While I was writing Diamond in the Rough, many people asked why Russia's sisters and some of the other Satellite States weren't in the story. There is a long and complicated answer to that, and I have finally come up with a way to explain it. Also the story ended with one loose end: Russia's severed relationship with Toris. I decided to tie that up here.
For those of you who have not read Diamond in the Rough, I recommend that you do so in order for this story to make more sense. Oко за Oко has a story arc of its own, and I will try to explain the bare minimum of what is going on without giving away too many spoilers, but there WILL be spoilers.
Warning: This story contains sex scandals. There are no lemon scenes, but there is a lot of manipulation.
Introduction: It is late December of 1952. Since the end of WWII, Russia had locked Prussia in the dungeon for seven years. Most nations believed him to be dead, but through a sudden turn of events, the Baltics freed him from the dungeon and helped him to escape. He and a young Prussian named Diedrich have traveled from Moscow all the way to Berlin, and are now about to cross the border into West Germany.
Note: The Berlin Wall did NOT exist at this time. East and West Germans lived and worked together in Berlin, but it was deep within the borders of Soviet territory. It still took a train ride to get to the West from there.
To all my DITR readers... welcome back! I hope you like this sequel. :)
Berlin was the living memory of a war that everyone wanted to forget. Tucked in the alleyways were stacks of rubble, once beautiful architecture reduced to chunks of cement, wooden beams, and dust. Even the buildings still standing were peppered with bullet holes, several windows blown out and cracks spidering up the walls. On the occasional street corner, workers cleared away the rubble with trucks and shovels, most of them women. Lines of people waiting to receive their rations wound outside buildings and onto the streets, rubbing their hands together in the frigid air. Military guards stood at almost every corner, each sporting a rifle and a polished uniform. Some were French, British, American – the rest Soviet. Not a single tree grew in the city because they had all been used for firewood.
Berlin was merely a fractured shadow of the magnificent city it had once been. But to Gilbert Beilschmidt, it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in years.
He soaked in every bit of it as he walked down the streets – people bustling to work, children laughing and chasing each other through the park. Groups of men stood and talked while they lit up a cigarette, and a young boy played the violin for tips. The tantalizing scent of beer floated from the doors of the local Biergartens, causing Gilbert's mouth to water. He had dragged Diedrich into almost every single one, until at last the young Prussian had to explain to Gilbert that they didn't have enough money, and that hanging around Biergartens was an easy way to get caught.
But what struck Gilbert the most about East Germany was the strange energy he felt, the swell of pride and identity he found when he looked at the people around him. For the first time in seven years, the people that represented him had names and faces. They had voices and laughter and hats and cigarettes. They were real, and the emotion that hit him when he met his first East German was so powerful that Gilbert had broken down and wept.
Now, he was standing in the center of Berlin Ostbahnhof. Gilbert stared at the train coaches, hardly able to believe how simple it was. All he had to do was step onto a coach, and the train would whisk him away to the West. No more Russian, no more dungeons or whips, no more having to watch his back every second to make sure they weren't being followed. He would be free.
And I'll get to see Luddy again, Gilbert thought, his lips spreading into a grin. I can't wait to see the look on his face!
A pair of fingers snapped in front of his eyes. "Gilbert! Are you even listening to me?"
He blinked to see the impatient glare of a young man with bright golden eyes. "What?"
Diedrich groaned. "Gilbert, you have to pay attention, this is important! Just because we've gotten this far, doesn't mean we're safe."
Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Ja, ja, so what were you saying?"
"I said our train leaves from the second platform. I'm on coach D, you're on coach M. Here's your ticket." Diedrich handed Gilbert his boarding ticket, and he flicked his eyes over the seating number. "We'll meet at your coach when we get to the station in Frankfurt. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Diedrich gave a sharp nod and exhaled a breath. "Right. Well, this is it."
Gilbert flashed a smile. "Thanks for everything, Diedrich."
"Just doing my job."
Gilbert laughed, then slipped an envelope out of his breast pocket. "Here, I want you to have this."
Diedrich leaned forward and tilted his head, eyes widening at the words inscribed on the envelope: Zu Meinen Kleinen Bruder.
"Just in case something happens to me," Gilbert said in a low voice. "Don't come back, verstanden? Don't try to find me, or save me. Just get this to Ludwig – we have a place in Frankfurt, try contacting government officials. It'll be hard to get to him without an appointment, but you'll manage."
Diedrich took the letter and tucked it safely in his briefcase, his eyes somber. "I hope I won't have to."
"Me neither."
The two friends looked at each other for a moment, then Diedrich held out a hand. "Well, good luck to you, Prussia." Gilbert took it, then pulled in his friend to give him a firm embrace.
