"Cake…cake. Apricots, plums—ugh, more cake? Seriously?" Gilbert reached further into the refrigerator that was obviously not his, and groped around until he felt a plate he recognized. "Ooh, kaiserschmarrn!" Removing the plastic wrapper from the half-eaten pancake, he took a silver fork from a drawer and began picking at it. He contemplated drinking beer with his meal, but decided that it was perhaps best not to mix alcohol with this particular dish. At ten o'clock in the morning.

He left the kitchen and sauntered down the hallway, humming while he chewed the last of the pancake. This was the life—mooching off of your best friend's tasty cuisine and then pestering him about his obsessive cleanliness. Because of his total lack of sovereignty, he led a simple existence, mostly bunking in his brother's basement or visiting Roderich or Eliza. There was no way for him to go to war if he pissed anyone off, and the rest of the world had gained some respect for his fragile feelings when that damn wall went down. He had no power, and therefore no responsibilities. Awesome.

He finally came to the sweet wooden archway that led into Roderich's study. Peering in, he saw his friend seated at the piano bench as usual, a glass of water on a coaster beside his music. The Austrian looked dazed, unsure of how to continue on with his work. Was he composing another symphony? An opera, maybe? His hands moved to the keys, and began to play very softly, and hesitantly. The music sounded familiar; it was something Gilbert had heard before, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Suddenly the room fell quiet, and he heard Roderich sigh.

"Gilbert," Roderich said. The spy had been caught; Gilbert froze. "I know you're there, because your little fowl is sitting in the threshold." Sure enough, the small yellow chick had settled down on the carpet. "Make sure it doesn't defecate on the Bösendorfer again, please," he added with a spiteful tone.

"Grüß dich, Roddie," Gilbert muttered as he entered the room, lifting up Gilbird and setting him on his shoulder. The chick protested and flew back into the hallway. "You're feeling unusually cheerful today, I see." The Prussian leaned on the piano, receiving a warning glare from its owner.

"Your sarcasm is mirthful, it really is," Roderich said. "No, actually, Gilbert, I have a favor I need to ask of you."

"I'm intrigued. Go on."

"Well, it's about this music…I pulled it out, this morning, and I've been really fretting over it. I didn't even write it; Alfred Jones gave it to me a while ago." He sighed, gazing at the notes before him. "Can you believe it's been fifty-two years already?"

"I don't even know what music it is. Lemme have a look see." He walked around to the front of the piano and picked up the book, reading its cover.

The Sound of Music. Music by Richard Rogers. Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. Book by Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse.

"Why're you getting so worked up about a Broadway show? Go get out something up to your standards—Don Giovanni, or Le Nozze di Figaro or something." Gilbert set the book back on the music stand.

Roderich flipped open the book to a song near the back and pointed to it. Edelweiss—of course. "I hold this song very near and dear to my heart, you know. Alfred must have been thinking of me when he wrote it." He held the book to his chest with a look of adoration.

"I wouldn't be surprised…the musical was kinda about you," Gilbert said under his breath, unimpressed. His comment took Roderich from his trance and placed the stern expression back in its place. "So, what's the deal? Can't play it for fear of breaking out in tears?"

Roderich chuckled briefly. "No, I can play it. I just…I need someone to sing it."

"You sing it. Go on, you have the voice. You're classically trained."

"But…I'm a tenor."

Gilbert stared off into the distance, searching his long-lost musical vocabulary to remember why this was a problem. "I'll try to pretend what that means."

Roderich threw his palms up in exasperation and exclaimed, "You imbecile! Didn't Frederick teach you anything? A tenor is the highest male voice. You know, from Latin, tenere, which means "to hold"—because we hold the melody, like the sopranos do in female choruses."

Gilbert's head reeled, taking in the deluge of musical terminology. "Sorry, I don't remember my conformation classes."

The pianist glared at him and remained silent for a moment, then continued. "Anyway, I'm a tenor, and this song—in this particular key, anyway—is meant to be sung in a baritone register."

"So? What am I supposed to do about it?"

Roderich's face fell to his chest, and stayed there as he growled: "Because…you're…a baritone."

