The Fifth
Christen takes in the bottom of his tumbler, sighing to himself. "Stop it," Lukas chides from behind his paper. "You know I hate it when you pity yourself."
"You also hate me," the half-drunk Dane mutters.
"Yes." There's a great pause before the Norwegian adds, "I also love you."
"You're going to Stockholm tonight." The paper is folded up and carefully placed down on the table, Lukas draining the last of his coffee before taking Christen's tumbler and pouring himself vodka. From the cooler sitting open on the table he pulls a beer for the birthday boy.
"I bring you alcohol and you get miserable; this is what you've always wanted for your birthday."
"I want you," Christen whines.
"You've had me for centuries, you need something new to aspire to." Lukas stands and leaves to change.
Laying across the bed Christen lets the blood race to his face. "I'm going now," a voice from the door says, Lukas's face showing itself over the Dane's. "Emil is coming to keep you company."
"Your brother doesn't like me."
"I like you and he likes you and you may be an idiot but you're still family." Kneeling, Norwegian hands take Christen's face and hold it still as Lukas kisses him so lovingly, so gingerly, that he can't breathe. "I'll see you Thursday you big idiot," and he's sober enough to catch that slight smile before Lukas leaves.
He hears him let himself in, quickly finding Christen watching Viking documentaries on the television. "I presume you've seen this," Emil mutters, dropping his stuff and plopping down at the Danish nation's feet.
"I think I've seen every Viking anything ever put on film," Christen mutters. The Icelander looks at him for a few minutes before he bothers to ask, "What?"
"You need something new to be in charge of," Emil announces. "You like being in charge."
"You don't like me being in charge." The republic shakes his head.
"I'm not suggesting me, I'm saying do something with your brain Christen. Write a book, help make one of these documentaries, use your language skills to make someone's life better."
Christen lets the commercials block out the sound of his world while he contemplates the suggestion. "I do like to hear myself talk."
"Hadn't noticed."
Emil is already asleep on top of the sheets in the master room when Christen retires for the night. It reminds him of quiet nights spent laying under the stifling heat, a small boy between himself and his Norwegian lover, Emil's ass sticking in the air and everything.
And that makes him think, as he lays down, about what the two men had said. Maybe he's become complacent with a life of laying about, no wars to wage, no English villages to terrorize (Christen really liked terrorizing). He needed a new project to work on, one that didn't involve angering his brothers. He could do that! Right? Right! Tomorrow he'd start in on finding his new, peaceful, 21st-century friendly purpose in life.
"Happy birthday Big Brother," Emil mumbles. Christen smiles.