Author's note: Sequel to « We think too much and feel too little ».
Vorgestern/Übermorgen
The train arrives promptly at 8:42 in the morning, Lucy dying to get off it and fill her lungs with fresh air.
As much as she had loved the train station in Paris (and she had, oh she had), the one in Berlin is much more… practical, and she likes that too. It's simple and clean and goes straight to the point: get people in, get people out.
Parking herself on one of the benches she pulls her suitcase up beside her, laying it on the ground and placing her duffle bag on it to rest her legs atop the small pile. In her lap she holds her purse, drinking from her water bottle and trying to calm her stomach.
Between dried out hands she holds the worn piece of paper, an index card she had jotted all her notes down on: plane time out of Newark, hotel to spend a night in in Paris (she could never resist the French capital's charms), overnight train time out of Paris to Berlin, instructions on where to go once she'd arrived.
"Meet at 900, floor above Information Desk overlooking it." Having no idea what floor she was on, Lucy takes one last sip of water before standing, ready to set off.
She holds the Berlin guide book in her hand partially for lack of anything else to do but mainly to stop its shaking. Lucy finds herself always somehow going the wrong direction, twice passing the McDonald's, and it's a testament to how tired she still is that it takes her twenty minutes to finally get on the right escalator, eyes closed as she breathes out, adjusting her glasses.
That's when she sees him nervously pacing and checking his watch. It makes her smile wide, setting off from the bottom of the escalator with a pep in her step.
When he turns, those big blue eyes of his go wide as if he can't believe she's here and Lucy laughs, coming to stand before him and shaking her head as she looks up at him.
Neither of them speak for a long time, just looking at the other. Ludwig is always so much taller than she expects though time has made him broader than her memory recalled too. But his hair is just as blond, his skin just as pale, his muscles just as strong and his stance just as stiff; Lucy wouldn't change any of it for the world.
Hands that are so big finally reach out, taking in each side of her face and Lucy starts to cry at that, her hands grasping his as he leans forward to kiss her, deeply, her arms wrapping about his neck to pull him closer. Had his lips always felt this wonderful? Had it really been that long? Had he always taken her breath away like this?
Ludwig's arms pull her to his chest, lifting her just a little, and she cries into his shoulder as he moans into her hair, "Lucretia."
They sit in the McDonald's. Lucy is very much aware of how ridiculous this is, but Ludwig seems quite content with his coffee as she slowly works her way through a Mars Bars McFlurry after a quick breakfast of eggs.
"Didn't realize you liked Mars Bars so much," he mutters, biting at his thumbnail. Lucy's noticed that, the nail biting; it's new. "I would have sent you some earlier if I'd known."
She shrugs. "They're not as special then. I've found import stores in the City-" she means New York City, her hometown "-that have them but it's just not the same as getting them… here." She means Europe and Ludwig understands.
"I can take you to the chocolate store," he says seriously, shifting to better face her. "It's pretty big, I think you'll like it."
"German chocolate?" the American teases, her fingers spidering across the table to mesh with his. Turning his hand over he tickles her palm with the tips of his fingers, smiling in a way she's vaguely aware Ludwig only smiles for her.
Lucy lets Ludwig deal with the tickets for public transport, following him as they board a S-Bahn, the German rolling her suitcase while carrying her duffle bag over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. She supposes if she was built like a military tank the duffle bag would seem like nothing to her too.
"You're strong," Lucy says as she sits, Ludwig clearly intending to stand holding onto a pole.
He looks at her with knit eyebrows before laughing once to himself. "Danke." The German still eyes her suspiciously, shaking his head, and she knows he's thinking about how she's crazy; that he's thinking about her though makes Lucy happy.
"I missed you," she finally admits, reaching out to hold Ludwig's free hand. He grips her hand tightly. "And I know you're going to think me some awful tourist-" he's already judged the guide book "-so you're free to override me on any of the things I want to do this week."
"No no," he sighs, "whatever you want, it's your call." That has her grinning.
"Good! Because I was thinking, and you're really going to hate this, that I wanted to do this English-language walking tour of Berlin." As she continues babbling Ludwig just stands and listens politely. When their stop finally comes they get off quickly, pausing before setting off.
"Lucy?" Ludwig asks and she nods. "I'm- I'm really glad you're here." She knows it's hard for him to admit these feelings out loud, especially in public, so she strokes the side of his face and kisses him softly before they set off.