A spontaneous flash of brilliance caused several of the Prussian's white hairs to stand on end. "I get it! You can't hit the low notes!"

"It's not that I can't hit them—I can, easily—but my voice lacks the tone quality that yours has."

"Well, danke, Rod! I know my voice is awesome." Gilbert's ego shone like a halo around his head, and he belted out a low "la" that wavered in pitch before settling on a B flat.

Roderich shuddered upon hearing the poor intonation of the note, and wondered if he should allow this tone-deaf moron to make a mockery of his favorite show tune. He might as well give it a try; if all went to ruin, the sour memory could soon be washed away with a performance of his private chamber orchestra; a stirring rendition of Die Zauberflote might accomplish the job. Besides, if Gilbert's voice had any promise, Roderich's superior talent might improve upon it, and teach him the ways of the grand staff.

"Gilbert, have a seat," he said gently, patting the velvet bench. "Right here." The albino did as told, crossing around Roderich to plop down next to him. He leaned over the piano, studying the notes on the sheet music. "Sit up straight," Roderich commanded, locking Gilbert's spine into an erect, upright position with his hands. "That way, you can take in more air, because your lungs can expand more and push down your diaphragm. Plus, you've got a horrific slouch."

"I'm a laid-back kinda guy!" Gilbert protested coolly with a shrug.

"Nein! You're a musician now, and no musician is 'laid-back'!"

"Slow down there, Herr General. What about, say, Bob Marley? Or the Beatles? They didn't seem so militant."

"They were not real musicians. Couldn't read music. Most of the garbage you listen to is clumped around that exceedingly repetitive I-IV-V-I progression."

"Say what? I've been lied to all these years! But whatever, let's get on with this puppy!" Gilbert's eyes lit up with excitement and he punched the air, bouncing up and down.

Roderich ignored the seemingly non sequitur use of the word "puppy" and laid his hand on the keys. "Now, we're going to start with some vocal exercises. Since we're on the topic of The Sound of Music, I'll have you sing 'do, mi, so, do, so, mi, do' in this pattern." He played an A major arpeggio in eighth notes. "How low can you go, comfortably?"

"A bit lower, but that's fine." Gilbert cleared his throat as Roderich gave the A again, and then began to sing. "Do mi so do so mi do."

The tone had the markings of richness, but Roderich heard the unmistakable quality of an undeveloped voice, devoid of controlled vibrato and underlying energy.

Roderich played an A sharp. "We're going to modulate up a key now. Same thing, but starting on this note. And this time, take a nice deep breath before you begin." Gilbert nodded his understanding, and they continued the exercise. However, the student's voice began to thin once they reached a D, and Roderich decided to stop.

He turned to Gilbert, who was obviously enjoying this lesson greatly. "Breathing. How are you breathing?" Gilbert took in a long breath, and his shoulders rose as his chest puffed out. Roderich shook his head. "Nein, nein, nein. That's not how singers breathe. You should keep your shoulders in place, and place the air as low as possible. Let it drop into your lungs and fall to the bottom; engage your diaphragm and push everything else down. Fill your belly, not your breast." He demonstrated this technique to Gilbert, letting his stomach fall and rise while everything above it remained stationary. His student was fascinated, and tried it out himself.

"Woah…it's so much more air," he murmured. He hadn't realized the intricate focus that went into singing. This was proving to be a very informative lesson.

"Exactly. When you inhale into your throat, the resulting sound will be weak and unsupported. But when you have all of this power backing your voice—"

"—you have a richer, fuller, tone!" Gilbert finished his sentence. Their eyes met. Roderich's face became full of joy and he embraced Gilbert in a tight hug. The moron finally understood something that Roderich had explained! They were on the road to progress!

"You've got it, man!" he cried. Gilbert blushed, alien to this unusual affection he received from the Austrian, and returned the hug with a friendly squeeze.

"Posture!" his instructor reminded him. Gilbert stiffened, partly in a genuine effort to obey, and partly in a jest towards his friend's straight-laced stature. "Not too stiff. Your sternocleidomastoid is far too tense."

"Gesundheit, mein freund."

