All that Glitters, a hetalia - axis powers fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

This is primarily PruLiech, with multiple mentions of Franada (femCan), AusHun, PruCan (femPru). All other pairings, or mention of pairings, don't last longer than two paragraphs. I swear.
Also some names (in order of appearance): Anders - femDen, Madeline - femCan, Annalise - femPru, Elisa (Lilli) - Liech, Nikkolaj - Den, Marta - femSwe, Willem - Ned, Evelina - femVen, Elaine - femEng, Allistair - Scot, Gwendolyn - femWales, Aine - femIre, Marian - femNIre,

He would show up on Ludwig's doorway with little warning, blown back to his brother's city when contracts terminated, when job prospects lessened, when the money ran dry. He had boxes in the basement, his whole life contained in a corner of Ludwig's basement and the bag on his back. Ludwig's house was a recharge, a reboot, a relight, before he went haring off on some other adventure. Ludwig never smiled when he saw Gilbert appear on his doorstep, a wraith from his past and not entirely welcomed into his future, he held himself high, sentences clipped, but would almost melt like metal in a forge in Gilbert's embrace. Ludwig disapproved of Gilbert's lifestyle.

The two would always talk late into the night, Gilbert, raucous laughter and tall tales of his adventures, and Ludwig, structured speech and family. The days Gilbert spent at his brother's home passed normally, slowly, even quietly. Ludwig would come home from work and find Gilbert sprawled out on one of his couches, surrounded by the books he had dug up from his bins in the basement.

Gilbert never stayed long, usually, just long enough to find a new job somewhere far away and to reorganize his bins and network with some old, old friends. His bins stayed in the corner of Ludwig's basement, stacked in neat and orderly rows, despite his proclivity towards chaos and Ludwig would hope that the next time Gilbert came back it would be to finally collect his belongings and take them to his new home, his settled life. But that had not happened so far, and Gilbert would show up on his brother's doorstep after a year or two to switch up the items in his backpack, read some books, and visit some friends.

This year was no different, and Gilbert turned up in late May, his smile wide in his sunburnt face, a ridiculous looking sunhat hanging down his shoulders. They hugged it out on the doorstep, Ludwig stiff at first, Gilbert puppy-happy, arms flung wildly about Ludwig. Gilbert's presence left marks on Ludwig's house. The extra beer in the fridge, the piles of books that migrated into the living room, the extra dishes in the sink, an extra hum of energy, low at first but building as the days progressed to weeks.

"Gilbert what are you doing now?" Elizaveta set cake and tea, and while Gilbert would have preferred beer he took it anyways, grimacing at the sweetness of the cake frosting.

"I've got this hook up in Africa, this job buildina school and then workin' in it after."

Elizaveta was more than shrewd, her gaze suspect. "And the pay?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Nothin' special."

Roderich laid a hand on Elizaveta's arm. She forced herself to smile. "Well. That's good."

All of them knew she was lying. Gilbert shrugged again. "What's new with you? You said you had big news."

The two exchanged glances, sly happy smiles and Gilbert knew instantly what they were going to tell him. "We're having a baby." Roderich's voice was proud and warm and the happiest Gilbert had ever heard it in his presence, save for the day he and Elizaveta married.

Gilbert had a tablet and his life was in the cloud. It was the only way for him to stay in touch with his far-flung friends and family. The only way for him to affordably read in countries whose language was not his mother tongue. He sat in the room he shared with the other boy at the complex where they were building the school, knees tucked up to his chest, reading PDF books he had downloaded from stolen WiFi at the airport.

He'd be here another eight months and all the foreigners were loud and brash youngsters who wore their hopes on their sleeves. Gilbert started to wonder, and not for the first time, if he was too old for this kind of life style. Maybe it was just better to settle down.

And do what? And with whom?

Gilbert had wandered from the moment high school had ended, jumped universities and degrees, never seemed to stay anywhere for longer than eight months. He worked constantly, his summers spent out west, and his school at the opposite end of the country, and spent years away from his family. When he graduated his reason to stay in the country ended and his need to get out had grown.

Elizaveta never really forgave him for leaving her and the country (even now, despite being happily married to and disgustingly in love with prissy Roderich, and their relationship had always been a trainwreck in waiting). Gilbert had job hopped, country hopped, leisurely travelled in all the intermittent years.

The people doing the jobs he was doing all stayed the same age, but Gilbert continually got older. He got older alone; and that there was the problem, even more than the odd graft jobs and the constant movement. He never stayed in one spot long enough to cement ties, make long lasting connections, have a purpose.

He became friends with a girl while there. Her hair was long and wild and she swore worse than the men on the oil rigs Gilbert had worked on when he was in university. She told him everyone called her Anders, but her real name was Andrea and she never wanted to settle down.

They got drunk together one night, when everyone else was in bed and traded problems for shots. Her voice slurred when she talked to him and her eyes crossed, unfocussed on everything except the alcohol. "My mother died before I came here." Her voice was oddly sobering despite their inebriated condition. "I just had to get the fuck out of there. I couldn't deal with it."

Anders blinked too rapidly and Gilbert found his arm jumping around her of its own accord. "S'okay."

She turned her face into his neck, breath smelling like the liquor they'd been consuming too rapidly. "No. It's not."

"No," Gilbert amended, hand and fingers curling around her shoulder, "But it's'okay to cry." But Anders was stubborn and she shook her head into his shoulder, roughly, long hair sticking to his neck.

Anders got a job teaching in Vietnam and asked Gilbert to come with her. Gilbert had never been to Vietnam and he found himself nodding and agreeing to go and find a job. They packed their stuff up together and filed the paperwork for visas and sat next to each other on the airplane. She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, while he watched some Hollywood action flick with too many special effects and not enough plot.

Hanoi was hot in July, sticky with humidity. They lived in some cramped quarters in a house with Filipino women, who disapproved wholeheartedly and loudly about an unmarried couple rooming together. Anders spent her first paycheque on a scooter and booted it around the city, coming close to death on more than one occasion.

Gilbert eventually found a job teaching kindergardeners. They were cute with chubby brown faces, but they spoke no English and just yelled at each other, and sometimes him, in Vietnamese. He bit down on his hesitation and signed a contract for six months.

"I am going to go to Thailand anyways." Their vacations did not fall on the same weeks and Anders did not want to loiter around Hanoi on a week when she did not have to work. Gilbert was too stubborn to plead for her to wait around.

When she came back their relationship changed. Anders spent more and more time away from their shared living space. Gilbert felt the urge to break his contract and leave Hanoi, but he only just over a month left.

Anders found him later, she was drunk again on cheap Vietnamese beer and her flaxen hair was eternally messy. "I am leaving."

It still hurt despite the fact that he knew it was coming. "Where're you goin?"

"Anywhere."

"Who're you going with?"

Anders' eyes closed, drunkenly, sleepily, with boredom. "Whoever wants to come."

"I have another month and a half."

"I know."

"When're you leaving?"

"This week."

There was nothing more to say after that and so neither of them did. Anders left later that week and Gilbert continued teaching kindergarden.

Gilbert met Antonio in the Philippines once he had finished in Vietnam. Antonio was teaching scuba diving there and trying to romance a pretty girl with long dark hair and brown skin. Antonio had been in the Philippines for a few years now, and spent all his time swimming with fish and taking siestas and drinking in the shade of tropical trees.

Antonio picked him up at the airport, despite the last time Gilbert had come through here and the mess of security because of his passport, stuffed too full with visas. They spent the next three weeks together, and by the end Gilbert felt he had long worn out his welcome. He spent the next little while island hopping through random beaches before boarding a plane that would take him somewhere new.

He answered a Skype call from Francis while sitting in the airport in Beijing. He was laid over, now, seventeen hours, due to delays and inclement weather. Gilbert didn't think that his hatred of winter could grow after two years in Russia. But it could and it had. Francis' nose looked too long in the screen shot, but his smile was wide and bright. "Cherie. Where are you? Antonio told me you were visiting him and then vanished."

Gilbert had been drinking, heavily, what else do you do with a delay and a pocketful of Chinese coins you'll never use again? "It was time to move on. Y'know."

Francis' voice was flat and unimpressed across the tablet screen and the continents, and the disgruntled Chinese man Gilbert has been sharing the bar with glared. "When are you coming back home?"

"I don't have a home."