The apartment just says Ludwig with his essence, his soul, seemingly a part of every bit of it: the kitchen is long and thin but still spacious and practical; the balcony overlooks a park, weights in one corner; the living room is large, filled with black leather furniture, a large TV, more workout equipment, and a bookshelf that's overflowing; the dining room comes off the space, clear and bright and simple. As she journeys further back she catches Ludwig blushing, the man following her as she pushes open a door: his bedroom.
Oh.
Ooh.
Lucy smiles, feeling her cheeks turn red as well. It's nothing fancy: simple, large bed impeccably made, two night tables on either side; the closet is built in, no clothes or shoes visible outside it; in the corner the small desk is what catches her eye, the only messy thing in the room. On its desk is scattered Ludwig's laptop, notebooks, pens, and frames containing photos.
There's Ludwig with a man paler than himself, the two arm in arm and smiling, the other one kissing Ludwig's hair; that has to be the brother.
There's Ludwig with a short woman and a dark-haired man. The woman is smiling, happily holding an arm of each of the men, while the other man has a face of contempt and boredom, making Ludwig look positively giddy in comparison. This has to be the cousin and girlfriend, no doubt in Lucy's mind.
There's Ludwig with a young girl, short blonde hair and a radiant smile.
There's Ludwig in a line of impressive men in impressive suits: a nervous blond beside a suave one; a tall silver-haired man next to a young, arrogant looking fellow; a look of disapproval for one man beside a young, blank-faced, black haired companion. It's Ludwig's arm around the shoulders of an olive skinned, happy looking guy that grabs her attention.
But then it quickly drifts again because there's Ludwig with his arms around Lucy in Yorkville, and Ludwig and Lucy kissing in Central Park, Ludwig and Lucy asleep on her parents' couch, Ludwig and Lucy at a formal she'd dragged him to at university. She fingers the frames lovingly.
The sound of baggage being placed down behind her is followed by the gentle rustle of clothing, her once-boyfriend wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing the side of her head. In this moment she can choose what they do next, but her heart had made up its mind the moment he'd left her a year earlier.
She turns in his arms, Lucy's lips finding Ludwig's and pushing his body back to the bed. He looks stunned before smiling something mischievous, something sexy. It turns her on.
Her head is groggy when she finally awakes the next morning. They'd made love, she recalls, over and over. At some point the night before Ludwig had made them a quick dinner they'd eaten in bed, feeding each other, their appetites insatiable. It had been wonderful.
Lucy stumbles her way to the bathroom with its gold accents and black tiles, finding Ludwig's put out clean red towels for her and hung her toiletries bag (he'd made fun of her for having a hanging one), her robe beside his on the back of the door. In the mirror she takes in her appearance: her long, dark hair is still curly but messy too now from the way she'd thrown it about, the way his fingers had combed through it. Her eyes show her fatigue but that was what makeup was for, going back to the bedroom to fish her glasses from her purse. They're large and plastic and ridiculous but Lucy loves them and what does it matter when Ludwig is the only one who will see her wearing them, wandering into the living room in nothing but his shirt. "Lutz?"
What she hadn't been expecting were the people sitting around the dining room table, Ludwig on the other end, his eyes coming up to take her in. Immediately he stands, walking quickly to her, but Lucy still has time to take in the cousin, the cousin's girlfriend, and the brother turning from his seat, his back having been to her. Suddenly Ludwig blocks her from view, large body between her and his family.
"Didn't know we were having company," she whispers in English. He sighs.
"I know, I'm sorry, I told them they weren't to come while you were-" Ludwig's words are cut off by a man's hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. The brother gets between Lucy and Ludwig to introduce himself.
"Gilbert!" he practically shouts, stretching out a hand. His eyes are a frightening red, his skin ghost white. Stunned Lucy shakes his hand. "And look at you! You were right Lutzy, she's so much more beautiful than the photos could capture." Over the one named Gilbert's shoulder Lucy can just see Ludwig blushing, muttering something. "Nonsense! Now come on," and an arm pulls Lucy further into the dining room, morning light streaming in from the balcony with its open doors. "You can sit next to me, how about that?"
"Leave her alone," the cousin chides, girlfriend nodding.
"Gil, really, stop it," the woman adds, Lucy craning her head to try and find Ludwig. "Leave the poor thing be."
"You speak German right?" Gilbert demands of her. The American's mind goes blank before she registers his words, nodding.
