A/N: This story is based upon the German film Freier Fall (Freefall) so there will be spoilers for its plot.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia, nor do I own Freier Fall.
His lungs were burning. His feet landed heavily upon spongy tarmac, rhythmically sending shots of fatigue up to his knees, along his thighs, ascending his torso to finally reach his galloping heart.
The others ran all around him, in varying lanes and at varying speeds; as long as they stayed ahead of the instructor, they were safe. All wore black shirts, the word "POLIZEI" emblazoned proudly upon their strong backs.
Roderich hated these exercises with a passion. Since joining the service, he had of course raised his physical and mental standards to match the high requirements, but he had not as of yet been able to improve his stamina. This time, as always, his feet kept moving, but he soon fell behind the others, barely maintaining any considerable distance between himself and the senior officer who coached them.
His trachea seemed to tighten; his limbs grew heavier with each step. Eventually, before the group had even completed their second lap of the track, he stilled, bent, hands gripping his knees as sweat soaked his scalp.
The rest continued to jog past him. Roderich looked up, through his dark locks. His gaze met that of Gilbert Beilschmidt, the pale-haired, lean trainee who always took the lead in this kind of training. Violet eyes locked momentarily with gunmetal-grey ones; Gilbert smirked, his long legs powering him forward, to the front of the group, leaving Roderich in his wake.
Coach came to a stop at Roderich's heels. "Edelstein? Are you alright?"
A dry throat produced hoarse words through chapped lips. "Yes, I'm fine."
Roderich awoke from a fitful sleep. He had showered, dressed in his navy uniform, and grabbed his rucksack and riot helmet before downing a glass of water.
Meanwhile, his roommate at the training facility had just risen; he looked at Roderich, then the clock, which read 5:30 AM, then back to Roderich. "The early bird catches the worm, eh?"
Offering an awkward smile, Roderich nodded before heading out the door.
"Tighter!" Coach yelled, the whistle around his neck bouncing against his moving chest. "Make the formation tighter! This is a riot exercise; if any gaps are left, rioters will break through!"
Two rows of armoured trainees stood opposing each other; Roderich found himself faced with Gilbert, only recognisable by the white hair he could see through the visor. The officers had their arms spread, legs braced, plastic shields at the ready as the 'rioters' attempted to overthrow them. Gilbert charged Roderich, his arms going for his shoulders in order to push him away. Roderich, stunned, hardly reacted; he knew that in a riot, if someone were to go for your shoulders, the easiest defence is to use the baton against their stomach to bring them down, but he did not reach for it. Gilbert's feigned attack persisted; Roderich finally moved, swinging his upper body around, moving Gilbert with it, and he tripped over Roderich's foot, slamming face-first onto the rubbery ground with a hiss.
The coach shouted a command and the others ceased fighting.
Growling, Gilbert sprang to his feet, tearing off the helmet; he had a small scrape on his forehead where the headgear had scratched the skin. "What was that?" He demanded, almost towering over the brunette. "That was only meant to be an exercise!"
Roderich felt anger bubble up inside him. "Don't take it so hard, you're uninjured!" He shoved Gilbert's chest with a padded hand, but soon found himself knocked back by the taller's imposing form. "Wanker," Gilbert cursed. Roderich's cheeks burned; he was glad of the helmet obscuring such a childish expression.
"Is there a problem?" Coach strode over, clipboard in hand. His narrowed eyes surveyed the two bickerers.
Suddenly, Gilbert's aura seemed to change to one drastically more casual. "Nah, no problem, sir. Right?"
His cool stare and genuinely relaxed smile unnerved the Austrian officer, but he nodded nonetheless. "Right."
The senior officer tilted his head, expression sceptical. "I'll see you both in my office afterwards."
Both men's frames sagged as the coach exited the training field; Roderich decided that at least they could agree on how they were both in for a hiding.
Darkness enveloped the academy grounds, indigo tendrils winding through the sky. Roderich leant against the transparent building in which the pool was housed, arms folded.
Footsteps announced Gilbert's arrival. "So, what'd he say to you?"
Roderich lifted his gaze for a millisecond before dropping it back down onto concrete. "Guess."
A light chuckle accompanied the German's words. "Hmm. 'If you screw up again, you can kiss the final exam goodbye.' That it?"
"Spot on."
"He also told me to get a haircut." Gilbert swished his silver hair for emphasis. "He's such an asshole, isn't he?" That earned a humourless snort from Roderich. He noticed that Gilbert appeared to be rolling a cigarette between his long fingers; he followed the taller man's sights towards the empty body of water, glistening under the stark moonlight.
Gilbert lit the cigarette, taking two deep drags. His lips were thin, and upon his chin a stubbly beard had begun to grow.
Roderich wet his lips. "I'm sorry about earlier," He articulated softly. Normally he was an incredibly stubborn person when it came to apologies, or indeed to admitting that he had been wrong, but Gilbert would not have shared in his punishment if his head had been in the game.
He felt it only courteous to say sorry. In response, the Berliner gave a nonchalant shrug; the smoke he exhaled travelled to Roderich, and his nose told him that Gilbert was most certainly not smoking a cigarette.
As if on cue, Gilbert turned back to him, removing the blunt from his mouth. "Want some?"
Roderich gulped. Not least because, due to the way the man's eyes were lidded and shadowed, he wasn't sure whether Gilbert meant himself or the drug.
Either way, his answer was clear: "No. But thank you for the offer."
The white-haired male stomped the short blunt out on the ground.
Quite promptly Gilbert began to strip out of his uniform, to the mortification of the other. "Are you crazy?" Roderich exclaimed as Gilbert, in his boxers, sprinted to the edge of the swimming pool, a somewhat maniacal laugh escaping his throat; Gilbert cannonballed into the water, crystal-clear droplets spraying around his submerging form.