"Fool. Of course you do."

"Not really."

Francis made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. "Where are you going now?"

"Just thought I'd travel. I've never been to India, but I think I might stop over in Taiwan or Sri Lanka for a while."

"How long?"

"Dunno."

Francis shook his head, golden hair sweeping across his face. "Come home already. I have some news for you."

"Jus' tell me. I won't be back for a while."

"Why not?"

"Don't have a reason to."

"I'm your reason. Get your ass back here." The screen flickered dark, and Francis disappeared back across the continents. Gilbert wondered what kind of news could not be delivered via email or Facebook or a Skype call. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he was getting married. Maybe he had a child. There was only one way to find out.

But the thought of getting on a plane to somewhere so far away from where he was – almost exactly the other side of the globe – was exhausting. Especially when coupled with the look of agitation and weariness that would grace Ludwig's face when Gilbert ended up on his door again, with no future plans.

He arrived just before the monsoon season and got to see everything green and dry, as opposed to the oppressive humidity that would sweat the country in just a few weeks. A bit of wandering, east instead of west, revealed that Arthur Kirkland was in Kolkata. The two of them had worked, way back when, when Gilbert first left home for good, in a hagwon in South Korea. Neither of them had enjoyed the job.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here anyway?"

The two had met at some restaurant that Arthur had advised him to come to over the internet, it had been hard to find; the bastard probably hoped that Gilbert would get lost among the rambling buildings and streets of Kolkata. "Just travellin'."

Arthur snorted, unfolding a napkin across his lap and rolling up his shirt sleeves past his elbows. "Still a bum are you?"

"What're you doin'? How long you been here?"

A waiter came by and Arthur snapped at him irritably in Hindi, a bunch of jumbled syllables to Gilbert's untrained ear. "I just ordered for you too, I hope you don't mind." There was smugness in Arthur's voice and Gilbert bit his tongue at Arthur's arrogance. And Ludwig said that Gilbert never learnt anything. "I have been here for about three years."

"Doin' what?"

"Teaching English at the university."

"I thought you hated teaching ESL."

Arthur sniffed. "I hate children."

"Why?"

"They are disrespectful, arrogant little brats." The waiter placed some strange curried dishes before them. Arthur ripped a chunk of naan bread with only his right hand and scooped vegetables into his mouth. "Adults are much more dignified."

Gilbert snorted and tore into the bread with both his hands, disregarding local culture on cleanliness. "Yeah. Sure they are."

"How long are you staying here for?"

"I'm not campin' on your floor, whaddyou care?"

"Francis," the tone of the name was slanted with something much angrier than Arthur's normal level of agitation, "keeps pestering me about when you are going back home."

"Never."

"Don't you miss your brother?" Arthur's voice was sharp.

"Don't you?"

"Those wankers? Hardly. I could not wait to get out of the country and leave them all behind." Arthur's English sounded even more British, all stiff and proper, than it had when they had both first met in Korea.

"Maybe I feel the same way."

"You don't." Arthur was blunt. He always had been.

When Gilbert took the train up to Darjeeling he considered the way Arthur now spoke, like he was trying to hold onto his British identity despite the number of years that had passed since he last lived in London. Arthur had kicked around South East Asia for a long time, jumping schools and countries and drinking his way through paycheque after paycheque.

While Gilbert had been around, Arthur had proudly demonstrated his knowledge of Hindi and taken Gilbert to many of the sights of Kolkata and Gilbert figured that Arthur enjoyed being the foreign English Professor at the university. It was the standout identity he'd never had surrounded by his older and more vivacious brothers.

Almost two months later an irate Francis skyped him again, just after Gilbert had done a climb up a mountain in Nepal. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, you utter asshole. Are you determined to miss my wedding?"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know you were getting married," Gilbert paused, "and to who?!"

"You would know these things if you were around more often, instead of gallivanting off to god knows where constantly." Gilbert could feel the stresses in his words, Francis' flamboyant way of getting angry – a sharp contrast to Arthur's blunt cuss words. "I wanted you to be in my wedding. But you keep dodging my calls and ignoring my emails. You realise you are my best friend right?"

Gilbert felt his mouth go slack in a dumbfounded kind of way. "Well if I'd known that was why you wanted me back in the damned country, I'd have fucking come back already. You think I'm a goddamned mindreader? For fucksakes Francis."

"I am getting married to the love of my life in three weeks. Do you think your royal highness could get your ass back here by then?"

Gilbert went back to the place he still called home, (in his speech, and sometimes when he failed to catch himself in his heart and in his mind), finally, taking the earliest flight he could get out of Nepal and almost wanted to make Francis pay him back the cost of the flight. But Francis was his dearest friend, a boy he had stumbled into one day in residence so many years ago. Gilbert's distance had never dented their relationship, and in many ways they talked more when Gilbert left the continent than they ever had when they shared a city.

He wondered, as he sat, cramped and crushed into an airplane seat, head uncomfortable against the window, with a crick in his neck that would take days to relieve, who this girl was that Francis was so in love with. Gilbert had hardly had the chance to see Francis the last time he had been home, but in their brief alcohol fuelled meeting Francis had never mentioned a girl. Had it been that long since he had last been back?

It had. Elizaveta was quick to remind him when she picked him up at the airport a child in tow, her hand coming down on his head in a few heavy thwacks. Her son peeped out from behind her dress, which did little to hide her growing pregnancy, nervous to talk to the strange pale man that his mother was loudly and violently chastising.

Francis' fiancee was a quiet honey blonde with deep blue eyes. Francis spoke enough for the both of them, but when he was about to go on a melodramatic turn, she silenced his flapping tongue with little more than a look. "Don't listen to him." Madeline shook her head at Francis and favoured Gilbert with a smile, "There is definitely still time for you to be in the wedding. We just need to get you a tux."

"But the colours won't match - " and Gilbert knew that Francis would be aghast if his wedding photos had colours that didn't blend perfectly.

"Your best friend being in the wedding is more important!"

"He should have just come home earlier." Francis was slightly sulky, lips downturning and Gilbert was encouraged when Madeline came to his defence.

"Well, how was he to know you wanted him back here for something important and not just another weekend bender?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know he'd stay away so long?"

Madeline shook her head at Francis, a disapproving noise growing in her throat, "This isn't his home love."

It should have felt good, Gilbert reflected later, that someone else finally thought that Gilbert's lifestyle was a fine one. If anything Madeline almost seemed envious of the freedom Gilbert had, but of course, not enough to give up the apartment she shared with Francis or her comfortable job or her impending marriage. But it was nice to know that that there was someone out there who saw value in what Gilbert did.

One of the other groomsmen at the wedding was a man that Gilbert had lost touch with many years back. Both were shocked to see the other, Matthew's dark eyes widening behind the same round wire glasses he had worn when they both worked the oil rigs.

"What're you doin' here?"

Matthew's mouth twisted quizzically, "My twin's the one getting married. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Your twin's marrying my best friend." A pause. "Really? You've a twin? You don't really look that much alike."

"You're fucking blind mate."

And it turned out that Gilbert was in fact 'fucking blind' when Matthew and Madeline stood next to each other. They had the same honey hair, the same eyes such a deep blue they were almost purple, and the same sharp slanting nose. Matthew was taller and bulkier though, and held a simple distrust in his dark eyes and face, whereas Madeline was slight and shy and seemed to glow from some inner light. Perhaps that was just the glow of marriage that Elizaveta had told him all women got on that special day. Gilbert didn't know, he hadn't been to that many weddings and had drank himself to blindness on hers.

Madeline wore Francis down with a simple efficiency regarding the matter of Gilbert's tuxedo and the slightly off colour of his tie. She convinced him it wouldn't make that much a difference in the pictures because everyone should be looking at her and not all that focussed on what one of the groomsmen was wearing. Gilbert had laughed when she said that, agreeing wholeheartedly with her assessment and Francis was forced to realise that she was right.

Ludwig had grudgingly allowed Gilbert into his home again, as usual, but the two had bonded over tales and beer late into the night, and Gilbert knew that Ludwig mostly held no hard feelings towards him. Gilbert spent many of his days at Elizaveta and Roderich's house getting to know their son, Benji. Elizaveta expressed both joy and concern about Gilbert's frequent presence. "We wanted to make you his godfather you know."