"Ja, my mother would speak German to me at home." Gilbert quirks an eyebrow.
"You sound Austrian," he says before the cousin tuts.
"And what is wrong with that? Should she sound instead like a poor-"
"You shut the fuck up!" Gilbert cuts in, the cousin standing to continue his sentence though Lucy can't hear his words. That's when the girlfriend stands too, trying to break up the argument before joining in in a language Lucy has never before understood. Hungarian isn't it? Maybe it's something else, she's not sure.
Then everything and everyone fall silent as if someone had shouted though Lucy had heard nothing. The others turn and she does too, to take in Ludwig who looks so miserable, so angry, with his family that it breaks the Italian-American's heart, his hands balling up in fists. She steps to him slowly before his arms pull her to him, behind him, and through his teeth Ludwig barely whispers, "You can all show yourselves the fuck out."
He's still tense as they drive to a kosher grocery store, Lucy wanting so much to reach out and take his hand that's gripping the gear stick but not daring. She's never seen him like this.
"I'm sorry," she whispers after they've parked, Ludwig not moving to get up from his seat after turning off the car. When his eyes look at her, so lost, she feels herself getting over-emotional. "It's fine Lutz, really, I don't want you to-"
"I'm a fuck up," he whispers before getting out of the car, slamming the door.
They eat dinner in the kitchen, Lucy sitting on the counter. Ludwig seems to relax as he sips at his beer, letting the American try though she insists she doesn't like beer that much. Her face demonstrates how little she likes the stuff, the German laughing and kissing her at that before feeding her another bite of spaghetti and meatball, freshly made with her grandmother's recipe.
On the couch Lucy flips through the channels, Ludwig having pulled out the listing to see what international stations come in: they watch RT long enough to catch this week's Moscow Out before flipping over to France 24 to get the headlines. When the economic portion of the show comes on Ludwig steals the remote back, flipping to an Italian soap opera before Lucy, laughing, finds one of the BBC channels. They settle on Top Gear, something they can both appreciate.
Over commercials Ludwig sighs. "Shoot my little American," he mutters, giving her permission to start with her questions.
"Why didn't you want me to meet your family?"
"You saw them," he says miserably. "They spend most of the time arguing and the rest embarrassing me."
"They're family," Lucy sighs, "that's what they do. You met my parents, you saw. You had Thanksgiving dinner with us for goodness sake!"
"Your father has a nice beard," Ludwig admits and that makes her laugh. "No but really, you saw them, it's…." He shakes his head, Lucy shifting to run a hand over his chest.
"And I don't care," she whispers before kissing him. "They mean a lot to you anyway, I know they must."
"They're all I have. Well, them and you." Lucy smiles. "But I'm not letting them over after that."
"Whatever you want Lutz." He strokes the side of her face as the show comes back on.
It's cold out, late December not the most popular time to visit the German capital. For the tour that means there are fewer people, a nice man with an Irish accent leading them. He chuckles when Ludwig speaks, revealing himself as a native Berliner. "Tour's for her," Ludwig mutters, pointing at Lucy who smiles.
"You said you weren't going to stop me," she says happily, taking his arm as the guide, laughing, calls the group together to start the four-hour tour.
Ludwig gives the German names of certain places along the way, answering a British woman's inquiries about what this or that word is in German with the patience of a saint. Yet he falls quiet at certain portions of the tour, mainly those dealing with the great wars, standing off to the side as Lucy and her camera photograph each spot. At the monument to the murdered Jews he doesn't look up and Lucy knows he's crying. At the Berlin Wall he keeps shaking his head, humming to himself, eyes closed, as tales of those who lost their lives trying to escape East to West are told so that he doesn't hear the words. The tour ends finally in the chocolate shop, Lucy thanking the wonderful guide before finding Ludwig taking in all the chocolates.
"I'm sorry this was so upsetting for you," Lucy whispers, taking his hand and squeezing it. He nods before speaking.
"Don't make me do the concentration camp one." He means one of the other tours but she'd already decided she didn't want to do any of the WWII ones with him, not after seeing him react like this. "I- I can't." She remembers how quiet Ludwig would get after class, certain days hitting him harder than others.
"No problem." Lucy kisses his cheek. "I love you," she says as if that could solve all their problems, could calm him and reassure him. "Now, what chocolate shall we pig out on later?" That makes him smile weakly, pulling her through the aisles. Lucy laughs to see Ludwig's smile grow.