"Gilbert!"
His head appeared above the water's surface. "Come in!" He called, grin turning mischievous.
Shaking his head, Roderich repressed a smile of his own as he approached the edge of the pool. "I don't want to. Besides, what if we get caught?"
"Coward."
That word stung him. He was possessed by the urge to gain this man's respect, purely because he had thrown one measly insult at him. Without removing his clothes, he jumped into the pool with Gilbert, the cold water bringing him to his senses, enveloping him in sobering liquid.
When he, too, broke the surface, he let out a loud gasp. "H-how's that for a coward?" He challenged as he tread water. Gilbert grinned once more and swung his arm around so as to splash his comrade with more freezing water. "Well, you've got balls," He conceded, "but good luck getting back without catching a cold."
Realising his mistake, Roderich ground his teeth in anger. Gilbert just splashed him some more, laughing gleefully. And because he'd come this far already, Roderich splashed him back.
She was so warm.
He lay there beside her, one arm providing a pillow for her head, the other draped over her body.
Elizabetha woke up slowly; Roderich could see the gentle morning light catching the emerald tints of her irises. She gave him a gorgeous smile, one which he knew well. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Good morning."
"Morning," She greeted drowsily, stretching her arms up to the headboard. "When did you get home? I thought you were still at the academy."
"No, I just came home for the weekend. I knew that you would need help moving the rest of our boxes into my parents' house," He kissed her cheek, and caught a glimpse of an eye roll. "I'm not made of glass, Rod. I may be pregnant but I can still carry things - I'm carrying our baby!" Chuckling, she stroked her bump with both hands splayed. Roderich's hand joined them, laying his fingers flat against the skin. He could feel the baby moving around, responding to its parents' voices.
Until she had become pregnant, Roderich had never been able to picture himself as a father. He hadn't been able to imagine cradling a baby to sleep, or changing nappies, or doing a school run, or anything remotely paternal. However, he had had six months to come to terms with it, and now he couldn't imagine any other possible future. He eagerly awaited the day when he could hold his child, and his girlfriend, together. Roderich desperately wanted his own family.
And he had thought that the rumour about pregnant women glowing was a complete myth, too, but there he had also been wrong. With every coming day of her gestation, whether she be suffering from morning sickness or complaining of back pain, Elizabetha really did seem to shine. She was radiant, blessed with a child. Roderich touched the side of her face, his lips once more meeting hers. The kiss deepened, became more passionate; their hands found each others' bodies, Roderich being mindful of the baby.
When they parted, breathless, Elizabetha was the first to speak.
"Why are you so fired up?"
Embarrassed, Roderich averted his gaze. "I - I'm just so happy right now. I'm still anxious about the exam, and I always worry for you and the baby, but...I cannot believe that we're having a baby. It's wonderful." Elizabetha's smile grew wider, and she snuggled closer to him. "I know. I can't wait until we're a proper family, Roderich."
"Say something."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, just say 'hi' for starters."
Roderich's father held the video camera up towards the blonde woman's face as she giggled. "Ok, ok! Uhm...hi, baby! Uh, this is your Aunt Bella, and-" She manoeuvred the camera so that it showed Roderich's father's face, "- this is your Grandpa! Oh, here's your Nanna!"
"Hello!"
Behind her, Roderich and his younger brother, Ludwig, were carrying the cot through the open door of their parents' house. Roderich's father swung the camera round to see them, announcing, "Here's your father! Rod, say hello." Roderich's surprised face was centre picture, lifting his sunglasses onto his forehead as he and Ludwig set the cot down. Everyone looked at him expectantly; he caught Elizabetha's grin before smiling into the lens. "Hello, baby. I - um - I just want to say that I will always be proud of you, and I will always support you. We love you," He chuckled as Bella took over the camera and zoomed in on his face, so much so that he was sure the mole at the corner of his mouth was now in HD. Bella laughed, now pointing the camera at Ludwig, who waved.
"This is your Uncle Ludwig! He almost never laughs, but honestly, he's a big softie!"
"No I'm not," Ludwig retorted feebly, fighting a smile whilst going outside to bring some more boxes inside.
Bella turned the camera on herself, her bright yellow ribbon keeping her hair back. "So we don't know your gender yet, but I'm vouching for Liz and Rod to call you 'Jamie' no matter what! Also, I didn't realise how good this top looks on me -"
Roderich's mother spoke up, "Oh, it really does, dear."
"- thanks! So I really hope that by the time you're able to see this video, this top still fits me!"
"Bella, we're not calling him Jamie," Elizabetha reminded her gently.
"Oh, it's a 'he'?" Bella exclaimed excitedly. "Did you find out the gender after all?"
"No, I just...have a hunch. Mother's instinct," She laughed. Now Bella directed the camcorder at her, "This lovely lady is your Mummy. Say hello, Mummy!"
"We can't wait until you're finally here, baby," Elizabetha finished, rubbing her swollen womb, which was the next thing to be captured on film. "And this little bump is you. Bet you're a lot bigger now that you're watching this. Right, time to show you the garden!"
"Bel, the baby won't be interested in seeing the garden -"
"Oh shush, Lud, he deserves a house tour!" And she disappeared outside.
When the others had dispersed around the large house, Roderich approached Elizabetha, hugging her from behind. "A boy, hm?"
"A boy. I think, anyway."
He smiled, nuzzling her neck as she unpacked glasses. "How are you feeling? About living here?"
She gave him a sidelong glance. "We'll manage. Your parents are nice."
"Generic terms always belie your true opinion."
Pouting, Elizabetha sighed. "It will be fine. Just as long as they aren't too controlling."
"They won't be," Roderich's hands were folded over her round belly. "It's our baby, after all."
The van was being hammered from all angles. It was assaulted under a constant barrage of cans, bottles, fists, fruit, and heavy rain. Roderich and his team sat inside the riot vehicle, armoured to the skulls, ready to dispatch.
