This story is an art trade for an awesome person who draws awesome pictures! Here you go Kae Kae! I hope this is to your liking, dearie! I was originally going to name the story 'Blackbird' but I didn't think people would get the reference. So I settled for Four Pages. I might change it back…still debating…

Blackbird

Spain x Prussia

Human AU

It's barely daylight out by the time Antonio gets to his apartment. He walks the entire way from work to home. Not because he has too but because he wants to. He has a car but it's something about the noisy streets of West Berlin during rush hour that he likes.

Maybe it's the chaos or the fact that it's nothing like Spain where he's from but feels familiar and reminds him of home. Not the home that he's left but the home that he wants, that he gets a few years at a time. When he tries explaining it to other Spaniards or the Americans at the military checkpoints it makes no sense to them. When he expresses it to another West Berliner, they understand him perfectly.

He checks his mail at the entry. It's lines up next to the other metal boxes of neighbours and people who live above and below him. Antonio may not have known them by name but he knows faces. So he's not surprised to see the older man with what he calls a worn letter face, walk up to the mailboxes with a cane in one hand and a key in the other. They speak briefly, him in accented German and the man in German so perfect it takes Antonio's brain some time to translate.

"Work was okay," he says finely, a cheery smile on his face as he holds the envelopes and advertisements in his hands. He squeezes them while the old man talks on slowly. Antonio's trying hard not to seem in a hurry.

"Oh, really?" Antonio glances at the envelopes then back to his leather-faced neighbour, "that's great. I'm glad your plants are doing better now. I told you they would after winter. There's more sun coming into the windows now."

He eases away from the man and the mailbox, one tiny side step at a time. The old man huffs and waves him off, mumbling something about young men these days. Antonio doesn't have time to feel bad. He'll give him all the time he wants to talk about dying plants tomorrow.

Living on the third floor hardly bothers him except when he goes shopping or when he's in a hurry. Antonio's in pretty good shape so he jogs the six flights of stairs until he's in the familiar dim hallway. He can't wait anymore and rapidly flips through the mail.

Junk. Junk. Bills. Junk. Ah, bingo. Antonio grins and feels the thick envelope. He guesses maybe 6 or 7 pages or maybe there are pictures in here. Who knows? The writing is crisp and perfect as always. His sister's address is on the sender's side and his on the receiving but Ness is kind enough to reuse the chick postage as decoration. It's a small gesture that makes him smile. He reads the address while absently fishing for his house keys from his pocket and going inside.

It smells like coffee inside his apartment because Antonio forgot the pot on from this morning. The pot is nearly filled to the brim but it's too cold to drink so he pours it down the drain. The mail gets tossed on the kitchen table so he can remove his light jacket and scarf. Winter my theoretically be gone but mid March in West Berlin is still cold to him. He kicks off his boots too and goes to wash his hands in the bathroom before going to sit at the kitchen table. Pushing everything else aside as if it would be in the way, Antonio picks up the letter and opens it.

He's wrong. It's only four pages, not six of seven. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. There are no pictures either. Antonio counts the pages again and flips it over. Ah, so he wrote on the back of them. Of course. So, really, it's an eight-page letter compressed into four. That sounds more like him.

Antonio reads the first two words and burst into laughter. It's a very clear Ah, fuck! Written in different handwriting than that of the envelope, it's elegant in it's own way because Antonio knows he took his time with it. He pictures the man saying those words and reads it in that gravelly voice.

Wait, Antonio thinks and stands. He wants coffee now. If the letter starts off like that, he can only imagine that something funny or silly is coming next. He restrains the anxiousness to read on and makes more coffee, glancing every so often at the partially folded paper sitting on his kitchen table.

When the coffee is finished, he carries his cup to the table, picks up the letter and starts from the beginning again.

Ah fuck! I did it again. I know you can see it, that stupid smudge at the top of the page.

Antonio looks to the top of the page and, as stated, there's a smudged thumbprint, greyish black in colour. It looks like he tried to wipe it away but the soot only smeared. Antonio smiles; picturing him coming in from work, sitting at the small desk in his room and grabbing stationary to write down his thoughts.