Friday night they cheat and take the train to the Chabad center, too far to walk the German having insisted. Lucy had told Ludwig he didn't have to come but he didn't want her walking by herself, and thus the train and the boyfriend. When they get there and separate for service he's on his own among the men, Lucy enjoying speaking with women before the service starts. She says a little prayer that Ludwig makes it through this ok; he did at least know some Hebrew.
On the train back, Lucy under Ludwig's arm, her eyes tired, he whispers, "That's what you do on Shabbat?" He sounds amazed.
"Yup," she manages as the train pulls in to a stop. She yawns before two strong arms lift her, Lucy smiling as Ludwig carries her the short distance back to his apartment where they make love and surrender to the night.
Saturday they walk around, going to a park, a castle, and a German Christmas market where Ludwig buys them pretzels, chocolate, and hot cocoa. When they finish he takes Lucy back to the Berlin Wall to see it up close, reading the information posted to inform visitors about its past; he doesn't read any of it.
With a quick pop into a gift shop to buy two postcards reading "You are now leaving the American sector" and "You are now entering the American sector", they head back to the apartment. That is until a restaurant catches Lucy's eye, insisting they have to have lunch there.
"You come to Germany," Ludwig sighs as they take in their menus, "and, with your Italian heritage, drag me to an Italian restaurant." Lucy laughs and he grins a little at that.
Sunday they go to a play, Lucy in a fancy new dress Ludwig had bought her: it's a stunning deep red that stands in contrast with her boyfriend's black and white suit and bow tie, Lucy's hair loose over her shoulders. She finds she rather enjoys this side of her German, spoiling her and trying so hard to impress her. It makes Ludwig feel smug and she loves that look of pride on his calm, handsome face.
Monday they go for a drive through the countryside in the Volkswagen, Ludwig showing off as they race down empty roads. With the windows down and the wind in her hair Lucy feels as if she's in heaven.
When they return they make fresh tortellini Neapolitan style, Ludwig doing whatever it is Lucy tells him. She enjoys watching him fret about doing everything perfectly, seeming to miss that Italian food was less about cooking by the recipe and more cooking with passion. As she plates the food he emerges from the back of the kitchen with a bottle of wine.
"Is that French rosé?" Lucy asks happily, leading the way to the dining room.
"Only the best for my girl." He seems to take great joy in showing off his fancy corkscrew as he opens the bottle, pouring their glasses of wine out.
Sitting at the polished table with its expensive silverware and chic plates in this luxurious apartment (despite its humble looks Lucy has decided that this must be an expensive pad), the American can almost imagine that they're back in her American dorm. She laces her fingers in with Ludwig's as he swooshes his wine in its glass, smelling it before tasting it with a sip. He smirks. "What?"
"Lots of things," Lucy replies. "This reminds me of when you were in the States with me." She leans in to steal a kiss before feeding Ludwig a bite and continuing. "It also makes me think that this is a pretty sweet pad you've got going on here. Never realized you had such expensive taste Lutz."
The man chokes for a moment, pounding his chest as he covers his mouth with his napkin. "What do you mean?" Ludwig asks in a wheezy voice before taking another sip of wine.
"Did I say something shocking?" Lucy smiles. "I meant it as a compliment, you're so low maintenance but you've still got good taste: the car, this apartment, the wine is fantastic too-"
"I had that imported for you," he admits before stopping, rolling his eyes at himself. "I shouldn't have admitted that," Ludwig mutters.
Lucy tries to smile but something's going on she can tell. It's little things with Ludwig, things that started back when she first met him. Normally she's thought nothing of them beyond an hour or two, letting it go as another one of the German's quirks while he studied in America. But seeing him in his natural habitat, Lucy's starting to get some suspicions, though she's not sure of what.
The German-in-question is looking at her very worriedly, his hands running up and down his thighs in that nervous way he gets, his face blank and eyebrows drawn together. "Lucretia?"
"Why won't you just tell me who you are?" she moans. There's betrayal, there's the sense of failing to see how stupid she had been, and then there's the feeling that maybe this whole trip had been a mistake.
Ludwig swallows, taking her hands in his and turning in his chair to face her. "Look," he starts with his heavy German accent, switching to English which automatically makes her feel more uncomfortable that he's worried about her understanding this. "It's complicated, and it's bigger than me; there are a lot of implications in this story, which is very long and-" Ludwig takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Lucretia. This wasn't meant to personally offend you, but- I- oh fuck." Lucy's heart breaks as Ludwig put his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands and breathing out slowly.