Gilbert was flattered, "Why didn't you? I'd be a fucken awesome godfather."

"Don't swear in front of my son!" Elizaveta clapped her hands over Benji's ears protectively. "Because you are never here!"

"So? I could still be an awesome godfather from the other side of the world. Send him sweet stuff from all over the world. Teach him swear words in a buncha different languages."

"Oh right, because that is something he needs to know."

"It is! I can't tell you how helpful my knowledge of foreign swear words have been."

"You could have sent him stuff the last two years you have been gone and you never did! I sent you messages about him! Pictures too!"

"Hey!" Gilbert felt the need to defend himself, "I replied to those things! I even sent you a package from Vietnam! Don't act like I am worthless."

"I want my son's godfather to actually be in his life." Elizaveta fretted with the hemline of the shirt that hung loosely over her protruding belly. "I don't want him to be a name on a postcard. Gilbert, come home. Aren't we all reason enough to stay?"

And they should have been really, but the thought of settling down, of staying somewhere for too long, made Gilbert panic, his heart racing within his chest. They all had lives, separate and apart from him, lives that had grown up during the spanning years, and Gilbert felt that he had no lasting role in them, just fleeting moments.

The day of the wedding, outdoor of course since Francis never did anything halfway, Gilbert found himself setting up chairs before a makeshift altar half-dressed in his tuxedo. A young slip of a girl was helping him, her long hair a tumble of straw coloured curls pinned on her head with flowers artfully tucked in the strands. "I'm Gilbert," he found himself struggling to introduce himself, when she looked at him with eyes the colour of leaves in the springtime.

"I know who you are." Her smile was easy and amused, but she did not offer him any name in return.

Gilbert found himself getting absolutely plastered at the wedding with Antonio and Matthew's girlfriend, Annaliese. Antonio was deep in drink, mourning the loss of his girl. Gilbert didn't have many words of comfort for him; he couldn't remember what it was like to have loved someone. Annaliese just kept feeding Antonio shots of whatever liquor she could get from the bar and Gilbert figured that was as good a remedy as any other.

"Come dance with me."

Madeline looked like a princess in her wedding dress with its glitter and its layers and the tiara. Annaliese laughed, "Bugger. I'm getting drunk with my new best friends." Her arms went up and around Gilbert on her left and the sobbing, drunken mess Antonio had become on her right.

"Leave the poor lad alone, he is absolutely wrecked."

"I know! I got him that way!" There was no mistaking the pride in Annaliese's voice. Gilbert laughed, a low chuckle that slowly became hysterical. What in the fuck was he doing back here and at a wedding and with all these people he had nothing in common with?

He spent the rest of the wedding taking care of Antonio, allowing one of his oldest friends to cry wet patches onto the suit he had paid too much for. It didn't matter. It was going to be added to one of the bins in Ludwig's basement before Gilbert jetted out of this place to somewhere new. "I loved her." Antonio hiccupped from crying so hard, wiping his face into Gilbert's shoulder.

Gilbert was at a loss for words. He was no hand at comforting people. He was awkward and unsure and dealing with people's emotions had never been something he was good at. Gilbert found he lacked the sympathy needed to hear out other's plights. But Antonio was not just anybody and so Gilbert attempted to give him false comfort and sat with him in the bathroom while he puked his feelings and all the alcohol Annaliese had given him into the toilet.

Gilbert had been home a lot longer than he normally was, due to the wedding, and hoped that he would be leaving again soon. He had been spending a lot of time alone lately, in his brother's house, reading and playing video games and going completely out of his mind with boredom. The knock at the door shocked him into a sudden burst of energy as he ripped the door open in his excitement. Even if it was just a Mormon or a Jehovah's Witness or someone trying to sell him something, he was eager for the human contact during the afternoon.

It was none of those people, but instead the girl from the wedding with the straw coloured hair and the green eyes. "Hello Gilbert." Her smile was a bit shy, but it held a glint of mischievousness that Gilbert found entirely too attractive.

"Hello whatever your name is, since you never gave it to me at the wedding."

"Instead of calling me that clunky moniker, why not just call me Lilli."

"Is that your name?"

"It's what my friends and family call me."

"And I am your friend?"

"Hmm. Not yet." Her lips curved up a little further than they had before. "Perhaps you should call me by my full name then."

"Which is?"

She laughed, more melodic than Gilbert was expecting from someone with such a young, girlish looking face. "Elisa."

"Well then Elisa, what brings you to my doorstep?" He frowned. "Well actually my brother's. And how do you know where he lives anyways? Omifuck are you the mysterious person he's been sneaking off and meeting? I knew it had to be a girl!"

Elisa wrinkled her nose, "No! I don't even know who your brother is. I am here to talk to you actually."

"To me?" Gilbert felt his hand pointing to himself dumbly of its own accord.

"Yes. You."

"But you don't even know me!"

"I was sent here obviously."

"By who?" Gilbert was suspicious. This was clearly some kind of prank that Francis had set up. There was no way that this pretty girl he didn't even know was actually here to see him.

"By Madeline."

"Well she hardly knows me either!"

Elisa frowned at him. "Are you going to let me in so I can talk to you or just have me stand out on your step while I tell you everything?"

"Uh! Right!" Gilbert realised much too belatedly that he was still hovering in the doorway and backed out of the way to let her in, "Com'on in."

Elisa was the cause of his new job. She told him about her cousin up north, who was looking for someone to help him run his shooting range. While not something he usually did Gilbert saw no reason to turn down a job that he wouldn't have to apply for a visa to get. Elisa's cousin Vash was a hard man, who shared her bright green eyes, but his hair was more brown than blond and he shared none of her friendly nature.

Vash was suspicious and stern, and did not seem to trust Gilbert at all. There wasn't much out where Vash was and the man hardly spoke more than two words together to Gilbert, or to anyone else for that matter. The town they lived in was quiet and empty and devoid of anyone Gilbert wanted to associate with for more than a few nights.

He found himself drinking at the bar more nights than not, drinking more heavily and constantly than he had since his university days, or his months in Korea, with wizened old men. They told tales of their youth and begrudged the just-turned-legal kids who would crowd their way in on Friday nights. Gilbert had little in common with both groups and everyone who was close in age to him seemed to have wives or husbands and children of their own and had neither the time nor the money to come out for a few drinks every week.

Gilbert didn't fit in here either.

Gilbert felt alone. He sat in the room where he was staying at Vash's place and played music through his earphones and wished that someone he actually felt a connection with would talk to him. No one did. Antonio had gone back to his life in Indonesia. Francis had his new job and his new wife to keep him occupied. Elizaveta was about to have her second child and Roderich was busier than ever with his music. Ludwig continued to ignore all of Gilbert's calls like the bastard that he was. So did Arthur, way down in India, where he spent all his time wooing some beautiful Indian girl, who wanted nothing to do with a foreigner with no status or money.

He had always felt alone during his times of wandering, only came into contact with very few people who lasted longer than his or their duration in the same place. He had thousands of friends on Facebook, but the only ones that mattered were the ones that he mailed things to or called. And he could count them on his hands.

But he didn't feel 'at home' when at home either. He still lacked purpose, lacked direction, lacked focus. The thought of bringing everything to a halt was terrifying; the idea of stagnation was like drowning in tedium and mediocrity.

Ludwig was clearly not pleased to see him back so soon. He didn't melt during their heartfelt hug on the doorstep like he usually did when Gilbert had been gone for an extended period of time. Apparently six months had become too soon. He didn't have a place here.

Elisa and Gilbert had kept in touch, at first distantly then slowly with greater frequency. Elisa was unhappy with her job, her life and longed for some sort of freedom. They met for coffee which turned into drinks. She was the first lasting new friend Gilbert had made in a long time. He had been steadily stagnating even though he didn't realise it.

She wanted to leave the country and found out about Gilbert's upcoming job, picking wine grapes at a vineyard in Italy. She wanted to come. Gilbert shrugged and emailed his contact right in front of her on the tablet he took everywhere. "Won't your family be mad that you're just up and leavin'?"

She raised an eyebrow over her beer mug, "Was yours?"