Ivan Braginsky held the radio in his gloved palm, as it crackled to life. "This match had really gotten out of hand," the other officer reported, "are you ready to exit in a moment, over?"
"Yes, over." Ivan had grown up in Russia, although he had lived in Germany for about ten years now, Roderich remembered; his Russian accent was still quite overpowering.
When the signal was given, they filed out into the baying crowd.
"I would like to welcome a new member to our unit. This is Gilbert Beilschmidt."
Their senior officer stepped back to allow the perfectly relaxed pale man to make his introductions.
Roderich forced his jaw closed, having been previously unaware that it had dropped upon seeing him again. Of course, he hadn't planned on ever encountering Gilbert again after they had finished at the academy and moved onto another facility.
Gilbert stood there, his uniform slightly wrinkled, one arm holding his bag loosely over his right shoulder. "Hey," He began confidently. "I'm Gilbert, and I look forward to working with you." For the last two words, his gaze centred on Roderich.
Coach spoke up again. "Edelstein. Take him under your wing; you know him from a former class of yours, yes?"
"Y - yes sir." Smiling, Gilbert took a seat next to him, as the other colleagues knocked* enthusiastically on their respective desks, voicing that he would be welcomed into the group.
The only person who didn't knock was Ivan, who proceeded to scrutinise Gilbert's figure with his cold eyes. Once Roderich noticed this, he only found the situation more unnerving.
His legs were screaming at him to lie down.
Roderich knew that he could not; if he kept messing up in running, he wouldn't have a snowflake's chance in hell of passing the exam.
He knew this road well; it ran right through the forest a short distance from the academy. He concentrated on his breathing, shaky as it was. It had rained recently, and the surrounding greenery had flourished, renewed by frequent downpours. Roderich took a deep breath, detecting the scent of petrichor in the air - he had always liked that smell because it calmed him.
His lungs produced that uncomfortable, itchy sensation, like he was breathing in ash or hairs. Roderich began to cough, hand clutching his breast. He refused to stop moving. His training as a police officer was almost complete; at this stage, he'd rather die trying than give up.
His coughing had masked the sound of footsteps behind him.
"Breathe evenly." The light whisper at his ear made the Austrian jump. Before he could swat the offender away, Gilbert appeared in his peripheral vision, jogging beside him.
"W - what…" He began, but gave up due to his lack of oxygen. Slowing to a halt, he observed the man now panting at his side. Gilbert had cut his hair. It was now a short-cropped style, all fine silver bristles.
"You cut your hair," Roderich finally managed, subsequently realising how stupid a remark that was. Nonetheless, Gilbert flashed a pearly grin. "I did."
"How did you know I ran here?"
"Stumbled is more like it," Gilbert folded his arms casually. "I spotted you running here once. I run here, too, sometimes." His cloudy eyes were captivating; his gaze became heavier. "You do need to monitor your breathing," He stepped closer, until Roderich was backed up against a moss-covered trunk, "otherwise the supply of oxygen to your muscles will be insufficient. You'll collapse."
Gilbert's mouth was centimetres from Roderich's. He breathed in, held it, then exhaled gently. Unwittingly, Roderich had copied him; he felt his lungs relax. They repeated the action several times.
"See?"
Roderich wanted to kiss him. He didn't know why, or since when, but he did. Gilbert was so close, and so rigid. Thoughts of Elizabetha and his unborn baby filled his mind. Why would he betray them? He was not homosexual -
A droplet of rainwater fell from the branches above them; it landed on Roderich's exposed neck, and he gasped, his head jutting forward, lips colliding with Gilbert's.
And then he couldn't part from him.
Gilbert accepted the kiss, deepening it, even, hands either side of the brunette's head, fingers dragging along his jawline. His eyes were open slightly, judging Roderich's movements.
Roderich got to rake his fingertips over Gilbert's new haircut, the short hairs tickling his skin. All the while they never parted, until Roderich felt a hand on his crotch. "Ah!" He first pulled Gilbert closer, then pushed him backwards. "I can't…" He declared, "I can't do this. Gilbert. I…"
But Gilbert came in again, and those strong hands warmed his cheeks again, but this time Roderich did not succumb, giving the other a harder shove as he retreated.
"Roderich…" A pale palm was offered him, but, wordlessly, Roderich turned and ran. He no longer breathed evenly, but erratically, sucking in air as he sprinted away from his sin.
"Whoa, a spare! Man, you're getting good, Rod!"
Striding back proudly from the lane, Roderich smiled at Bella. "It's not looking good for your team."
Elizabetha laughed, sipping her water at the table.
"Oh!, Here she is," Elizabetha announced, gesturing to the walkway above the bowling lanes. "Monique! Down here!" Roderich recognised trainee Monique LeDeour from the police academy, strolling down the steps, accompanied by -
Gilbert Beilschmidt.
"Hi, guys," Monique began, brushing her dark hair back over her shoulders, and the others greeted her. She was from Morocco originally, but her German had, naturally, grown very good over the years he'd known her. Gilbert gave a rather timid wave to the group as he was introduced. "This is our new one, Gilbert."
"This is Ludwig, Rod's brother, and Lud's wife, Bella. That's Rod's girlfriend, Elizabetha."
Stepping forward, Elizabetha extended her arm and Gilbert shook her hand. He didn't even make eye contact with Roderich, for which the latter was grateful, but instead seemed oddly fixated upon the baby bump.
Elizabetha gave him a friendly smile, patting the bump with both hands. "Scary, huh? I'm seven months, now."
Gilbert barely spoke at all after that - not that he had been particularly chatty in the first place - but that suited Roderich fine, as they all decided to begin another game of bowling.
When the evening was almost over, Roderich found himself joined in the bathroom by Gilbert himself. The taller took the empty urinal directly next to him, which he considered incredibly annoying.