Stunned, absolutely stunned, small Italian hands run across his shoulders as Lucy holds Ludwig close.
Judging by the amount of coffee he's gone through and the state of his dumbbells, Ludwig and his workout clothes missing, Lucy guesses he's been beating himself up since dinner the night before. First he had banished himself to his own couch despite his girlfriend insisting he come back to bed. Then he may or may not have tried to drown himself in the shower. And now came the physical abuse of his own kind: pushing his body to the brink like some sort of soldier desperate for a victory in a war long since lost.
All of which leaves Lucy plenty of time to think things over, padding about the apartment in her boyfriend's T-shirt with a cup of tea between her hands. The books on the shelves are divided up not by topic as her books are, or by language as a man like Ludwig might have, but by century? At least that's the impression she gets from the top shelves with books behind glass before moving into more modern books about Prussia, about the Holy Roman Empire, about the rise of the Austrian duchy before becoming the Austro-Hungarian empire. The entire shelving unit to the right of the television is only about the 20th century: World War I, World War II, the Cold War. What the fuck did this man do for a living? Lucy shakes her head before walking away.
On the wall behind the dining room table are neatly aligned photographs, some personal, some historical, mixed amongst vintage posters and hand-written or type-writer letters. The people look familiar to Lucy, as if she'd seen them before, and maybe she had in a history class. Shrugging she carries on out to the balcony where, leaning on the railing, she finally spots her boyfriend across the street, jogging to the crosswalk. "Beilschmidt!" Lucy calls out. He seems to panic for a moment before spotting her waving arm.
"What are you doing?" he calls up, one arm over his eyes for protection from the sun.
"Breaking things."
"Please don't," he replies in a flat, resigned voice.
"Give me something else to do then," she teases as an old woman with her dog go by. Ludwig smiles awkwardly at the woman who seems to have understood some part of the English Lucy had said, waving at her before he looks back up.
"How about a story?"
"What exactly does a UN video have to do with anything?" Lucy asks, confused but amused, as she sits on the couch. Ludwig frets with his laptop before making the video full-screen and setting it on the coffee table.
His body turned towards hers he takes the American in, trying to speak and failing epically. Finally he shakes his head, taking her face in his hands to kiss Lucy gently, softly, the way he'd kissed her before he left her alone in her parent's home in New York. It scares her, Lucy holding him close, but his hands grip her tight as if begging for this to not be the end before his lips kiss her forehead, Ludwig rising nervously to allow Lucy to watch the clip.
At first there's the generic intro about the world, about peace, about things the American rolls her eyes at. Then it gets to the substance of the matter and she's pretty sure she had to have misunderstood, her eyes darting over the back of the couch to find Ludwig pacing, his blues on the ground. For every country, the video informs her in a stuffy voice not appropriate for this sort of revelation, that has ever been there has been an incarnate form of it that appears human but isn't. This nation incarnate, as the video calls it, is near-immortal; he or she will live as long as his or her country exists, though some have existed beyond that span. They are thought to best exemplify many of their country's traits in how they look, in how they act. They feel sick during periods of instability, amass great injuries during times of war, and age slowly as the years roll on.
That's when the pictures start.
The example given is someone the narrator refers to as Prussia: the pictures start out old around the time that what came to be known as Prussia was emerging; they evolve as the years go on; at some point they become early photographs, black and white. Each one shows the same person though, someone that Lucy realizes suddenly about the time of WWI that she recognizes. She wants to gasp, wants to vocalize the realization that that's her boyfriend's brother, but no words escape her as she comes to understanding something else. The pictures had started to show Prussia with a little boy who grew before her eyes, history seeming to weave together here. If she tried she could see him as that young teenager in WWI, but it's when they get to WWII that the image of Gilbert and Ludwig becomes clear enough to recognize them as who they are now.
Gilbert, Prussia, whoever he is, the narrator then dubs as East Germany; Lucy presumes that would make her Lutz West Germany. And as the Berlin Wall is torn down there's a beautiful picture of two men embracing over its ruins. She can't see Ludwig's face but the older brother is crying, clutching his younger one to him as if to never let go.
Dozens of modern pictures are flashed, flags and country names the only labels for each person- nation incarnate -shown. The other man who had visited with Gilbert comes up as Austria and Lucy vaguely remembers Gilbert and him fighting over being Austrian. The woman is Hungary.