Elisa was an energetic travel companion. She wanted to stop everywhere and see everything. She wanted to have run-ins with locals in sketchy bars. Gilbert had not had such fun in a long time. They toured Italy on their weekends, but she wanted to blow her meagre earnings on going to Spain, Greece, Switzerland, and France as well. Gilbert suggested they go after they finished their job and try to find work somewhere else. There was better money in other parts of the world. Gilbert had a friend up in Denmark, who brewed his own beer and would probably have liked a few extra hands. They could see the whole of Western Europe that way. If that was what Elisa wanted.

Gilbert never called her Lilli. That was the name of a foolish child and Elisa was neither of those things.

Elisa left after she got to see all the parts of Western Europe she had desired. Gilbert had asked her to stay longer, she was a wonderful travel companion. But Elisa refused and said she had to figure out what she wanted to do with her life and no longer wanted to live a nomadic lifestyle. She wanted a life with purpose instead of just working odd jobs that others didn't want to.

Gilbert stayed with Nikkolaj for another few months, helping the wild haired blond with his brewing. "You don't have to stay here and help me yuhknow."

Gilbert quit bottling to look at him. "Wha?"

"Go back home n'git'er." Nikkolaj grinned at the look that graced Gilbert's face. "All you been doin' is mopin' about since she left."

"No."

"Fool. You love'r."

And maybe that was true, but Gilbert didn't have a life or a purpose there and he wasn't sure he wanted to give up his wandering life.

Nikkolaj's cousin came down from Sweden. Nikkolaj yelled at her in Danish and she yelled back in Swedish. She was tall and stern and seemed to both hate and love Nikkolaj equally. Nikkolaj hassled her without mercy, his grin broad and completely unrepentant. Marta ignored him and handled the business transactions and the books. She'd roll her eyes and comment about how useless Nikkolaj could be. Gilbert found the whole thing entirely too amusing, especially the angry looks he would receive from Nikkolaj when he did something a little too nice for Marta or if her mouth quirked in something like a smile in any direction near him.

"You stay away from'er," Nikkolaj actually growled one night when they had all been drinking too much.

"I'm not even doin' anything."

Nikkolaj ignored his protests. "You'rin love wit some other broad."

"Maybe she just wants a good fuck," Gilbert smirked and leant back dangerously in his chair, "I'm the guy to give it to her."

Nikkolaj nudged the back of Gilbert's chair with his long legs and his smile turned smug when Gilbert toppled, ass over tea kettle, onto the floor. The act of violence got them kicked out of the bar, but Nikkolaj had made his point loud and clear.

Not that it had ended up mattering. Marta exacted a night of rough and animalistic sex from Gilbert in a business-like fashion before heading back to Sweden. Nikkolaj was decidedly unimpressed with Marta's and Gilbert's conduct, and Gilbert felt that it was time to move on again.

He was in the airport when Francis did him the pleasure of a Skype call, both Francis' face and Madeline's squashed into the camera lens. They both nearly glowed. Madeline didn't even wait for them to get pleasantries out of the way before she was blurting out the news, "We're having a baby!" She looked overjoyed and Francis, torn between excitement and terror.

Later, when Madeline had left, Francis confided that he was scared shitless. "I wish you were here to at least go out and get blindingly drunk with me so I could forgot all my worries."

Gilbert had laughed at Francis' concern. "Nah, you'll be fine. You like children."

"So do you, but that doesn't mean you want one." Francis smiled despite his worries, blue eyes sparkling. "Come home for when my kid is born okay? I want pictures of you holding my child." That would be like five more months and Gilbert figured he could agree to that.

He went back to Italy, to the vineyard he had worked at with Elisa. Feliciano had buzzed with happiness when he saw him and asked where his bella had gone. Lovino wanted to refuse him work because she wasn't with him. The days passed sleepy warm and in the company of the brothers, who were chattery and argumentative and were generally hospitable to a fault, (even though Lovino bitched the entire time Gilbert was around). Even their grandfather, when he was at the vineyard, treated Gilbert more like immediate family than just some migrant worker. Gilbert rarely went back to work for places or people and sometimes he thought he never wanted to leave Italy.

Elizaveta sent him an angry email. Her daughter was almost a year old and she wanted him to be at her birthday party. Gilbert checked the timestamp. It was over two months old.

Gilbert felt sucked into the sleepy haze of Italy. He rarely checked his tablet anymore. He just picked grapes and drank wine and basked in the sun like a cat, or on his days off, booted it around the Italian countryside on one of the brothers' little scooters.

Gilbert got more emails. One from Ludwig inquiring about his health. A tirade from Elizaveta. An email littered with angrily stressed words from Francis. And a short missive from Arthur telling him to stop being a wanker.

Elisa had messaged him too. Tear choked words about her cousin Vash. He was terminally ill and he was her only family.

It was cold when he got back to the place he still thought of as home. Ludwig actually smiled when he answered the door before melting into Gilbert's embrace on the doorstep. They spent the evening as they always had, with beers and talks long and late into the night. Gilbert could not remember the last time that Ludwig had seemed so happy to see his older, useless, lazy brother.

Elizaveta refused to answer his phone calls for almost two weeks before she allowed him to come over and see her children. Her daughter was a chubby little thing, darting about after her older brother. "You missed her birthday." Elizaveta's voice was severe and she looked older than Gilbert could ever remember her being.

"I'm sorry Ezri."

It sounded apologetic, but the furrow in Elizaveta's brow and the way her wrinkles around her eyes crinkled displayed that she knew it wasn't. "Why can't you just be around for these things Gilbert? Or at the very least respond to us. You dropped off the face of the planet for a while there you know."

Francis and Madeline echoed Elizaveta's sentiments, enjoying a moment of respite from their daughter's cries and sleepless nights. Francis looked tired and strained, dark circles marring the blue of his eyes, blond hair limp. Madeline reflected Francis' worn out persona, the inner light and positivity Gilbert remembered had become an ember rather than a flame.

All his friends seemed burnt out and worn down, but Gilbert felt like he had just woken up from a dream. If this was what life was like then why would he want to leave the fantasy of Italy?

He went to Vash's visitation. Though he had never been fond of the prickly man while working for him, Gilbert was in the area and felt it was kind of his due. Besides, this was the reason he had come back to begin with.

Black didn't look right on her. She looked drawn out in her black dress. Her mouth dropped open into a perfect pink 'o' when she saw him, green eyes widening. She had shorn her hair. It no longer fell down to the middle of her back in a static frenzy of yellowish hair. The cut was severe and heightened the sharpness of her cheekbones. The cut reminded him of Vash.

"Gilbert. What are you doing here?" Her voice was hushed.

"I got your messages."

"Yes, but," she shook her head, "I never expected you to fly here from, well, wherever you went to after I left Denmark."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know he was important to you."

They were standing further apart than they had at any point during their time in together in Europe. The distance felt awkward and all Gilbert wanted to do was close it. "Thank you."

There was silence for a while. Gilbert fidgeted with the suit he was wearing, the one from Francis' wedding so long ago. "Elisa?" She looked up at him. "Are you okay?"

"You know, now that Vash is gone you are the only one that calls me that." She choked out a laugh and it ended on a sob.

Gilbert had never been much at comforting people. His go to was always alcohol, but he didn't feel that that was appropriate in this situation. He settled for a hug instead and reflected on how he had only worn this suit twice, and both times someone dear to him had cried on it.

Their embrace was broken by Matthew and Annaliese. Annaliese yelled when she saw them, the volume of her voice bounding off the quiet chapel walls. "What're you doin back here you drunken lout?" Annaliese was dressed a bit of a mess, not at all like how Gilbert had seen her, in a pretty dress and high heels, at Francis' wedding.

Elisa did not move away from Gilbert, but just lifted her tear-stained face to Annaliese. "What are you doing here? You left hours ago."

"Couldn't let you stay here alone."

"You need to eat, we are going to take you home." Matthew touched her shoulder, "You've been in here all day, get some rest before they bury him."

Her nod melted in with Gilbert's suit jacket and she allowed herself to be led away from her cousin's casket.

Annaliese forced her to eat pizza – at least half of it – before she was satisfied and Matthew – a more experienced hand at comforting people – put on Elisa's favourite TV show. They wanted her to go home with them and tried to force her via both violence and craftily worded coercion, but Elisa refused. She wanted to stay in the house that she had lived in while Vash was ill and she had taken care of him.

Elisa looked wan in her oversized sweatshirt and woollen knee socks, that one of her friends had knitted her.

"Did you want me to go too?" Gilbert felt like he was on eggshells, but didn't want to leave this important girl alone in her misery.