Still, the white-haired male did not speak.
Zipping his trousers, Roderich made to leave. "There," He finalised softly, "now you know."
The next few weeks at the academy were awkward, to say the least. Roderich could not avoid the German, because he had agreed to show him the ropes, but every time he was near him, it became harder and harder to be around him.
His presence alone had awakened a new path in Roderich, one which he was entirely convinced he didn't want to see, because he did not want to know where it may lead him. Yet, that did not stop him becoming discreetly lustful whenever he knew he and Gilbert were alone together, even if they were at the academy.
One day, as the group was putting away gym equipment, Gilbert instigated their first definable conversation in over a month.
"It was a shitty idea to come here."
Roderich, noting that they were again isolated in the corridor, nodded as he placed the bag of boxing gloves and pads in its locker. "I agree."
No answer; facing the paler man, the Austrian finally began to release the question which had been plaguing him. "Why did you have to attend this academy? There are at least another three to which you could have gone."
Gilbert shrugged with one shoulder. "Wanted to stay with you." He seemed to have no shame about his confession, but it turned the other's cheeks a dark crimson. "That," Roderich replied, "is a pathetic reason. A career should be based upon what you want, not what others do."
Gilbert smirked. "But you are what I want."
Roderich narrowed his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. I am not gay. I have a girlfriend."
"Bisexual."
"No."
"Why not have a drink with me this evening?" Gilbert suggested, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Roderich had to admit, that particular gesture was pretty seductive.
But he had a commitment to his family, and he would not break that commitment.
"No. I have to go."
"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow….that nobody can deny!"
Ivan popped open the bottle of champagne; fizz spilled over onto the floor of the locker room. Roderich almost stepped in some, but he paid no notice as his glass was filled and he was surrounded by cheering colleagues.
"Congratulations!" Monique praised gleefully, "What's his name again?"
"Max," Answered Roderich happily, "Maximilian."
"Wonderful name!" Ivan piped up, "A true man's name. You can already tell, he will grow up to be strong and successful! All the best to you and your family, Edelstein!"
"Thank you." His son had been born a mere two weeks ago; he was healthy, and gorgeous, and for that Roderich could not be more grateful. Elizabetha had taken a while to recover, but fortunately it had been a safe birth. He had his family, and he loved it so much.
"And do I hear wedding bells?"
That took Roderich aback. "P-pardon?"
This time, Ivan's gaze was suspicious. "You and Beilschmidt, of course." Everyone else thought it a joke, but Ivan's face was serious, as was his tone, and Roderich spotted Gilbert as he silently slunk out of the room.
Yes. Roderich loved his family, but he could not love it with his whole heart. Because for some absurd reason, part of that organ belonged to the unknowable Gilbert Beilschmidt.
Gilbert, to whom he had barely spoken; Gilbert, to whom he felt constantly drawn. Gilbert, who had said he wanted Roderich.
The past few weeks, Roderich had admired all of Gilbert's usual behaviours: the way his smile belied naughty intentions; the way he chewed his pen during lectures; the way his hands folded behind his back when at attention and the way his eyes could lock in and focus on any target as if the eyeballs themselves were loaded weapons, designed for monitoring the movements of anything from a firearm target board to a deer sprinting across their training field.
Roderich admired him, body and soul, even with minimal interaction.
But for now, he laughed Ivan's statement off.
He received a text late that night, as he was resting peacefully next to Elizabetha.
Sender: Gilbert
Want to meet up?
He was so tired at the time, and it was so dark that the light from his phone seemed to blur the letters of the message altogether.
Nevertheless, the replied, 'yes'.
The rest of that night, he clung tightly to his girlfriend.
The deluge unleashed its full force onto the forest. The thundering raindrops thudded onto Roderich's windshield. He sat there, breathing shallowly, his car parked neatly behind another automobile.
Climbing out, he pulled up his hood as cold, wet water hit his skin with rippling force.
Another figure was present, leaning against the passenger side door of his own car. Striding towards him without fear, Roderich ascertained that they were completely alone before meeting gunmetal grey eyes, and then moving in to kiss Gilbert.
The inside of the car was humid, increasingly so as both men panted, fawning over each other's bodies.
Roderich gasped and moaned and screwed his eyes shut as Gilbert's long fingers dragged down the length of his sculpted abdomen, clipped nails leaving fiery trails of goosebumps across the tender flesh.
When Gilbert finally entered him, the pain was excruciating. Unbearable. Unexpected. Tears pricked the brunette's violet eyes; he felt Gilbert embrace his waist as they lay on the back seats. "Ssh," The breathless voice commanded, "Relax, Rod. Just r -relax." That broken tone was the first real vulnerability Gilbert had ever shown him; Roderich cherished the stutter and spread his legs further, internally begging for the pain to evaporate before the man inside him could begin to move.
When Gilbert's hips did finally start to oscillate, the pain peaked momentarily before effacing into a sense of fullness: a deep satisfaction that only flesh could create.
It was perhaps the best sex Roderich had ever experienced. He was free; able to express himself without inhibitions, instead with a sexual confidence he had never before displayed.
Afterwards, they rested against one another, spent and thoughtless. Roderich rested his palm upon Gilbert's hard, hairless pectoral, feeling the heartbeat vibrate through his nerves.
Her body may have been warm, but Gilbert's had been scalding hot.
Marijuana didn't do much. When Gilbert had rolled the joint in the car, Roderich had become disgruntled that the other would soil their endeavour with the use of drugs, but then Gilbert had asked him if he would rather he discard it. And Roderich valued the fact that someone was asking his true permission rather than assuming he would be fine with it.
"No. It's fine."
"But you just said -" Gilbert had persisted.
"Light the damn thing," Roderich had insisted, leaning over to kiss Gilbert once more, "I want to try."