"You too, kid. Keep out of trouble."
Crimson eyes met gold. A curt nod, a smile, and they turned and went their separate ways.
A mixture of anticipation and nervousness fluttered in Gilbert's chest as he made his way to his coach. This was it – the moment he had been waiting for, he was finally going to see Ludwig! His legs were trembling with excitement, and he practically leapt onto the coach, eyes scanning the numbers for his compartment. When he reached it, he slid open the door and took a glance inside. Three of the four seats were taken – there was a woman staring out the window so that Gilbert couldn't see her face, and two middle-aged men buried in the East German newspapers. One of them glanced up and he shared a polite nod. "Guten tag," Gilbert said, but the man only huffed and flicked his eyes back to his paper. Asshole. Gilbert grumbled to himself, reaching up to slide his suitcase onto the shelf above the vacant seat. He closed the door behind him and stepped over the second man to take his place by the window. Gilbert sank into his seat and watched the faces of his people as they passed, clenching his hands in his lap an thinking about what he might say to Ludwig when they met.
Hey, Bruder, just thought I'd stop by to share a beer. You got a minute?
"Guten tag, Preußen."
For a strange moment Gilbert thought it was Ludwig speaking, until he registered that the voice had been female. His eyes snapped to the woman sitting across from him. Her face was still hidden by the hood of her cloak, head bowed into her lap. Gilbert's blood ran cold when he realized she had used his nation name.
"Who are you?" He demanded.
"You do not recognize my voice?" She spoke this time in English, accent thick and clearly recognizable as Russian. Gilbert's fingers clenched around his seat, eyes darting to the other men in the compartment. He noticed now how they sat unusually straight as they continued to read their newspapers.
"I said, who are you?" He pressed, something in the back of his head telling him that this was going very wrong.
The woman snorted. "How silly of me. You did not remember me seven years ago; why should you remember me now?"
Gilbert's eyes widened. Seven years... Mein Gott, who is this woman? He rose from his seat but was cut off by her cold voice,
"I would not do that if I were you."
Gilbert glanced to the two men. Still reading. "Why not?" He demanded.
"Sit," she said, and Gilbert lunged for the door.
The two men leapt up in an instant, both of them overpowering Gilbert before he could take another step. One man twisted his hand behind his back, and he felt the cool metal of handcuffs touch his skin. Gilbert shrieked a stream of insults in Russian. A giant hand closed around his head and bashed it against compartment wall so that stars spun before his eyes.
"You know Russian?" The woman said, in her own tongue. The language was like nails scraping on a chalkboard, sending a flash of horrid memories through Gilbert's head. "I am impressed; I thought you were too much of an idiot to learn it."
"Wer bist du!?" Gilbert shrieked, anger and confusion raging through his veins like fire.
"Turn him around," She commanded, and the men forced Gilbert away from the compartment wall to face her. She slowly stood and reached up with delicate hands to lower the hood.
Gilbert was shocked to see that she was very young, perhaps in her early twenties. And not just that, she was beautiful. Silver-white hair cascaded around her thin shoulders in a milkly waterfall, her skin flawless porcelain. Her lips were a cherry red, high cheek bones blushed a soft pink. But most stunning of all were her eyes – a deep midnight blue, so cold and sharp that they sliced into him like daggers. Her expression was eerily blank, although he could sense a carefully contained hatred burning inside of her.
Gilbert narrowed his eyes. She looked strangely familiar…
"You do not recognize me." She stated flatly. Gilbert shook his head. For a moment he saw a flash of hurt and anger flare up in her eyes. She turned to face the window. "So be it. Take him away."
"NEIN!" He shrieked, trying uselessly to throw the two men off of him, who he now knew had to be МГБ agents. A cloth was placed over his nose and mouth, and Gilbert's brain instantly began to grow fuzzy. He struggled and kicked, tears of anger springing from his eyes as the world began to fade into blackness.
Bruder…Bruder, nein…
Then his legs gave way, and he was vaguely aware of his head slamming onto something before the world winked away in a white flash.
Translations:
Zu Meinen Kleinen Bruder - To my little brother
Guten tag, Preußen. - Good day, Prussia.
Wer bist du!? - Who are you!?
Historical Notes:
Berlin suffered heavily from British and American airstrikes during WWII. Almost eighty percent of its historical buildings were completely destroyed by bombs, and it took years before the city was finally reconstructed. The city was also under heavy control from the British, French, American, and Soviet military.
AN: I will continue to drop explanations as they are needed, and don't worry, this is the shortest chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review! :)