"Sternocleidomastoid. That large muscle in your neck—it must relax. And your jaw. Here, let me." He took Gilbert's shoulders and turned the pupil towards himself, placing his fingers on either side of his throat and gently rubbing the muscle beneath Gilbert's pale skin.

"Woah, I thought this was a singing lesson, not a massage session."

"It's all in the physiology. Producing music is just as much in the body as it is the brain. Relax. Move your head from side to side. Breathe deeply, engage your abdominal muscles."

The recipient of the massage did so, and closed his eyes. His head fell back as he nodded it back and forth, just so. A low and deeply pleasured hum began resonating from deep in his throat. It felt heavenly. Another thing he hadn't noticed was how lovely Roderich's hands were—the artisan at work.

They did several other warm-ups, and after Roderich taught Gilbert solfège using "Do Re Mi", which was conveniently located in his songbook, he flipped to the final number. "Okay, let's put this training to work. Now you know what I taught you about putting the resonance in your mask. Make it 'buzz,' as they say." He put his finger between his eyes and pointed outwards, humming with a bright tone. Gilbert imitated him. "Not too bright. But don't swallow the tone either."

Satisfied, Roderich rotated to face the book and began to play soft, melancholy chords. Gilbert followed along, somewhat bewildered by the little black dots strewn across the paper. Old Fritz had taught him a little about music, about quarter notes and eighth notes and treble and bass clefs, but it was so long ago it was like an ancient artifact in the back of his mind. Still, it was clear to him that he should begin singing when the vocal staff's lines began to show the dots. He knew the melody well enough not to require the music, but there was something magical in seeing how the piano and vocal lines intersected and how these odd little symbols transformed into a living, breathing organism of sound.

"Edelweiss, edelweiss, every morning you greet me. Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me…"

He started out shaky, trying to remember everything that he had learned, and Roderich nodded and sang softly with him, but cut out when Gilbert had retained his memory of the tune. He wasn't really a Broadway kind of guy, but this song was very popular in the parts of Europe he hung around, and so it was engrained forever in his brain. He reached out to touch the tiny white flower in a vase on the piano, taking a deep breath, eyes focused on the plant.

Roderich blinked, his eyes somehow having become wet, and kept his eyes fixed to his music. Music was a great source of all types of emotion for him, including overwhelming joy. He had looked forward to the day when his friend would understand this joy, and share with him the art he once so loved. Another emotion cut through the happiness, as well, whenever he heard this song. It was his unofficial anthem, and a bittersweet memento of a time when Roderich was forced to keep a smile on for his people while one of his closest friends betrayed him.

"Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever; edelweiss, edelweiss…"

By the time he sang "bless my homeland forever," preparing to sing the second verse, he saw tears welling up and threatening to escape Roderich's eyes, tears of real sorrow and painful memory. The piano chord ended abruptly as Roderich's fingers hesitated, clenched into fists, and then pounded weakly on the keys, producing a clamor of dissonance. Gilbert jumped, startled, and Roderich's head fell forward as the tears started dripping onto the ivory. Gilbert put a comforting hand onto his shoulder as his friend wept and recalled their history. "The day Ludwig took over, the way he marched in with his troops and said 'Bruder, let our lands be united' and there was nothing I could do…"

Gilbert extended another arm out to the man. "Ludwig had to follow his leader's orders…and the wishes of the people. It was like, that one guy, in the musical, Rolfe. Who could have known what was happening behind the scenes?" His voice grew angry with the memory of shackles and irons and the wall. "It wasn't Ludwig's fault. It was Hitler's! It was that creep with the 'stache! And Himmler and Goebbels, and all of them!"

His trembling hand instinctively clutched the iron cross dangling from his neck by a silver chain, his symbol of diligence and indefatigability, now seen across the world as a symbol of oppression.