There he was, sharing a blunt. He felt the drug cloud his thoughts, and dampen his worries. Sometimes he giggled, sometimes he simply became engrossed in the forest around them, staring intensely out of the window, much to Gilbert's amusement.
For the first time in his remembered life, Roderich did not want to keep track of time. It was irrelevant to him, and he to it. However, when he eventually turned on his phone and saw several voice and text messages from Elizabetha, he knew this was the worst time for him to think that way.
"I'm sorry, Gil, I -" Roderich's words were muffled as he pulled on his clothes, "I need to go."
Gilbert, he could see, tried his best not to show any disappointment. Or maybe he showed some deliberately. He snorted gently. "You always 'have to go'."
Opening the door, the Austrian hesitated. "That was...before."
"Hey - wait." A hand wrapped around Roderich's wrist. Gilbert's somewhat adoring face looked to his. "It was….really nice. Being with you, I mean."
Roderich's heart fluttered sinfully. "I agree." They kissed again.
"Where have you been?" She hissed furiously, one hand gripping the wooden table until her knuckles turned white to avoid shouting at him.
Roderich understood that; Max had just gone to sleep. "I'm so sorry, I lost track of time." It hadn't been a lie.
Elizabetha's brows knitted together. "What were you doing all afternoon? We were supposed to go out for a meal with your family! I had to go on my own. Everyone asked where you were, and I lied for you, so I deserve the truth."
Roderich wanted to laugh a humourless laugh. She did not want to know the truth, and he could not bring himself to inform her.
"I was - I was running."
At this, she calmed. "Running?"
He nodded. "Since I passed the exam, my fitness has declined again. I'm failing in running, so I started to practice. I forgot my watch, so I just kept going. I really am sorry."
She sighed, folding her arms over her now flattened stomach. "And your phone? It was off."
"I left it in the car." Hoping to distract her from probing further, he asked, "How was the meal? Did you still have a nice time?"
Rubbing her cheek tiredly, she shrugged. "Yeah, it was good. It still doesn't make up for your absence, though."
Stepping closer to her, Roderich planted a butterfly kiss upon her lips. "I won't do that again."
But even as he spoke those untrue words, he noted that Elizabetha also tasted different from Gilbert.
She tasted sour.
The 'running practice sessions' became more frequent, and, after Roderich had graduated his class to work as a full-time officer, they evolved into 'late shifts'.
In actuality, Roderich had received a key to Gilbert's shabby apartment. He had also begun to smoke cannabis on a regular basis, but not so often that Elizabetha would notice.
But she most definitely noticed his long absences; Roderich lost more of his identity every day, just as he was losing his paternal connection to his son.
At only three months old, Max was a stranger to his father.
On the other hand, Gilbert was like a lifelong companion.
Whether they were dancing in one of the area's many nightclubs, or embracing under the soft linens of Gilbert's bed, they were always entranced in each other. They were always connected, Roderich could feel it. Not physically, although their sexual encounters were often. No, this bond was almost indescribable. It was intangible, esoteric. Their conversations were short because words did not suffice to convey the meaning which a look could so effortlessly display. Both were bewitched by their own feelings for the other.
Roderich was approaching the locker room when he heard the loud thud of a human head against metal.
He heard the conflict very much before he saw it; the figures were obscured by the many aisles and stacked equipment.
"You're gay, aren't you," Ivan's unmistakable voice hissed.
Roderich pictured the other male sprawled out at the Russian's feet.
"To think, you took showers with the rest of the group!" A kick swung into the ribs of the other; a grunt was audible, followed by gasping.
"You're disgusting. I knew there was something off about you; you've been clinging to Edelstein's shoulder practically since you arrived here. What, have you a crush? Huh?"
"If...if you're asking me whether I have a...boyfriend, I'm...flattered, but -"
When he heard more punches landing, Roderich couldn't take it anymore; he rushed in, saw Ivan stooping powerfully over the slumped husk of Gilbert Beilschmidt, lunged for the former.
"Ivan!" Just as the man looked up, Roderich caught his jaw with a weak right hook. It sent Ivan into the opposing column of lockers but did little else.
Roderich stood protectively before Gilbert, who had blood streaming down his face as he clutched his side.
Ivan simply brushed off the punch. "Why are you defending him?" He demanded. "He's a queer!"
"Is that your sole reason for hating him?" Roderich's dark brows furrowed, even though the sheer anger Ivan was emitting almost caused his knees to buckle.
"Are you...like that?" Ivan challenged hotly. "Are you gay?"
"Wh - no -"
"You have a family!" The Russian continued. "You have a son and you're defending a homosexual!"
"Hey!" Roderich called out towards the corridor, praying for the others to hear. "We need help, Gilbert's been -"
The blow caught him unawares; his head snapped back, muscles tensing, pain enveloping his facial nerves.
Before he knew what had happened, Gilbert he sprung to his feet, slamming Ivan back with his entire body weight, giving at least one decent hit to his gut before their colleagues rushed in; Roderich slid down to the floor, where moments ago Gilbert himself had been. His violet orbs connected with those silvery ones which resided in the white-haired male's skull. They seemed to shine brighter, but whether it was due to the agony, or Roderich denying that he was homosexual, Roderich could not have distinguished.
"How are you?"
Roderich sat on the bench in the hospital. He did not look up at the man who hovered nearby. "I should be asking you that."
He felt Gilbert sit beside him. "Your nose is the same colour as your eyes."
Roderich snorted. "Anything serious?"
"Nah," Gilbert dismissed, "black eye, a few scrapes and bruises. I think he's all mouth."
"He's homophobic. He's never behaved that offensively before, to my knowledge. Are you..sure you're alright?"
