At a welcome back party?"

The sapphire eyes went wide in faked surprise. "Welcome back party? Is that what you think this is? Do you think I'd spend this much money on something as simple as a welcome back party?"

Taking his arm in a firm hold, Troy pulled him to the top of the marble stairs. Their appearance caused the noise in the hall to slowly come to a stop. Troy smiled, a little uneasily, then turned to Dietrich.

"I'm not good at this sort of thing," he said, eyes holding Dietrich's gaze. "So, I'm just going to say this." Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a heavy fold of papers, held them out for Dietrich. "These are papers, changing Troy and Sons from a company to a partnership."

On that cue, Troy nodded toward a far wall where a white sheet was hanging. Dietrich looked up in time to see a beaming David pull off the cover to reveal a three dimensional sign anchored in the marble. On one end was a stylized globe in blue, next to it was Troy-Dietrich in bold black, on top of International. Quiet dominated the hall as Dietrich stared from the logo to the papers in his hand to Troy's smiling face. An absurd tightness took his chest. The conversation so long ago came back to him; Troy had found a way to share his name.

Clearing his throat, Dietrich struggled for words, much to Troy's amusement. "Sam, I ... I can't take this. Your brother, this is his..."

"Heaven forbid I get stuck with the bloody mess," David shouted. "He paid enough, believe me."

Laughter followed and under it, Troy said quietly, "Partners."

Dietrich met the sparkling blue eyes, remembered desert nights and Berlin winters, remembered the first night and the night only a few hours before. The love shining in all the memories and in the sapphire before him drowned any movement or thought.

From the back of the room, Miss Ruby yelled, "Jus' sign the papers, honey!"

The room again erupted in laughter. A pen, offered by Tully appeared in front of him. Taking it, carefully leaning over the polished wooden rail, Dietrich managed to sign despite his shaking hand. Straightening, he very formally handed the pen back to Tully and the papers to Troy. Cheers exploded in the room. There was the sound of a champagne cork giving way with a loud pop. Dietrich turned to find Moffitt holding the over-flowing bottle, grinning like a madman.

---

He collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh; Troy came down next to him. It had been a long, very emotional day. His face hurt from smiling so much. A hand touched his knee, then Troy's mouth pressed gently over his. Bringing his hands up, Dietrich ran them through Troy's dark hair, urged him closer. When they eased apart, they both yawned.

Troy's fingers traced Dietrich cheekbone. "You didn't plan for too much this week did you?"

"A few visits and trips is hardly...."

"A few?" Troy said in disbelief as he stood and started to undress. "Statue of Library with Miss Ruby, Tully's family and your mom; a night out with Birgit and Wilhelm; taking your mom and mine to the symphony, joining me and the guys for dinner; a day with Mom, David..."

Dietrich came to his feet, leaning forward and putting his hands behind his back. "And you are doing better? A night with that disreputable group of Rats; taking your mother and mine to a baseball game. Why a baseball game?"

"Hey, your mom's the one that asked," Troy defended.

"Ah, but you..."

He was cut off with another kiss, slow and lingering, filled with love. "I'm not the one that got shot, remember?" Troy said firmly.

"I love you," was Dietrich's response, fingers playing lightly along Troy's throat.

"I know," Troy grinned at him. Then, a surprisingly serious expression touched his face. "It won't be easy."

"How many times have we said that to each other?" Dietrich laughed, his deep chuckle bringing Troy's smile back.

"Yeah," Troy admitted. "Guess the easiest time we've ever had was when we were shooting at each other."

"If you think it would help," Dietrich volunteered, "I can take a few shots at you on weekends."

Stroking his cock through the thin pants, Troy said levelly, "I always liked your gun."

"Sam..." Dietrich gasped in only partial surprise as Troy moved toward the bedroom. "You are incorrigible."

The warming sound of Troy's laughter floated back to him. Smiling again, he reached for his tie as he followed Troy toward their bedroom. Standing at the door, watching Troy undress, he said softly, "Sam, I think I believe in happy endings now."

From across the room the sapphire eyes sparkled at him as they had in a Sahara night a lifetime ago. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

---

New York - 1969

He rolled over, reaching automatically for his lover and encountering only empty sheets. Troy opened his eyes. A familiar silhouette stood against the hotel's moonlit window. A smile touched Troy's lips. How many different ways had he watched that lean figure? Diving out of burning vehicles, ducking Troy's bullets, sitting on his favorite polo pony, on a fateful moonlit night in an Arab tent, and every night for twenty-one years. Sliding out of the bed, he came up behind Hans, wrapped his arms around his waist, kissed along his neck.