Then Ludwig comes up: Germany. But Lucy already knows that, from the video. A part of her mind says that maybe, just maybe, she always knew.
She finds him laying shirtless on his bed, eyes on the ceiling. They haven't spoken since the video.
Gently Lucy crawls across the bed, laying on Ludwig's chest though he seems to be making the effort of not looking at her. Sitting back she straddles his hips, her hands running up and down his torso and wondering. There's little bits of raised skin, little scars. Which are from the first world war? Which the second? Which are from being a country divided? Which are from being created from different German states? She'd never given them much thought before.
In her mind she knows it's what he doesn't want her to ask, knows it's what he's worrying about. She watched him take that class on German propaganda in the States, helped with his Hebrew though he told her he had been discouraged from learning it growing up. He knew things without any effort, about the war, about the Holocaust. It had always struck her as if he was speaking from experience.
"You were a Nazi," she says in a soft voice. Immediately his blue eyes find hers, panic-stricken. His blond hair, his blue eyes, his large, strong body: was this what the perfect Aryan looked like?
"I'm not that man anymore," Ludwig mutters miserably and Lucy nods.
"Tell me," and she leans forward, dark hair over one shoulder pooling on the bed, "tell me you love me Ludwig." Her throat is beginning to hurt.
"I love you," he moans, his throat sounding as tight as hers feels and she hopes he doesn't cry because she couldn't take it if he did.
"Say it in Hebrew," she murmurs. "Say it in Hebrew," she repeats again in a stronger voice, a command when he hesitates.
"Ani ohev otach," he gasps and Lucy crushes her lips down on his then, Ludwig pulling her flat against his body, desperate. There's little dignity to their movements.
In the late afternoon, still naked under rumpled sheets, Ludwig finally turns his head to look at Lucy. "I am so sorry I never told you."
"That you were Germany," she starts, rolling onto her side and smiling, "or that you were Nazi Germany?"
"I- I am a fuck up," and it must be the dozenth time she's heard him groan it but now Lucy understands why he says it. "The others have bad pasts but I'm- I'm me, I have to carry this burden for the rest of my life and I will never forgive myself for that. They tell me to, that they've forgiven me, but I can't, I can't, I can't." He makes to roll away from her but Lucy moves faster, getting herself in his arms and being held tightly.
"Shh," she whispers against his skin, kissing everywhere she can. "Shh, it's ok, it's ok."
"How can you say that?" he finally gasps, holding her face steady so he could look at her, tears rolling silently down his face. "How can you forgive me?"
"No one," Lucy states strongly, "is beyond forgiveness." Ludwig shakes his head.
"I don't believe that."
"Then let me believe it for both of us."
A week has passed, only a few days left in Berlin before Lucy is set to fly down to Rome to visit cousins. She doesn't want to leave.
"If I stayed here, and never left," she asks as Ludwig finishes cooking breakfast, Lucy sitting on the counter, "what would you do?"
"Keep you, I suppose," he murmurs, winking and handing her a plate.
"It's not the same without you," Lucy says as Ludwig moves to stand between her legs, stealing a kiss. "I hate feeling like my heart is so far away."
There's a moment's pause where Ludwig gets very serious, thinking as he takes her in. "Two things," he starts and the American nods, ready to hear what he's thinking. "First, you still have a semester left; you have to get your degree."
"Agreed," Lucy sighs.
"Second," and at this one the German blushes, his eyes falling to the counter, "once you've gotten it, if you want, we can figure out what would have to be done for you to come out here. Permanently."
She needs a moment to take that in, Lucy's mind slowly coming to appreciate what he was saying. It had been a year since they'd been together and yet she still felt like not a day had passed, her heart reacting to him the same way it had when he left as if he'd never gone. And Lucy did admittedly love Europe, had always secretly dreamed of escaping the town house in New York City for a return to the Old World.
"Really?" she sighs and Ludwig smiles a little at that, clearly relieved.
"Ja, I can help speed up the process a little and find all the right people to talk to but- it is doable, if that's what you want."
Lucy grins. "I want to be with you," she admits sheepishly and the German threads a hand through her hair, kissing her sweetly.
"Good, because I want to be with you too."