Her lip twitched, the corners slipping slightly upwards, "Only if you are planning on force feeding me more pizza."

"You don't want to be alone?"

"When did you become so unsure of yourself Gilbert?"

He shrugged, feeling lost and a little bit helpless.

"No. I would rather like your company, if you don't mind?"

Gilbert smiled. He didn't mind.

He lay awake that night, arms loosely tucked around the fitfully sleeping Elisa. Tears streaked her face and his bare shoulder where she had cried herself into something resembling slumber. What if Ludwig died while he was off trekking mountains or picking grapes in sleepy Italy? What if people tried to reach him and he didn't respond in time? Gilbert couldn't get caught up in the Vargas brothers' fantasy life again – even if he kind of felt that that was all he wanted.

Would Francis and Elizaveta ever forgive him for dropping constantly out of their lives? Did he even want forgiveness?

Elisa went to the burial alone the next day and Gilbert went back to Ludwig's house. He had more emails, what felt like a zillion, from Elizaveta, Francis, Antonio, Arthur, Nikkolaj, Lovino, and Feliciano.

Some were warm wishes and inquires about his health (Antonio and Feliciano), some were bitter requests to come to family events (Francis and Elizaveta), and others informed him that he didn't deserve the fucking friends he had (Arthur and Lovino). Nikkolaj wanted to know if he could come and visit Gilbert for a while, Marta was driving him mad. Gilbert didn't have a home to offer up his friend.

He didn't have a couch, or an extra bed, or even some floor space to put up to any of his friends for a spell and all of them had taken it in turns to shelter him throughout the years.

Elisa had not been taking Vash's death well. She had stopped leaving her house and her grief caused concern from her friends. Annaliese went there everyday, face creased with worry when Elisa refused to eat or speak or laugh. Gilbert went there one day and witnessed Annaliese's pleading, "Lilli com'on ya gotta eat something." The blonde shook her head wordlessly, swathed in blankets. Annaliese was furious, her eyes glowing red, hands dramatically laid over her hips. Gilbert couldn't get her to eat either and didn't know how to help Elisa. His feet itched to leave, but he didn't want to while Elisa was so depressed. Gilbert was confused, he had never had a problem with leaving a loved one behind before.

Gilbert did not like Willem and the dislike was reciprocated. It was Willem, not Gilbert, who forced Elisa out of bed. He tried coaxing her out, at first, but when that failed, the tall and broad shouldered brunet literally picked her up and dropped her in a kitchen chair. "You will eat." His words were firm and allowed no rebuke.

Annaliese had made a mountain of grilled cheese sandwiches and Gilbert contributed an oriental style soup he had learnt how to make during his southeast asian travels. Willem placed a steaming mug of tea before her. She pouted at it and Willem gave her a look that clearly told her he was having none of her attitude.

Elisa drank her tea and ate soup and sandwiches, though all in silence. Gilbert spent most of this time hating Willem and wishing that he had not let Elisa go to the burial alone. He should have gone with her. He knew how sad she was.

"Lilli," Elisa looked up at Willem, blonde hair matted and greasy, green eyes puffy red and dulled by tears, "Go take a bath."

Annaliese gripped her arm before Elisa could protest and began to pull her in the direction of the bathroom. This took less convincing.

Willem slipped outside to smoke while Annaliese took care of Elisa in the bathroom and Gilbert, feeling more useless that usual, followed him. Willem leant against the wall, puffing and staring out at the grey sky. He had donned only a hand-knitted scarf against the lingering winter chill. Gilbert shivered, he hated March. "Thank you." His voice was gruff, almost husky, coated with ash and smoke. "Lilli needs her friends more than ever now." His mouth twisted, wrinkling his cheek and the scar that crossed his eye, "You aren't leaving again are you?"

"Not yet." Gilbert crossed his arms defensively. Willem spat.

"She needs you."

"Not when she has you."

Gilbert attempted to bite the words back, but it was too late for that. Willem stared at him, smoky eyes intent. His lip twitched. He spat again and flicked his cigarette butt out into the road.

"Come on. We should clean up the kitchen while Lee helps Lilli."

The cleared up the kitchen in silence, Gilbert wondering about the strange conversation with the closed-mouth man. Gilbert had met him at Francis' wedding, and he had proceeded to smoke like a chimney and then drink Matthew under the table, much to Madeline's distress, without speaking more than five words together. Apparently he had been good friends with the twins for a long time, but unravelling Willem's relationship with Elisa was a chore he didn't really like and Gilbert didn't miss the matching yarn between Willem's scarf and the woollen knee socks Elisa wore when she returned from her bath, looking less like a zombie.

Elisa found him a few days later, looking a little more human, but still too skinny. Gilbert answered the door looking ridiculous, wearing a pink frilly apron (his brother's) and wielding a spatula. "Want egg sammies?"

She had nodded, apparently taking Annaliese's threats regarding her lack of appetite to heart and the two sat devouring the almost gourmet sandwiches Gilbert had crafted, their fingers sticking and dripping from egg yolk, melted cheese, and tomato.

"Do you still have contact with the Italian brothers?"

Her question caught Gilbert off guard and he gaped like a fish as his brain attempted to process it. "Uhm. Yeah I do actually. I was there when I heard about Vash."

Her smile was brief and sad. "Good. I want to go there."

"I figured. But Elisa, you shouldn't runaway from this."

Her look was scornful. "That is all you ever do and I think I deserve the reprieve. Vash practically raised me after all."

Gilbert had no words for that because she was right. His parents were still alive, he saw them once a week when he was in town and there was no reason for him to still be running.

He went with her to Italy because he had found himself missing the sunshine and March remained frigid at home. Feliciano was happy to see him, but Lovino only bothered to greet Elisa.

Elisa started to smile more in Italy. The brothers treated her like she was a princess and she would glow from their attention and affection. Her smile began to reach her eyes again and her laugh began to sound more like it did when they first got to Italy in what felt like years ago. Gilbert paused at that, thinking it through, it was years ago. So much had changed since they first arrived at that sun-soaked vineyard.

Feliciano had found a girlfriend, a summer girl full of as much light and joy as he was. They were a dreamy pair, taken with siestas and fine art and fine wine. She painted everything, landscapes, food, and portraits. She had taken a liking to Gilbert while he was there and begged him to pose for her. She said she loved the lines in his face, the hollows of his hands. When she drew him in graphite his eyes looked haunted. "You look like the loneliest man in the world," Evelina had sighed.

Lovino spent all of his time actually looking after the vineyard, Feliciano continued to be as absent-minded as he had been when Gilbert first met him, and flirting outrageously with Elisa.

After a few months of sleepy Saturdays and Sundays, wine-drenched days bleeding together in endless bliss, Elisa found Gilbert picking grapes in the baking heat. Her hair was growing from where she had viciously hacked it when her cousin had died and was tucked into a short braid beneath a ridiculous straw sunhat Evelina had leant her. "It's time for me to go."

"I knew you were goin' say that."

She shrugged, "I miss home. Willem says I'm needed back at work." Gilbert tried to smooth out his sneer at Willem's name, but she caught it anyway. "Not all of us can run forever Gilbert."

He ran into Arthur at the Charles d'Gaulle airport while they were both laid over. Arthur was in a fuss and more British than ever as he spoke to a beautiful girl at a coffee shop. "Excuse me, Marianne," he slanted the word angrily in a faux French accent, "You are ruining my bloody tea."

Her smile was sly and she responded in perfect, albeit French accented, English, "Well I do think that would ruin the tea more than whatever you think I am doing do it."

"We practically invented tea. Don't you tell me how to make it correctly."

"I believe I just did."

Gilbert could not refrain from rolling his eyes, only Arthur would get into an argument over a fucking cup of tea. And this was going to be a long one. The coffee shop girl must have been bored because she was baiting Arthur like a fish. "Ignore my asshole friend, he hasn't been laid in a while."

Marianne laughed even more at that, a flirtatious giggle that made the irate Englishman flush red (though that could have been because of Gilbert's jab). "I usually deal with much worse than Brits." Marianne sighed and handed Gilbert his black coffee, "They are all so fussy about their tea. As if there was something amazing about stewed water."