Gilbert smiled softly, even though his lip was slightly swollen. "Yeah." He leaned over to give Roderich a kiss. When they parted, Roderich's eyes opened to find his mother standing at the end of the corridor. She had arrived to collect him as he had asked, but evidently, this was too much. Hand covering her gaping mouth, she exited the building.
Roderich chased after her.
They sat in the blood-red Porsche, neither saying a word. No distant gazes were met.
Roderich pressured himself to finally speak. "It...isn't how it looks."
"We didn't raise you to be that way."
He pouted, confused. "Disloyal, or homosexual?"
"Neither!" Barked his mother, one index finger pushed into her temple as if it could ward away the headache she no doubt was feeling.
Roderich challenged her with an expression of resolution.
"How could this happen, Roderich? How? You've been so busy with your career, your girlfriend...you have a family, for goodness' sake!"
"It wasn't planned," The brunette retorted.
His mother narrowed her eyes. "Then are you guilty?"
Violet eyes drifted away. "I'm not innocent," He conceded begrudgingly. "However, I know my priorities. And my priority is my family."
"Why did you kiss that man? Where do you know him from?"
"He's...a fellow officer. Took the same course as me. Mother, please don't tell Eliza of this -"
"I would never." Her reply was much to Roderich's relief.
"She deserves to believe better. You're not to see that man again, Roderich. He seems toxic. From now on, look only at Elizabetha."
The patronising, irritated tone inflamed frustration within Roderich; he was sick of having everything planned before him; he had grown weary of following orders. As a young man, even his career had been selected for him. Simply because his father had been a man of the service, and he had wanted one of his sons to follow suit, the eldest fell into that role.
As rain began to splatter onto the windshield and he saw his mother's stoic face shadowed under the bright streetlight of the hospital car park, he realised that he was quickly losing passion for everything in his life. Except, naturally, for Gilbert Beilschmidt.
Because it was Gilbert, who encouraged him to improve his health, and Gilbert who was breathtakingly reckless and cocksure and undeniably intelligent. Gilbert had indeed changed Roderich in some way; he made him feel a very different sort of love to what which he harboured for Elizabetha and Max. Regardless of whether it was to be but an ephemeral neophilia for a previously unexperienced kind of relationship, or simply a lustful dalliance, the Austrian was reluctant to abandon it.
Opening the car door, he stepped out into the rain. "I'll walk home."
"Lovely BBQ weather, Liza!"
"I know, right? I thought, let's celebrate Max being here! I invited as many people as I could think of."
"I'm sure it'll be an awesome afternoon - plus you can finally drink alcohol again, eh?"
Elizabetha chuckled, shaking her head at Monique. "Not yet," She corrected, "breastfeeding. Doctor's advice. But luckily Rod helped me make some lemonade."
Roderich looked over from his conversation with Ludwig, nodded, and smiled.
More people arrived at his parents' house, and by early afternoon at least twenty people milled around in the large garden or on the patio, swigging beer or fizzy drinks or enjoying the freshly-cooked food that Ludwig produced, as he was experienced in the art of grilling. At least, that was what Bella had been preaching ever since they had arrived.
"Honestly, Rod, he actually won't let me cook at home!" Bella laughed, a friendly hand on his shoulder and a bottle of Becks in her free hand. "Well, he will, but he likes to prepare all the meals. He's gotten really good - I've told him countless times, he should go on a cooking TV show!"
"I'm not doing that."
"I'm sure I can trick you into entering one, sweetie."
"I don't like cameras."
"When I first met you, you didn't seem to like anything," She stuck her tongue out, despite, in Roderich's opinion, being ten years too old to be doing that. "Besides, you're so handsome, you'd win on looks alone!"
As Ludwig began to turn beet red, Roderich parted from their company to approach his girlfriend, who had gone into the house to check on sleeping Max.
Max's nursery was incredibly plain when they walked in, but their attention was only on their peacefully resting son.
"We'll have to finish painting this nursery," Roderich whispered, resting his chin on Elizabetha's shoulder. She nodded. "I wanted to do it before he was born, but we were both preoccupied. And he did get here a little early."
"Typical German."
She laughed softly, leaning back into her boyfriend. "At least we know he can sleep through a rowdy BBQ. Oh, by the way, I invited Gilbert."
The illusion of playing happy families shattered into a million shards of glass."O-oh."
"That alright? It's just, you seem to be friends, and your mum said you had helped him after...well."
Roderich looked her in the eye. "But the rest of my training class is here. Ivan is here."
Elizabetha pressed her lips tightly together. "I said to Gilbert that if he didn't want to come, he didn't have to. But if he does, Rod, there are enough people here to stop Ivan anyway. Hopefully he's calmed down by now."
Roderich sighed, nodding his acceptance.
"Besides," She continued, "isn't it important that Gilbert takes pride in who he is? Maybe all he needs to do is show up, confront any prejudices, and then people might accept him. Even Ivan."
His chest felt constricted again; his arms dropped back to his sides. "I wouldn't hold your breath."
Gilbert arrived, and brought with him an overwhelming silence which fell upon those who recognised him. Only Monique stepped forward to welcome him, and Ludwig, for his part, did make small talk as he finished the batch of sausages he was grilling.
Ivan moved towards Gilbert; Roderich steeled himself to intervene, but it appeared as if the Russian had no violent intentions.
Gilbert raised his jaw and those gunmetal grey eyes; no verbal exchange was made, and Ivan instead made his excuses to Elizabetha before leaving.
For the entirety of the remainder of the BBQ, Roderich managed to avoid speaking with the German, but there came a time when he saw Gilbert being shepherded into the spacious living room by his parents. Chewing his lip, he followed.
"Stay away from our son."
As soon as the Austrian was within earshot, he began to feel drained. It was embarrassing enough for his parents to have found out about Gilbert; it may well have been worse, trying to defend him, and in that, justify himself.