Sometimes he can be in such a hurry. Antonio makes a mental note to remind him to wash his hands before writing letters.

I washed my hands, the next line reads, twice and went through at least three clean sheets of paper already. I'm not wasting another sheet because this shit won't come off my fingers. I'm tired and it's early or late depending on how you view 6 am. Since it's you, I know that's early. I just got off a graveyard shift at the factory and have to be at the warehouse in four hours. I would go to sleep but I can sleep when I get off at 5. I've had at least ten cups of coffee and I can't sleep anyway.

Antonio frowns at picture in of the man in his mind. He's pale as it is being albino but he pictures him even whiter and worn, with sunken tired eyes and thin lips. Antonio doesn't like the image at all. He'll put that in his letter too.

They've laid off more people at the factory and cut some hours. It's good because that means I get more hours at the warehouse but I'm gonna be pissed if they fire me. I've been at that stupid factory for six years, which should count for something. They haven't yet so I don't think they will. I might just quit and go there fulltime. What do you think? The warehouse job is going steady so far but the way shit runs in the DDR, you never know. You might wake up in the morning to find you don't have a job. I can't keep doing this two-job crap, especially if they keep me on the graveyard shift at the factory.

What did he think? Well, Antonio didn't like how tired he sounds in this letter for one thing. This voice doesn't suit him though there are traces of the brash man he met those years ago, a hint of something uniquely Gilbert. There are always traces, bits and pieces to remind him that he is real, they are real. He doesn't want Gilbert to lose that and get so tired and feed up with the world. But what Antonio wants and what Gilbert needs to do to live are two different things. Everybody knew a difference existed behind the Iron Curtain and once you cross the Wall. He knew. He did it before.

Antonio will think on the question, for now, he sips his forgotten coffee. It's a bit cooler now and reads more of the letter. The first page is a rant about his job and employees. He takes three whole paragraphs on the backside of the front page to complain about Felix, the cross dressing co-worker who also lives in his same building. Gilbert won't admit it, but Antonio knows they're something like friends.

Remember that coat you left the last time you were here? Ja, I wore the shit out of that thing. There's a hole in it now. I think it got snagged on a nail or something or maybe jackets do that after four years of being worn. Felix the Diva pointed it out to me. I didn't even notice. I'll get you a new one the next time you come here or if I come to that side.

"If they ever let you leave," Antonio finds himself mumbling aloud. He sighs and shakes his head. He remembers that jacket and actually left it on purpose. Gilbert didn't have one and refused to buy one. Antonio's sure he knew that it was left on purpose but Gilbert never said anything in his letters about it. Now that it's torn, he wonders if the man had a new one. How long has it been torn? All winter? He'd have to ask about that too.

You'd love this. There's a cat that likes to sit on my window seal, you know the one I always sit at and can see that hot blond in the complex across the street? Ja, he somehow manages to jump up to the second floor and curl up on my seal every night. I tried shooing the verdammt thing away but then Felix came over and let the filthy thing in my house and feed it. Now it scratches at my window like some homeless person. I named it Scratchy. Gilbird and Scratchy don't really get along so Scratchy stays outside. She's an outside cat.

I guess even the pets starve here and they need food just like we do. I'm just one of the lucky ones to have enough to share. Or I take from Felix's apartment when he isn't home. Serves him right for letting the cat in my house in the first place.

Antonio tries to smile like he imagines Gilbert doing at that last line. He probably laughed too, that stupid weird cackle that fills the room and lets everyone know he's there. He tries to picture him feeding a cat and the number of curses that must have gone out of that window.

He tries to picture the layout of the apartment but after four years, certain things got lost. Things like, is the window close to the kitchen? No, it's in the bedroom. Yes, the bedroom. He remembers waking up in the middle of the night because of a draft. Gilbert sat on the seal; forehead resting against the cool pane and just stared down at the street. Antonio urged him to come back to bed. It was cold and also his last night in Potsdam. He didn't want to spend it freezing in an empty bed.