Troy moved to the window and asked softly, "Another dragon?"

"What?" Dietrich asked.

"Those riots," Troy explained, still stroking Dietrich's back. "You've been thinking about them."

"Sam," Dietrich straightened, turning in the circle of Troy's arms. "I don't approve of rioting, even when I understand the cause. I have been hoping that someone might organize a march or something more benign."

"Yeah, since King's been gone most protest have been anything but peaceful. Gays," he used the word hesitantly, "rioting in the street are something even King may not have known how to handle."

Dietrich was looking thoughtfully out the window again. "Joining this time could be even worse for business than last time."

"So we lost a few idiots over that last little hike," Troy waved it off.

"Selma to Montgomery is hardly a little hike," Dietrich said, offering a quick kiss to Troy's cheek.

Turning to stare into the bright New York night, Troy said, "That was very nice of you to offer Martha and Tully the use of the Miami place for a second honeymoon."

He could feel Dietrich's cringe of embarrassment. The man straightened, putting his hands behind his back. "It only seemed fair, with all the children married now, that they should have some time together."

"Country boy in the big city," Troy quoted his ex-driver's response.

He closed with Dietrich, running his hands this time under the terrycloth bathrobe. For a minute, he merely stood, letting himself feel the soft skin, the rough scars, the narrow hips. The tall German had changed so little, it seemed to Troy. He was still strong, lean, his rugged features highlighted now with silver in the dark hair and laugh lines around the full lips. The world had changed around them, with births and deaths, war and peace, sorrow, anger and more happiness than either of them would have ever thought possible. Throughout everything, their love remained.

"Hey," Troy said suddenly, thinking of changes, "That champagne you gave them, the one Moffitt sent to you. How come he changed the vintage he's been sending?"

Dietrich offered a slight shrug. "A '32 Ruinart was getting rather difficult to find, so I told him that I also enjoyed a '57 Desonge."

Troy shook his head. "I can't believe he can find the stuff at all, stuck in the middle of wherever the hell he is this year."

"Oman," Dietrich offered. "Moffitt's unexpected abilities always did seem your greatest asset."

Troy snorted. "Do I get any credit at all? First it was luck, now it's Moffitt..."

Dietrich closed, one hand tangling in Troy's hair, the other stroking along his cheek. Troy found himself caught by the love in the sable eyes. He studied the dark gaze, trying to remember the sorrow he'd seen on that first moonlit night. It was too long gone, lost to the joy that filled had filled twenty years. Troy urged Dietrich down into a slow, deep kiss.

A loving smile met his look. "What?" Dietrich asked.

"I haven't said thanks in a while," Troy told him. "For being mine. For making me yours."

Dietrich's eyes closed in silent joy, opened to glitter with love at him. "Sentimental Americans."

Poking him in the chest with one finger, Troy said, "Glad to see you finally got that right."

This time the German closed the distance, and they melted into a gentle kiss. Troy felt the heat every bit as strongly as he had on an unforgettable desert night. He tightened his hold around the German's lean waist, pressing him close.

"These riots, Stonewall," Dietrich said quietly. "They're the start."

"What?" Troy wondered.

"Rights, for people like us," Dietrich explained.

The absurdity of the idea brought a smile to Troy's face. "What happened to my pessimistic German?"

"He fell in love with an optimistic American," Dietrich said, kissing across Troy's cheeks.

"Are all Germans so talkative?" Troy asked lightly, one hand sliding under the bathrobe again, gaining a soft sigh from Dietrich.

"Are all Americans so crazy?" Dietrich returned the familiar line, leaning into Troy's hand.

"Only this one about a certain German," Troy finished. Raising Dietrich's hand, he kissed along the narrow wrist.

"Back to bed," Dietrich said, starting to move in that direction.

"Still giving orders, Captain?" Troy asked levelly.

Turning, Dietrich squinted down at him. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope," Troy answered happily.

With his hands behind his back, Dietrich said, "Come along, Sergeant."

Troy followed him a wide smile. He had a feeling the next twenty-one years would be as exciting as the first twenty-one.

THE END

---

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