He glimpsed Gilbert stood in the centre of the room, arms folded loosely, shoulders tense. As if he were a child being scolded for something petty.
"You're a bad influence," Roderich's father reproached, "we will not have you corrupting Roderich."
Gilbert stayed silent, a decision he had doubtlessly made out of wisdom.
"What kind of relationship do you even have with him?" Queried Roderich's mother, brow furrowed in disdain.
The white-haired male shrugged. "Dunno."
"Don't address us so informally," The father's hardened tone cut through the atmosphere, "answer the question, please."
Suddenly Gilbert looked to Roderich's hiding place behind the partially-opened door. "Ask him."
Sensing that his cover had been blown, Roderich stepped into the room, but he couldn't think of any words to produce. His answer almost didn't matter; if he admitted he had any relationship with Gilbert, he could condemn himself as a filthy, disloyal human being. His mother had already witnessed them kissing, after all.
Pain curled into a taut ball inside his heart, but Roderich finally located the words he knew needed to be said. "I think it best that you leave, Gilbert." His own lips stung.
His parents appeared satisfied with their son's dismissal; Gilbert straightened his spine, his aura seeming to harden, to exclude Roderich completely.
"Just remember to breathe evenly." And he walked away.
The next couple of weeks passed uneventfully. Roderich had barely seen Gilbert in that time.
The man was like some kind of entity; omnipresent in Roderich's thoughts, yet scarcely present in physical form.
One day, Roderich was driving home, enjoying the relative serenity of the flat, winding roads leading back into the town. A familiar car started tailing him, eventually closing in, dangerously so; Roderich was shouldered into a small layby.
The man in the driver's seat, he could see from the rear-view mirror, looked incredibly annoyed.
He wasn't the only one. Shoving himself out of the vehicle, Roderich charged the other approaching man until they stood, fuming, toe-to-toe.
"Back off," Roderich commanded, ignoring the electric sensation of being so near to Gilbert.
"This isn't you, Roderich," Gilbert defended, "you're lying to yourself -" Roderich rolled his eyes and made to abandon him, but Gilbert's hand grasped his wrist tightly, far more tightly than he had in the car all those weeks ago.
Roderich tried to tug his arm free, but the fingers were too strong.
"Just - admit that you're gay!"
"I AM NOT!" The other yelled, stepping into Gilbert only to propel him backwards; Gilbert lost his balance and landed heavily on his backside, the gravel biting his skin.
As Gilbert hissed in discomfort, Roderich continued his onslaught. "I am not gay. Understand? Whatever we had...it was...Max is the most important thing in my life, now. There is no room for you. I love Elizabetha; I want her to be my wife, someday. P-please, Gilbert…" The fight left his words, as a full-grown man looked up into his violet eyes.
Levering himself up again, Gilbert placed both hands hesitantly onto both side of Roderich's neck.
"All those lies must really clutter your airway."
"I do love her!"
Gilbert tilted his head. "...Enough?"
The words tore Roderich apart. His legs weakened and his breathing became shallow. He loved Elizabetha, she was an incredible woman. She had carried his baby, had trusted him enough to start a family, to move into his parents' house to save money, and she would probably also trust Roderich enough to enter into marriage with him.
Now, thanks to Gilbert Beilschmidt, Roderich realised that Elizabetha had trusted him far too much. He was a horrible person. A cheater. A liar.
Eventually, Roderich sagged forward, head bowed against Gilbert's collarbone.
The dance club was steamy, deafeningly loud, alive with bass, and it stank of sweat.
Such a different environment; Roderich allowed himself to be swallowed up by the mass of swaying people, along with Gilbert.
At one point, Gilbert offered him a little pill, which he took instantly. He chased it down with tequila, beer, vodka, and anything else he desired.
He eagerly followed Gilbert into the cramped, unsanitary, graffitied restroom; emotions were beyond his comprehension as his trousers were discarded, replaced instead with a humid, sticky mouth, which brought him quickly to completion.
Why had he never before pretended that tomorrow did not exist?
This question Roderich asked himself repeatedly, even after he had joined Gilbert in bed, the noises and lights of town distant compared to the breathless gasps and high-pitched whines of pleasure. Surrounded by darkness, Gilbert murmured against Roderich's jaw, "Breathe evenly," eliciting a tender chuckle from the latter as their bodies intertwined, a tandem of lust and love.
Consciousness came with a jackhammer of agony to Roderich's skull, partly caused by the blinding sunlight in his eyes, partly from whatever concoction of drugs and alcohol he had consumed the previous night.
Turning over in bed, he noted the still-unconscious form of Gilbert Beilschmidt beside him.
God knew what world he was in right now.
His phone buzzed: his morning alarm. Glancing carefully at the bright screen, he saw the time. 5:30AM. He sat up abruptly, the pain clouding his mind and pricking his nerves. His entire body felt raw, abused. Technically, he had indeed abused his body last night.
The 10 missed calls and 15 text messages from his girlfriend also did not escape his attention.
Three hours later, Gilbert Beilschmidt awoke alone.
Roderich found Elizabetha in the nursery, the floor of which had been covered with sheets and large tins of paint. She was using a paint-roller, colouring the walls of Max's room a soft blue.
She had to have heard him enter, but evidently wanted not to speak with him. Roderich could understand that; he approached her nonetheless. "Hey."
She shook off his hands, and focused on painting.
"Eliza - are you alright?" One of his hands crept back onto her hip; she swung the roller around, pushing him back, a print of the roller now on his untucked shirt. "Wha -"
"No I'm not bloody alright!" She growled, "Where the hell have you been all night? You didn't answer any of my calls or texts - I had no idea if you were safe!"
Hands up in defence, Roderich stepped back. "It was Friday," He explained feebly, "I had a few drinks with my colleagues."
Elizabetha scrutinised him carefully. "Then why didn't you come home?"