When she gets out of the shower voices sounds through the apartment, Lucy curiously peeking her head around the hall corner to see Ludwig's family on the couches, the German relaxed as he speaks to them. His eyes come up suddenly to snap to attention on her spying head, the American coming around the corner nervously as she walks to her boyfriend.
"They invited themselves over again," Ludwig whispers, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"This involves us now," the one Lucy now knows is Austria states. The Hungarian hits his arm. "What was that for?"
"Why does Lutz telling his girlfriend involve us when you telling your mistress didn't involve me?"
"Gotcha," the Prussian, Gilbert, smiles, his two companions staring daggers at one another.
"That was different."
"How so?"
"We weren't married anymore," the man protests. The woman hits him again.
"And how have you been Miss-" Ludwig's brother starts, smiling at her but seeming to freeze on her name.
"Pontecorvo," Lucy finishes for him and he seems, if anything, to grin wider at that.
"A beautiful Italian name for a beautiful Italian woman." The arguing ceases then.
"You know Gil's name already," Ludwig says, taking control of the conversation. He gestures to his brother, who winks. "My older brother. Our cousin, Roderich Edelstein." The Austrian nods with a serious face. "And his girlfriend, Erzsébet Héderváry." The woman smiles brightly.
"Don't Hungarian names," Lucy starts, trying hard to think of something smart to say, "go the other way around? Family name first?" The woman laughs, delighted.
"Oh I like this one Lutz," she sighs, linking her arms with the Austrian's.
For their final night Lucy insists she doesn't want to go anywhere. She wants to stay in and watch movies on the couch, her limbs tangled with her boyfriend's under the blanket, she tells Ludwig. She wants to feel him and after she wants to be one with him; the German immediately understands.
When the film ends Ludwig's lips start moving down her neck and over her shoulder, his hands running up her thighs to part her legs, then continuing up under her shirt. The American moves against his lean body as he touches her before she can't take it anymore, shifting to face him, to press their chests together and kiss him and thrust her hips against him. She's drunk on his love by the time he lifts her, Lucy's legs wrapped around the German waist as they move to the bedroom. And once there he lavishes her slowly, each move measured, calculated, like the fictitious German he is.
She comes around his hand as he licks at a nipple. She comes again around his tongue, then around him and around him again. Just like when she arrived, they make love until they're exhausted, Ludwig heavy on her chest as Lucy runs her hands through his hair, her thighs still quivering from her last orgasm.
"I don't want to ever let you go," he murmurs against the crook of her neck before rolling off her. She allows the German man, nation, lover, to pull her to him, under the sheets. Ludwig sounds exhausted, his German becoming sloppy, but she doesn't care. Lucy pulls herself close, kissing him as deeply as she can.
"Then don't," she murmurs against his lips.
The plane leaves promptly as 7:56 in the morning, Lucy dreading the approaching minute as she rides with Ludwig to the airport in his car. He helps her check her bags, the tears already rolling quietly down her face. He says something to security, which gets radioed about, before he's allowed through with her to the gate. They sit quietly by the window, Lucy on the German's lap, wrapped up in his arms.
"Tell me not to leave and I won't," she half-moans, half-hiccups against his shirt as the plane begins to board.
Fingers gently push her hair back, Ludwig's nose nudging her face until their mouths meet in a sweet kiss. "Doesn't work like that Lucretia," he whispers, smiling though she knows he too is miserable. "We'll be together again soon."
"For the rest of my life?" The thought that Ludwig would still be himself, still just as old and just as good looking, while Lucy aged was both bizarre and almost unbearable, but she couldn't let go, couldn't find someone like her, mortal, instead. Lucy's heart had chosen back in the United States who would be its master.
"Forever," Ludwig sighs, seeming to understand her meaning and disregarding it. "I love you."
"I love you too."
She turns, once, as she's about to enter the tunnel down to the plane. Ludwig waves, smiling brightly; Lucy blows a kiss, turns her back, and sets off.
In Rome her cousins try their best to cheer her up, her father's mother's brother's son's sons bringing her all around their city to try and impress her. None of it works though. Lucy left a part of herself behind in Germany; she can't let go.
As they cross a street towards another piazza the American chances to look up. She almost stops walking when she sees him, blond hair, blue eyes, standing across the way. And so she runs to him, throwing herself at Ludwig as he lifts her, hugging her and kissing her hair.
"What are you-" she starts, breathless, trying to comprehend.
"Not really one for goodbyes, to be perfectly honest," the German nation laughs. So his girlfriend kisses him instead to say hello.