Her words were clearly intended to incense and Gilbert would have almost thought it funny when Arthur's obnoxious eyebrows hunched over his emerald eyes; except Gilbert knew that he'd be hearing about the barista for the rest of the layover. It seemed to be a fate he would be unable to avoid, as Arthur's voice rose and his words became peppered with liberal quantities of 'bloody' and 'fucking'.

Things only got worse when they finally left the coffee shop and Arthur levelled his remaining irritation at Gilbert. "And you. Where in the bloody fuck are you going anyway?" He didn't even give Gilbert a chance to answer before he barrelled onwards. "Get your fucking arse back home you undeserving wanker. Your family actually loves you, so why wouldn't you take advantage of that?" Again Gilbert was not given the chance to speak. "And Francis keeps messaging me about that bird, the one you dragged all over Europe, she loves you, you utter twat, so what in the name of the Queen and Jesus and all his buggering disciples are you still doing wandering?"

Gilbert didn't have an answer for that. Arthur nodded, discarding his 'bloody awful' tea in the trash. "Yeah I thought so you bloody prat."

London was colder than he expected it to be and perpetually wet. He was working in a bar with one of Nikkolaj's old friends. Both of them had crass natures and were a touch wild, but Elaine covered that with a veneer of charming accolades. Gilbert was able to draw people in with a roughish smile and between the two of them they were able to rake in regular clientele and tips.

Gilbert was just killing time, unsure of what to do next. He felt even more adrift than usual. London did not possess the ability to suck him into a dream the way Italy did; despite both Arthur's and Elaine's claims regarding England's own mysticism. London was a dreary place full of grey skies and stone buildings, and if England had magic it wasn't here.

Gilbert took little joy in his bar tending job. Elaine scorned him frequently, almost as often as her older brother Allistair, whom she co-owned the bar with. Allistair was tall and quiet, but he grinned often, white teeth over chapped lips, when Elaine berated him for something. He seemed to take it as a sign of love.

Their sister Gwendolyn was there sometimes too, her long black hair always wrapped around her head in braids. She worked as an author, but seemed to be primarily supported by an eternally bitching Elaine. Gwendolyn was quiet coupled with a scathing snark that reminded Gilbert of the Williams twins. Allistair seemed to be the nicest of the three, but he had a temper that would rival Elaine's; Gwendolyn was even worse, hers was like a dragon. Gilbert got along with all of them and was surprised to see that he had made new friends. That did not seem to happen often in his travels.

Nikkolaj messaged him while he was still in eternally raining London. He had met a girl and was engaged to her. Nikkolaj's email was snappier than usual, full of words about how he would invite Gilbert to the wedding if he figured he would come. Gilbert had been getting a lot of passive aggressive emails lately, from Francis, from Antonio, from Ludwig. Elizaveta just sent angry ones. And Arthur sent nothing. Elisa's were short and without emotion.

Elaine had cackled when she heard about Nikkolaj's impending nuptials, her teeth clacking together and her sea green eyes glowing with mirth. Elaine bought Danish beer from Nikkolaj and Marta, and her relationship with them had always been tumultuous. Allistair confided, with a twinkle in his own bluish eyes, that the two had locked lips long before this business partnership had begun.

It was a combination of Elaine and Allistair who convinced him to go back home. His time in London had lengthened as did his dissatisfaction. Allistair and Elaine fought constantly, nearly endlessly, and Gwendolyn just watched them from her corner of the bar and smoked clove cigarettes. Allistair threatened to leave weekly, but Elaine confided, drunkenly, one night that she'd be lost if he truly did. Family drove her nuts, but she'd never want to live without them. That made Gilbert miss Ludwig a little bit more.

Their cousins came down to visit. Marian was redheaded and freckled, but she shared the family's sea-green eyes. Aine was quieter, but did not lack the same vicious energy that the rest of the Stuart clan possessed. Their Easter weekend was boisterous and loud, and involved more alcohol and feasting than actual prayer for their sins.

Gilbert couldn't remember the last Easter he had spent with family and friends. He touched the iron cross around his neck, a memento from his grandfather. Gilbert couldn't even remember the last time he bent his head in supplication to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, despite having been an avid believer in his youth.

Elaine seemed to become even angrier around all her family, as the Easter feast erupted into a near brawl between Marian and Allistair, but by the end of the weekend they were all hugs and kisses and plans for the next time. Though Beilschmidt family gatherings had never been quite as lively as Stuart ones seemed to be, Gilbert found himself oddly yearning to be at one.

"So when are you getting out of here?" Allistair raised a reddish eyebrow and downed his pint of lager.

The question took Gilbert off guard, as he had made no mention of his newfound longing for home (though he still bit down on the word, refusing to acknowledge a place he had no life in as home). "Uh? I dunno."

"You don't fool anyone y'know. You can't be happy here with us." Allistair was staring at him, cerulean eyes trained to Gilbert's, like the older brother he never had. "You shouldn't be avoiding all them emails either y'know."

"I'm not."

"Y'are."

"No. I'm not avoidin' anyone."

"Then what are you still doing here hanging out with us scum for?" Allistair laughed, a bark that bounced off the bar. He reached over the counter and poured himself another drink. "You've done us a good spell. Elaine found some American kid who's looking for adventure. He'll fill your job."

"What if I don't want to leave?"

Allistair's smile was too knowing, as if he could read the thoughts in Gilbert's head, thoughts that Gilbert didn't even allow himself to have. "Gotta see your kid brother. Same way I can't leave here y'know? Same way Gwennie can't either."

"Ludwig doesn't need me," Gilbert snorted, "He's been self-sufficient since the time he was born. He doesn't need me and Elaine doesn't need you either."

"For all your worldliness you sure are dumb, y'know that?"

Gilbert didn't have any words for that and Allistair chuckled again, his tone self-assured.

Gilbert broke tradition when he got home. Instead of depositing himself on Ludwig's doorstep for their regular hug and late night beer talk, he found himself at Elisa's door, unable to ring the bell, unsure if she would want to see him, if she would let him in. He stood there for what felt like a year, but when he checked his watch it had only been ten minutes.

The door opened and Willem stepped out, blinking to the harsh sunlight. He was wearing the same scarf from when they had had to force Elisa to eat, despite the warmth of the morning. "So yur back." He was gruff, twirling a cigarette between his index and middle finger. His greyish eyes locked on Gilbert's large backpack and his lip twitched. He reopened the door and yelled into the house, "Lilli! Someone 'ere to see you!"

Then he put the smoke between his thin pale lips and lit it with a flick of an engraved metal lighter. His nod was barely there and he went down the stairs in a single long stride. When Gilbert turned Elisa was there, her hair a long braid now and a healthy flush in her pale cheeks.

"Gilbert!" She raised a hand to her face, fingers touching her cheek, tips gracing her bottom lip. "What are you doing here?"

"It was time to come home."

He shuffled self-conscious about his actions. She smiled. He let out a breath. She was wearing those damned knee high wool socks again and a flannel shirt that Gilbert belatedly recognised as his. Her blush deepened as she realised what she was wearing and her fingers tugged at the hem. Her collarbone slid into view.

"I'm glad you're back." She still lingered in the doorway, as though he needed to say the password to get in. Her green eyes stared at him, drinking in his pale and pointed features.

"Are you dating him?" That wasn't what he meant to ask, but it was late Saturday morning, and Elisa was quite clearly still in state of undress and there was nothing he could do about the bite of jealousy that shaded his question, or the rolling surge of remorse for having lingered so long in London.

Gilbert watched in a haunted fascination as her lips spread in a grin that could not be stifled. Her eyes left his face, darting to the side, laughter evident. Gilbert wanted to leave. Gilbert wanted to rush after the tall, angry looking man and hit him. Gilbert wished he had never left London, had never gone with her back to Italy, had never stayed in Denmark and let her go back on her own, had never come back for Francis' wedding where he met her and this whole mess started.

Elisa left the doorway and grabbed his arm. "You are so stupid." She shivered in the wind and shook her head at him. "So unbelievably stupid."

"Well what else am I suppos'd to think?" Gilbert scowled and tried to cross his arms, but Elisa was still holding his left arm, so he settled for putting his hand on his hip.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh for Heavens sake Gilbert!" She grabbed his sweater in frustration and pulled him down to eye level. "You are the most ridiculous person I know."