He averted his gaze. "We...drank a little too much. I stayed with a friend."
"What friend, Roderich? You're no social butterfly and you know it." Throwing his arms up in frustration, Roderich brushed past her, out to the patio. Evidently his parents were still asleep, and he needed fresh air.
He sensed her standing behind him, arms folded, her tousled, mousy hair framing world-weary eyes. "You reek of alcohol."
She took a step forward. "You reek of sex."
His heart froze.
"Just tell me, Rod, because I can't….I can't do this anymore."
"Tell you what?" He spun round on the chair. There were tears in her eyes. "You've been out late a lot," She elaborated, "saying you had late shifts. After I noticed you were becoming more distant, I rang up your office a few times to check. Every time I rung, someone informed me that you'd left hours ago." Elizabetha's bottom lip trembled; a teardrop slid down her pale cheek. Now Roderich stood, but he did not touch her; she was like a deer, who could bolt if he moved too quickly.
"Is there….someone else?" She finally asked; her tone conveyed her fear of finding out the answer.
Roderich could no longer lie to her. She deserved better than he. "Yes."
Elizabetha closed her eyes, that rare expression of pained disbelief clear to see. She began to sob, one paint-splattered hand coming up to cradle her forehead.
After her tears had subsided, those strong green eyes snapped open, now outlined in red. "Is it Gilbert?"
Roderich's stomach rolled unpleasantly. "What? Eliza, I'm not…"
"You know what? Never mind. I don't want to be here right now."
"W-wait - Elizabetha!"
The fight had continued for hours. Roderich's parents had gotten involved, but Roderich had warded them off with sharp words and burning glares.
Elizabetha had been determined. "I'm going to your brother's. Bella will help me sort this out. No, I - I need some space from you! Roderich!"
She had packed her suitcase, and gathered max into his carry-on. Roderich had blocked the front door.
"Will you stay if I tell you who it was?"
"Nothing you will say will prevent me from leaving. Goodbye, Roderich."
He sat now on the sofa, his hands cupped over his nose and mouth. Occasionally he would rub his eyes to hold off the tears.
He fished in his pocket of the clothes he had yet to change. The cold, hard metal key bit into his palm.
There was only one person left to return to, now.
Gilbert's apartment was completely empty.
The bed had been made, the coffee-maker had been used, the shower room was still wet. But it felt like all life had been sucked out of this place.
Roderich lay on Gilbert's bed, reminiscing their conversations out on the balcony.
"Have you ever though about, just, packing up your things and disappearing?" Gilbert had once asked him, a cigarette between his lips.
"Honestly, I never have. I have too much too lose. But, if I ever were to run away with someone, it would be with you."
Gilbert really was like a hurricane, uncontrollable, unpredictable, gorgeous in his destruction. He had fractured Roderich's life; it now lay in severed sections.
But he had also emancipated him from the constraints of his parents and his new family. Yes, he had done a despicable thing, but he was now free of responsibility. There was hardly anything stopping Roderich from spiriting himself away.
He rested his head on Gilbert's pillow, and inhaled the scent until he fell asleep.
"Rod, you need to leave."
"No, I want to speak to her."
"Well, she doesn't want to speak to you, so -"
"Bella, please!" Roderich begged, praying that she didn't slam to door in his face. "I need her, and I miss my son - it's been a week, please, I just want them home."
"You've ruined home for her," Bella clarified, her eyes narrowing in anger. "You cheated on her. She needs time to process this."
"Can I ...can I at least see Max?"
Bella was about to answer, when Ludwig's voice called. "Who is it?"
"It's Roderich." Ludwig appeared soon after, his ice-blue eyes unsure of how to judge his older brother. All he did was nod once before making his way back into the depths of their house.
Then, Elizabetha approached the doorway, and Bella moved aside. "Please go, Rod." Bella looked to him expectantly.
Roderich surged forward, desperate to enter the house. "No - I - I want to see my son! Eliza! Bella, hey -!"
Bella was stronger than she looked; cursing him out, she slammed the door and locked it. Roderich heard the wail of a baby seconds later.
He welled up again, chest heaving as he was forced to return to his car. "Max," He whispered, broken.
A few days later, Roderich once again set foot in Gilbert's apartment. It was still deserted, more so than last time. He checked the drawers, wardrobe, and food cupboards - all were empty.
There was a note on Gilbert's pillow.
Gilbert's scruffy handwriting was easily distinguishable.
Roderich,
Auf Wiedersehen, Unbekannte.*
Gilbert
Here they were again; the class of officers ran along the race track, in indiscriminately-chosen lanes.
All wore identical short-sleeved shirts, the word POLIZEI displayed proudly between their shoulder blades.
Roderich was falling behind. But today he was determined to prevail.
He straightened his spine, pumped his arms backwards and forwards at his sides; Roderich monitored his breathing, counted the seconds between inhale and exhale. His speed began to increase.
Roderich's legs, stronger, more powerful, propelled him ahead of Monique, ahead of Ivan, far ahead of the coach, violet eyes alive with the excitement of competition. Roderich had no idea who he was anymore, but he was breathing evenly.
He now lead the group, surpassing all. And he stayed there.
A/N: Well that was the longest one-shot I've ever written. I thought it would tide over all the readers of A Laboratory for the End of the World, or just be something interesting to read. Sorry it's kind of ambiguous; I wrote most of it when I was drunk, it's like a one-night fanfiction. But to be fair, the film's ending is also ambiguous.
* Typically in German-speaking countries, they will knock on desks to show their appreciation in an academic setting. It's considered polite, and generally they will only applaud after a theatre play or other performance, otherwise it can be perceived as patronising.
* Translation: "Until we meet again, unknown one."
Comments are appreciated! I always love to hear what others think of my work. Title of this fic is based on the song 'Who Are You' by Miss Kenichi.