Title: Table Scraps
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Prussia/Hungary
In Gilbert's mind, he was always the one who knew how to bait her best, but it was never about himself. When Roderich would forget his coat and a map of the area after Gilbert (unintentionally!) kicked him out of the house for the rest of the afternoon, he watched her purse her lips and fold her arms over her chest, quiet and resolute, simply because it was not her place to interrupt, not her home to invade. The Austrian courts taught her a little too much, he feared.
Stress - it was always about stress. He'd suggest she use some positive reinforcement, but the last time he had, she had stared at him with some indignation and revulsion, as if his suggestion were beneath her. (Alright, so perhaps it hadn't been the smartest idea to hold up one of Ludwig's magazines - yes, thatkind - at the same time, but still.) He'd offer to show her a good time to smooth the non-existent wrinkles out of her forehead; if it worked, then good. If it didn't, well, he would get acquianted with the first aid kid one way or the other.
He let the edge of the stool dig into her hip, and she looked at it, mildly surprised at his initiative. "What?" He said. It sounded like a scoff even when his throat locked up at the sight of her clenched knuckles. "Are you just gonna stand there?"
"I," she said, trying to find the right insult, the right comeback, but his palm pressed down her shoulder, as if to guide a child.
"You're staying for dinner," he said, pulling at a lock of her hair, just to spite her. It slipped through his fingers with a whisper of a kiss. If he were more poetic, he would have quoted something about desire and futility. If he believed in things like that.
"I am?" She said.
"Yeah," he said, and he would have made an excuse about getting Roderich to bake one of his girly tortes without having to suffer through one of his equally girly snits, but her eyes became unfocused and he felt lost.
"I can't," she said, fumbling with her words the same way her fingers traced skittish patterns on the hem of her shirt. "I'm not - He won't -"
"Elizabeta," he said, and she stiffened, mouth shut.
"Okay," she said, after a beat. She looked resigned, like she had when he'd offered her his clothes, his heart, a long time ago, before Roderich and before this house and before everything they never talked about, never bothered to show.
"Okay," he answered, and they waited in the parlor like they always had, just the two of them.