She put her lips on his then, forcefully. They were as soft as he remembered from their dream life in Italy. But kissing Elisa was different here than it had been in Italy. And they were kissing now, fully, Gilbert had one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, trapping them together, and the other was on her neck, tangling in the flyaway hairs at the base. Elisa was just as vigorous, her tongue curling around his, one hand having snaked up to catch his jaw and tilt his head just so. Her other hand was hooked in the belt of his pants and tugging downwards, as if she was intent on undressing him on her doorstep.

Gilbert reflected later that this was like a dream life too, but different than the one in Italy. This one felt like it touched solid ground. Elisa got up early on Monday, made a pot of coffee before leaving for work. Gilbert went to visit Ludwig and found another occupant in his brother's house. The world kept moving forward, everyone around him was changing, but Gilbert felt the exact same as he did when he was eighteen and had left this city for good.

He had no additional insights, or skills, or money. All he had was pictures of him drinking in random countries and a face full of new wrinkles. But everyone else, everyone else had a life. His brother found a love. Elizaveta and Roderich were expecting their third, third, child. Arthur had a lock on tenure at a university in India. Francis was content with just one child. Nikkolaj was getting married and owned a successful brewery (with the help of his cousin). And Gilbert? Well Gilbert had nothing to show for all the years that had passed since high school.

He had wanted to make something, build something, learn something, do something brilliant. So far he had done nothing. All his friends stayed in one place and built up a life, while Gilbert kept running, but no one could out run time and at the end of the day all Gilbert had were the journals of his adventures, and he never had been much of writer.

Elisa felt real and she had a life that she had built up from the ground here in her home, despite her few flights of fancy. She had direction and purpose and meaning. And Gilbert wondered if she would be willing to lend some of hers to him.

"How long have you been back?"

"How did you know I was back?"

"Kiku told me that you had come by my place." Ludwig's answers were short and pointed. He had always been fairly direct.

"When did you start dating?"

"Uh. Well." Gilbert could hear Ludwig's flush over the damned phone. "Just, it's kind of been a while now. I guess. Uhm, yeah. He just, uh, moved in."

"Congrats brother." Gilbert grinned. "Drinks to celebrate!"

"Not now. I am at work."

"AFTER!"

"Fine. But Gilbert who are you staying with?"

"Also, you have a car right? I have to move my boxes out of your basement."

"Wait. What?"

Gilbert chuckled at Ludwig's incredulity and hung up the phone. He could explain later. Maybe.

Elisa surveyed the additional boxes in her living room with her hands on her hips. "This is everything?"

"Mmm yup!"

"Seriously?"

"I don't collect shit." Gilbert was digging through the boxes, full of mostly books and journals, though he had a few other random mementos as well.

Elisa knelt next to him and kissed his cheek. "I guess we're going to have to buy a few more bookshelves."

They never talked about love. Elisa just let him into her house to stay for an undetermined amount of time that felt suspiciously like forever. His books were placed alongside hers and his clothes found places in her dressers and in her closets. His shoes became a messy pile in her front hall that she was continuously admonishing him for.

Gilbert in turn cooked them breakfast every morning; now Elisa awoke to the singing gurgle of the coffee pot instead of having to make it herself. He browsed the classifieds in the Saturday newspapers that Elisa brought home, but spent more of his time on his tablet looking for a job that was local instead of faraway.

Gilbert got another gig as a bartender in the interim, but this time not in eternally raining London, but at home (and Gilbert forgot more and more frequently to stop calling this city by that same name; forgot the wanderlust, the urgent dissatisfaction that had him pull up from here to begin with).

Elisa smiled more, smiled often, as they lay drowsy in bed on Sunday mornings, after Gilbert had gotten home, fearfully late, from his shift at the bar, playfully bickering over who would have to get up and start the coffee pot, or arguing over the answers to the Saturday crossword puzzles.

Elizaveta nearly cried when he told her, heavily pregnant with her third child. She blinked rapidly, green eyes glowing in happiness. "It's about time you came home for good you bastard."

She wanted to know what caused him to come back and made him willing to stay, cackling with mirth when she found out it was a girl, that it was love. "And when do I get to meet her?"

"Never, 'cause you're gonna give her the third degree."

"I wouldn't!" Elizaveta's laugh was infectious, her joy brightened a face that had been grey with sadness, with sleeplessness, with age. Gilbert did not think his continued presence in her life would keep her face that way. Before too long they would be back to bickering constantly, like they had done when they had dated. A time period that was an age ago, ancient history, water flowing over a crumbled bridge.

Gilbert ran into Roderich in the driveway. He looked harried, a sheaf of music under one arm, his violin case in the other hand, glasses pushed high up on his face, dark eyes intent. "Elizaveta tells me you are home for good now." His speech had always been so proper. "Good. You should have done this a long time ago."

Gilbert gave a half-hearted shrug, "Couldn't."

"You have always been so restless."

Roderich's tone was a little bit harsh and unforgiving, as though Gilbert had hurt him personally through his actions. "Well not now."

"Come here again next week. We have some papers for you to sign now that you will be staying with us."

"What for?"

"You can finally be the children's godfather now." Roderich's eyes were sharp. "You are not planning on leaving again are you?"

His words remind Gilbert of Willem's after Vash had died when Elisa had been in the depths of depression. He had never really answered the question then. "No. I'm not."

Roderich's smile was pointed. "Good. Also, bring this woman you are with, it would be good for the children to meet her too. As well as Elizaveta and I."

Gilbert walked away, kicking pebbles down the sidewalk, watching as they rolled into the gutters and down storm drains, clattering their way through the grating and clanking down the metal bars used as a ladder to splash in the filth at the bottom. He was going to be included in their lives, not left hanging, fraying and torn in the wind. Maybe he could have a place here after all. Maybe he should have come back a long time ago.

Gilbert was no closer to deciding what he wanted to do for the long-term now than he had been when he left the country with a degree in history. Elisa had asked him if he wanted to go back to school, but Gilbert had never been overly studious, despite the hours he spent online looking up monarchical lineages or viking burial practices or participating in online trivia. When it came to the idea of writing a thesis Gilbert found himself balking. He liked to do practical things, perhaps part of the reason the majority of his jobs had been working with his hands, rather than his brain.

Gilbert's listlessness almost became a strain within their household. Elisa worked as a secretary at some high-end company and Gilbert could never understand what she found fulfilling about days spent fetching papers, organizing files, and taking meeting minutes. She enjoyed her job though, she told him her tone sharp and unforgiving, delighted in putting order to the office space and ensuring that things ran smoothly.

Gilbert wanted to do something with purpose. Elisa's voice was even harder when she would ask him what something with purpose was. Gilbert never had an answer and the air between them would grow brittle. He had to figure something out or the fragile space he had carved into her life would chip, crack, and crumble.

Francis would sigh at him over pints of beers. Matthew did not even give him that false sympathy. Matthew still worked the oil rigs, went up for months at a time and left Annaliese to her museum job. Their push and pull was bitter and full of harsh words. Gilbert could watch their relationship disintegrate as the months when Matthew was away passed and when he got back colder and older and harder. Annaliese was still too loud, her voice crossing into shrill when they had been drinking too much and began to air their dirty laundry in public. Gilbert did not want to become like them.

Francis and Madeline faired better, but no less tired, as Jeanne grew up quickly before their very eyes. Francis no longer looked as groomed as he used to, his hair a little limper, his clothes a little more rumpled. Madeline's light was a bit dimmer, but it still sparked with energy when someone made her laugh or smile. When they were together Gilbert could still see all the love for her in Francis' eyes and every touch, every gesture, every action. And Madeline echoed back his affection in her words, in her looks, in her smiles (a special kind of spread of her lips and dimpling of her cheeks that was only every directed at Francis).

It was just Francis this one night, Matthew was back at his oil rigs, Madeline had taken Jeanne to her mother's house, and Annaliese was away at a conference. The blond no longer smoked, had not had a drag since Madeline found out she was pregnant and the two had had a shouting match about his addiction. He rolled a beer cap between his fingers, needing something to play with. He had been able to give up his addiction, but not his slightly nervous fidgeting; a habit picked up from high school when he and Antonio had stolen cigarettes from Antonio's older brother and smoked them in the back corner of the parking lot, all hacking coughs – Gilbert has heard the story too many times to count.

"I didn't think you liked working in a bar." It was said as a statement, but at the last moment Francis raised the last syllable making it sound a question.