Antonio finishes his coffee and moves from the kitchen chair to the sofa. By the end of the third page, Gilbert sounds like he's finished. He'd come home from work and had a decent day. He'd planned to stay in the weekend and sleep, much to Antonio's relief. So why a fourth page?

Antonio places the third page down on top of the first and second that sit on the table. He's about to read when someone knocks on the door. His eyes dance between the paper and door. He debates whether it's worth pretending not to be in or getting up.

"Toni, are you here?" It's Julchen and if Antonio knows the girl who reminds him so much of her cousin, she won't stop knocking. "Your car's parked, I know you're here. Open the door!"

Antonio reluctantly places the paper on the sofa then thinks better of it and tucks it safely behind a decorative pillow on his sofa. He snags the blanket draped across the back of his brown leather sofa, wraps it around his shoulders then opens the door.

Julchen looks at him, turning back from looking at whatever caught her attention. "Did you just get home?" she asks him.

Antonio shakes his head, "No, I've been here for a half hour or so."

She nods and glances behind him than back to him, a sly sort of grin coming on her face. "Got a letter, huh?"

He tries to laugh it off and pretend he has no idea what she's talking about. Julchen just rolls her eyes.

"When he writes you, he writes me too." She tells him, "plus mine has a food stain on it and came with these."

Antonio perks up when she digs in her pocket. Julchen makes a show of it, glancing at him every so often. His eyes glue to her jacket's pocket until she pulls out a small envelope. She sighs and flips it open, sorting through and taking one or two pictures and handing over the envelope.

"Sometimes you guys annoy me with these pictures." Julchen smiles at him, "but I get back at him by looking at the ones he says not too. Who knew Gil had a cat?"

"His name is Scratchy…" Antonio says absently as he takes out the pictures, "he sits on the window seal and Gil feeds him."

He hears her huff but doesn't see. Antonio's to focused on pictures. "That's a stupid name. Anyways, I was going to store, did you need something?"

"No," Antonio looks up with a lopsided grin, "I have what I needed. Thanks, Julchen. Really."

She rolls her eyes but he can see the ghost of a grin on her face, the same grin Gilbert has. It must run in the family.

Julchen leaves him to his pictures and letter. Most of the pictures are tame. One is of Scratchy sitting on the window; probably looking at Gilbert snap a picture of him. The other is a picture of Gilbert and Felix at work. They're sitting on a ledge of some sort, both wearing heavy coats and working gloves. Gilbert is wearing his old coat. He's point at the camera with one hand the other holds a sandwich. He's grinning but there's a certain quirk to his lips that let's Antonio know he's been caught mid sentence.

Felix is, as always, striking a pose. One leg crosses over the other and he's leaning toward Gilbert, resting on the one hand sitting on the ledge. His other hand must have just flicked his shoulder length blond hair because it's still close to the Polish man's smiling face.

On the surface they look like opposites. Gilbert, pale skin, blends almost with the grey material in the background. His eyes though, red as blood and roses draws attention to him. The self-confidence in his smirk and the carefree way he slouches just a little makes him both relatable and otherworldly.

Felix on the other hand is bright and showy. He has a confidence about him in the way he tilts and smiles. A certain flare with the way he flips his hair. The green in his eyes sparkle a little. But his lean also shows his reservation. He trusts the man next to him enough to be free. They were opposite but the same.

The next picture is just of Gilbert being a cocky ass, standing with his hands on his hips, work gloves still on but he's lost the jacket and is left in a tightly fitted blue long sleeved shirt. Antonio likes this picture the best. Not only because it's Gilbert alone but he looks so relaxed and calm. His shoulders don't hunch and his eyes are clear with a hint of mischief.

He snuggles up with his blanket on the sofa again and just stares at the man smirking back at him. Time wise, Antonio doesn't know how long he looks at Gilbert. Physically, he stares without blinking until his eyes sting and he's forced too. That's when he notices the pillow on the sofa. Antonio sits the pictures down and goes for the letter. Right, the fourth page.

Felix woke me up. You know why, because he needed a fucking condom. I gave it to him because I figured I wouldn't need it for a while. Don't you think for a second that I'm jealous of that princess. I was surprised that he even got somebody, a woman at that.