"And I am the one who spawned that monster!" Roderich cried. "There is darkness in all of us, and I cast him out and let it consume him. Think of Feliks and Francis…how they suffered…how we all suffered…" A page opposite the sheet music showed a still from the film, reminding Roderich of the musical's happy ending, which was a rare event most Austrians were not lucky enough to enjoy. "If I could have crossed the Alps like the Von Trapps, been a refuge in Vash's house, just think…"

"Roderich, it's over. The war is over. The troops are gone. Hitler is dead." Gilbert plucked the white flower from its vase and unfolded Roderich's fist, placing the blossom inside of it. The Austrian's fingers closed protectively around it and he held it close to his heart. Gilbert sang the next line of the song with a trembling voice. "Blossom of snow, may you blood and grow, bloom and grow forever."

Roderich joined in with a higher harmony, and the two sang the last lines a capella. The room was painfully silent for about half a minute, as Roderich gazed at the flower in his palm and Gilbert stared blankly at the sheet music.

"Leave me," the Austrian finally said, in almost a whisper.

"Roderich, I…"

"Please." He raised his eyes to Gilbert's. Gilbert didn't move.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Leave."

"I couldn't stop it. You know I couldn't stop it. I was weak. I was powerless. The Allies had all but killed me. And they finished me off as a punishment to Ludwig. He watched his own brother get handed over like a dog to that disgusting eastern oaf. I'm not the man I once was. I'm practically a ghost."

Roderich was silent as he delicately placed the flower back into its vase. His expression was incredibly stoic; Gilbert, though a good determiner of emotion, couldn't tell whether he was angry or just sad. But, just like old times, he seemed to be asking for a confrontation. Gilbert rose from the piano bench. "You haven't changed, though. You'd still oppose me in any way that suited you until you know I had a good backing behind me. Then you'd hide behind my eagle banners and eat your cake, you pompous wichser."

Roderich rose in an instant, the pejorative striking a nerve. "Don't you dare insult my honor, schmutzfink."

Gilbert smiled. The sparring match had begun. Roderich actually had emotions!

"Hey, hey, remember that whole succession deal? Thanks for Silesia, by the way. Glad she ended up with Feliks. She was real good to have around the house. So rich in natural resources." Gilbert cocked an eyebrow suggestively.

"Really? You're going to bring that up? That region was incredibly vital to me."

Gilbert scoffed. "What a stupid conflict," he muttered.

"It was stupid," Roderich spat. "For all the admirable qualities your dear old Frederick possessed, he couldn't even find it in his power to allow a woman the throne!"

"Don't blame him. Bitches are scary. You of all people would know that," Gilbert snickered.

"Don't you dare refer to Elizaveta in that manner." Roderich hissed, taking a step forward, and raised a hand to strike Gilbert. In a swift motion, the Prussian grabbed Roderich's arm and pushed him against a wall, pinning him under a hungry and devious grin. The lion had ensnared the elephant.

"I can't believe I thought she was a boy for all those years," Gilbert crooned. "Imagine my chagrin when she took off her skirt and there was a—"

In his compromising position, Roderich could think of only one way to shut this vile mouth. Aggressively, ferociously, he crushed his lips against Gilbert's. Gilbert was taken by surprise, but he returned the gesture with passionate desperation. He loosened his grip on Roderich's arms, knowing that the kiss was not merely an offensive play, and pushed against him on the wall.

After a minute of lapping at each other's mouths, clicking teeth together and trying to gain dominance over the other's writhing tongue, the two broke apart, panting. Their eyes met and locked. This had proven to be a very informative lesson indeed.

"Been a while," Gilbert breathed. His hands rested at Roderich's hips, having ripped his shirt from where it was tucked in his trousers. He gently felt Roderich's skin underneath, the sensation cool and spidery, causing the brunette to curl into the touch.

Embarrassed at releasing such a noise as he did, Roderich could only nod and swallow awkwardly.

"Oh, Roddie, you're not going to get shy now, are you?" Gilbert planted a row of delicate nips up the muscle he'd engaged previously—the sternocleidomastoid, was it?—eliciting a rather delicious gasp from his southern companion.

"I don't believe this is the most appropriate behavior for a music lesson," said Roderich, knowing all too well where Gilbert's mind would turn next.

"Teach me what's appropriate, then, Herr Lehrer," Gilbert's voice ghosted in Roderich's ear, achingly. It pained Roderich in the most pleasurable way possible; Gilbert's husky, deep timbre was irrespirable as it vibrated through his cochlea. "You were teaching me how to use my body efficiently. You know how much we like efficiency."