"I have to do something."

"You're always just doing something." And Francis laughed like he used to when they were still children, with a toss of his head, golden hair shaking as he did it.

They spent too many hours walking down memory lane that night. Each new pint downed had a story of their antics in university or afterwards when Gilbert could come to visit, or the time that Francis had flown to Korea to see him and had stayed for a month.

There wasn't anything new to say. Francis worked and raised his child. Gilbert poured people drinks and tried to keep his relationship with Elisa afloat. Gilbert wondered if this was stagnation or if he was just waiting to grow.

The bartending reminded him of the Stuart family and he was surprised to find that he missed them. Elaine's latest email had been full of mockery when she learnt that he was still working the bar. Allistair had offered slightly more sage advice. Nikkolaj kept trying to sell him beer (had to make the brewery prosperous to pay for the wedding). Arthur had sent him a message that was vaguely congratulatory, though still insulting; the man had an absolute gift with words. Gilbert wondered when his feet would begin to itch again, when his yearning would return. He still longed for something with purpose, and bartending back home had no more meaning for him than it had in London.

She tried to encourage him to go back to school. She felt that he needed the extra push, the extra drive – that he could never be pleased working the menial jobs he did now – and that was true. Gilbert was ambitious, he craved advancement, but he was still too restless – even still with wanderlust abated through Elisa's love – to sit still for so long chained to an office and a desk. His skills seemed non-existent though, all his past jobs an accumulation of random moments that had no purpose, no meaning, and could not help him gain a stable life. It was like starting from scratch again, from high school, only he was old now.

Regret was not an action. Gilbert hated being inactive. Energy itched beneath his skin. Elisa pretended not to notice his growing unhappiness. Ludwig sighed to see it, over their weekly beers, and let Gilbert come over early three times a week to walk his energetic dogs – something to help stave off his older brother's need for constant movement.

Gilbert spent a lot of his free time babysitting Elizaveta and Roderich's kids – his godkids now – as Elizaveta attempted to get her career back on track. He hated working at the bar. Hatred consumed him the moment he stepped into the building and had to deal with all those people wanting drinks.

Gilbert took a bus 6 hours west and 3 hours north to visit some family. Ludwig declined the chance to go, had decided that he was too busy with his career and his boyfriend to visit some relatives for a handful of days.

The bus stopped over in some small town that had a gas station for a bus stop and he spent a few hours there before getting pick up near midnight for the final four hours of his journey. As he curled up in the seats, feet sticking out into the aisle and his extra sweat shirt rolled up under his head, he was reminded of all those busses and trains he had slept on in places far far away from where he was now. He thought of just how many bus station benches and airport floors he had slept on during his journeys and started to miss his wandering life a little bit more.

Gilbert missed the moments when he could connect instantly with someone, despite language and cultural differences, tied by some integral point or memory, usually shared over beer or some other alcohol, but sometimes by something as simple as an apple haggled from a street vendor.

Gilbert has always loved apples. Elisa would bake them into everything she made, her tarts and pies would come out a crisp and a little too close to blackened – nothing could compare to Roderich's baked delights, but Gilbert would eat them anyway, with a smile so as not to fracture the sometimes brittle peace in their house (but it was not theirs so much as it was hers and Gilbert was just allowed to briefly rent it, as long as he could hold the lease on her heart).

Not all the days were bad. Some days Gilbert enjoyed the bar, the push and pull of customers, some of his regulars who tipped well and always had an amusing story for him (like the old man who called himself Max, with his salt n' pepper hair and his endless anecdotes about war wounds and women), made his days go by quickly and he found that he might even miss them if he was to leave.

It was a weird thought and it made him pause, rag inside a glass, cleaning it, his eyes pulled to the exits. He was torn between wanting to run from the level of comfort and routine he had achieved and embracing it completely. But despite the regulars and the late working hours and his life with Elisa, he knew the could never be truly happy working in this bar. Perhaps could never truly be happy back in this place, despite his family and his friends and the willingness they all had to place him back as a permanent fixture in their lives. It was home, but it wasn't. It was a memory, a dream, but it was someone else's, a much younger Gilbert's and he wasn't that boy anymore, he had become some other kind of man.

There were other good moments too. They happened when he and Elisa weren't fighting. When she would hook her legs in with his while they were watching movies in her living room, her soothing presence and fingers smoothing out his energy, displacing it around the room. He loved these moments. They held each other, hiding from time and the insecurities which threatened to rip them from each other.

Other moments were better. Like when he got home from work and Elisa was lying in wait for him, strung up on energy. He would have Gilbert against a wall before he had made it out of the front hall, her arms and tongue and legs curling around him with a possessiveness he forgot she contained. Gilbert wore his marks proudly, dark purple on his white skin, happy with the reminder that she still wanted him (it was especially appreciated when he ran into Willem, displaying her affection proudly to the sour looking man – Gilbert was not without his own jealousy issues and the close relation between Willem and Elisa always made his teeth grind).

Of course then he lost his job and it really all did go to hell then. There wasn't much reason for it, not really, nothing truly justifiable. Sure he might have disliked the job, but he went to all his shifts on time and performed his duties properly, although without a smile and without cheer.

There was nothing for it. He tried to fight his unlawful termination, consulted with Elizaveta and waved the flimsy bit of paper he called a contract around. Nobody wanted to help, nobody could help. He was left – frustration building in his bones – jobless and lacking the pay he deserved.

Elisa backed him in his outrage, encouraged him to fight for his due and had tried to comfort him when he lost it – his belief in his own government system spat back in his face. She did not accept though, his despondency afterwards, his utter listlessness, and lack of desire to ever leave bed.

His parents had given up long ago on trying to pester him into staying anywhere longterm. They had given into their nomadic son's ways and just hoped for semi-regular phone calls and the odd postcard or curio mailed to them. Gilbert knew they were happy for him to be stable now, hoped secretly, though they'd never mention it, of future wedding announcements or grandchildren. Gilbert had never really wanted any of that, but hated to disappoint. He felt he'd let them down in so many other ways already. Ludwig was the golden child, despite his choice in partner, but Gilbert kind of felt he didn't want to let them down on this score. The concept was odd, he had never considered himself as wanting a family. He wondered if Elisa was changing him in more ways than one.

His lack of job greatly disheartened him. His depressive state grew, especially as hitting the pavement with scattered resumes had seemed to yield him nothing in results. Elisa never said anything, although her mouth remained pinched in a frown every time he came back to the house (he ever called it theirs anymore, too aware of exactly who'd bought it and whose name was on the owner's deed) and he had not yet removed himself from the nest of bedding – it was winter again and the cold seemed stuck in his bones.

Gilbert was getting old now, forever older, and he found a girl he loved and was even loved in return, but it didn't seem like enough.

He found himself dreaming about sandy beaches and picking grapes and wandered in places where he didn't know the tongue. Elisa was too stable now, too content and did not feel the need to leave, eyes focussed on her job, entrenched in her four walls, all brightly painted in her favourite colours.

When they lay together in bed, her soothing hands could not spread his energy across the room at a rapid enough rate anymore, but he still felt constantly tired.

He was tired. Tired in his soul.

They never fought, not really. Elisa wasn't extremely confrontational and Gilbert didn't even know what he wanted. Their irritation with the other simmered.

Arthur had a gig for him, if he wanted. A job repairing houses for the less fortunate. It didn't pay well – most of these jobs didn't, but Arthur knew a guy and the job was Gilbert's if he wanted it. If he wanted to move to the other side of the world again.

Gilbert had started going to Church again, sometime when he had begun living with Elisa. She never went with him. He hung his head before the cross, kneeling in the first pew and asked his Lord for guidance.

He didn't know what he was expecting, and wondered what had made him such a fervent believer in his youth. God had never seemed to answer his questions.

Elizaveta nailed him to the wall with her green eyed stare when she found he might be leaving again. Her tone was bitter, and hard, and angrier than he had heard it in a long time. Finally she sighed and released him from her stare, "Even Lilli can't make you want to stay can she? Gilbert have you ever been happy here?"

Had he ever been happy anywhere?

Sorry, I don't know where I am going with this or if I should keep going or end it or whatever. It just spiralled out of hand and I had a plan and now it just seems too sad. I don't know. Comments, suggestions? Also if you find grammar or big time errors let me know. x.