Assuming dominance, Roderich straightened his posture and cleared his throat. "My dear pupil, the study is certainly not an appropriate place to give such lessons." He took Gilbert's hand and began to lead him towards the hallway. "Methinks a horizontal position might lend itself better to efficiency."

The Prussian was half-hard already, and he quivered with excitement as he scuffled towards Roderich's lavish sleeping quarters. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

"Desgleichen, meine liebe. It's been far too long."

Gilbert laughed, recalling the fervid progression of emotions they had just experienced together. "When in doubt, fuck it out, that's what I always sa—"

As Roderich sharply turned around, Gilbert's words were stopped by a stern expression and an even sterner finger to his mouth. "There will be no toleration for such filthy language in our home," Roderich scolded, looking deep into Gilbert's violet irises. Our home. Gilbert found he had many homes, but this was the one he always came back to. And not just because of the food.

Before opening the door to his bedroom, Roderich cupped Gilbert's pale face with the long nimble fingers of a pianist, and endowed a deep kiss onto his mouth. It was pregnant with feeling and regret and tenderness. It was the intermingling of streusel and stout, of marzipan and mead. It was the black eagle against a white backdrop, hundreds of years of hatred and bloodshed and power schemes and the occasional reluctant affiliation, finally united in an entirely unreluctant verbindung.

"Thank you for agreeing to my tutelage," Roderich said into Gilbert's mouth.

"We should make some sweet music more often," Gilbert replied, his lips curling into a smile before crashing back into Roderich.

As the door gently clicked open and the two slipped inside, settling onto the downy white duvet, they were blessed by the tiny white flower on the piano.

Notes and references:

· Kaiserschmarrn ("emperor's folly") is a light, shredded, carmelized pancake popular in Austria, Hungary, and South Germany. Its name is derived from the Austrian Kaiser Franz Josef I, who was quite fond of the dessert.
· Bösendorfer is the name of an Austrian piano manufacturer, unique for their production of eight-octave pianos.
· Grüß dich: a phrase used in Austria meaning "greetings," or more colloquially, "howdy."
· Don Giovanni, La Nozze de Figaro and Die Zauberflote are operas by Austrian composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, written in 1787, 1786 and 1791, respectively.
· Referenced several times within this work is Frederick II of Prussia, commonly known as Frederick the Great, or "Old Fritz" by his soldiers. He is generally regarded as having modernized Prussia into a major European power, and was a proponent of enlightened absolutism and a patron of the arts.
· Danke: "thank you."
· Nein: "no."
· Herr is a German honorific meaning "sir" or "mister."
· Gesundheit: a phrase meaning "good health," equivalent to the English "bless you."
· Mein freund: "my friend."
· Bruder: "brother."
· Heinrich Himmler was the highest ranking member of theSchutzstaffel, a German paramilitary unit during World War II. Joseph Goebbels was Reich Minister of Propaganda of Nazi Germany. Both of these men were leading figures in the Nazi Party, and along with several others, were largely responsible for the Holocaust.
· The edelweiss is a white mountain flower belonging to the sunflower family. It is used traditionally in folk medicine and is a symbol of rugged alpine beauty, and as a national symbol of Austria and Switzerland. Its name means "noble white" in German, and its Latin name, Leontopodium alpinum, means "alpine lion's paw."
· Wichser: German equivalent of "wanker."
· Schmutzfink: "dirty pig," "dirty slob," etc.
· Silesia, referred to by Austria as his "vital region" in the manga, is a region of Europe known for its abundance of ores, minerals and industrial areas. At the end of the War of the Austrian Succession, Austria was status quo ante bellum ("in the state before the war") but Silesia was conceded to Prussia. It now mostly belongs to Poland.
· Adolph Menzel, a prominent German illustrator, drew a lion circling an elephant in 1846, representing Prussia and Austria, respectively.
· Lehrer: "teacher."
· Desgleichen: "ditto."
· Meine liebe: "my love."
· Verbindung: "connection."
· The black eagle against a white background is the coat of arms for Austria and Prussia, as well as other German regions.