Antonio can feel the pause though it's not written. He holds his breathe for some reason because he has a feeling he knows what's coming next.

It's the middle of March but it's cold at night in Potsdam. It's not cold enough for me to turn on 'the furnace' but it's too cold to not have anything on. I can't sleep like that. My sheets aren't warm enough. It's missing something, has been for four years. All I can do is sit on my window with Scratchy trying to steal my pen. Do you know how frustrating that is, Ant..

Yes, Antonio thinks, he does know how frustrating it is. His sheets are too cold at night too. He sometimes sleeps in long sleeves under the covers but it still isn't warm enough. Too much heat is suffocating and want he needs is something that's the perfect temperature to wrap around him and keep him warm.

He reads the last line again and it hits him in the chest at seeing what would have been his name crossed out. It's another reminder that distance isn't the only thing against them. Antonio purses his lips and sighs, trying to loosen the tightening his chest. It hardly helps. It never really helps when they get like this. When the distance and their circumstances become all to clear. Antonio can never really make that feeling go away. All he can do is push it down, wipe his eyes to stop tears and read on.

It's more than me feeling like an Italian nun. Ja, I hate having to take cold showers and imagining scenarios. It's not just sex. I do miss that though. I really do. I really really do. I'm not cut out for celibacy.

Antonio stiffs a humourless chuckle.

I hate that I can't have you the way I want you. If it was up to me, I wouldn't give a rat's ass what anybody said or who stared or if they tried shooting me for leaving the USSR sector. I'd do it. I'd cross that line in a minute, hop the fence and flip off the guards.

Then I'd find you and we'd run away from all this. Not forever, just for a little while, long enough for the situation to change. And I'd kiss you the way you want me to. We'd work ourselves to exhaustion during the week, have fun on Saturdays and be lazy on Sundays. You'd fuck up my potato soup and I'd burn churros and we'd laugh at each not knowing how to fix our favourite meals. We'd build a house (in Potsdam or Berlin. It's too hot in Spain) and yell at each other for doing something stupid and have make-up sex on the cement floor between the wooden beams.

I wouldn't have to worry about Stasi reading my letters and you wouldn't have to figure out ways to take clever pictures. It wouldn't take a family emergency for you to come see me and make these nights in Potsdam a bit warm. I wouldn't need to wear this old coat and have a cat curled in my lap for you to feel less imaginary.

For all of his lip pursing and rapid blink, Antonio can't quite stop the sniffling. He wipes his eyes again before more tears come though. He has to put the letter down. When he does, he grabs the picture instead.

Gilbert is always honest, to a fault sometimes but he's hardly emotional. Overzealous at times with a sprinkle of anger issues but he doesn't pour out things like when he's hurt or sad. If you didn't know if, you'd think he never experiences those emotions. But Antonio knows him so well. He knows that he's the only person in the world that'd ever experience Gilbert so raw. Gilbert won't be this person with just anyone, not even his brother who he loves more than life.

It's overwhelming but Antonio picks up the page in one hand and the picture in the other. It takes a few seconds for him to find where he's left off and actually has to flip the page over.

It's almost four, I think. I'm off from both jobs today so don't worry. Scratchy is sleep now, in my lap almost tucked inside this coat. I'm gonna try for sleep now. In a few hours, Felix is going to come banging on this door with an 'oh my gosh' talking about 'I have to dish everything'. I'm gonna pretend to listen but I need energy to do that.

The letter ends with 'I love you' in German and a P.S. asking whether or not it's okay for cats to eat grapes.

Antonio carefully folds the letter and places it back in its envelope. He stacks the pictures and slides them in there too.

The neighbour has his gramophone on and the walls are thin enough for it sound as if Antonio is playing the record on low in his apartment. Tonight, it's Bye Bye Blackbird. He knows the song. Nazis used it for propaganda reasons at one point. That's not the version playing now. It's the upbeat, cheery jazz rendition by one Josephine Baker. Antonio prefers the Gene Austin version but this one is okay too.

He sits and listens to the woman sing. The envelope looks back at him. Gilbert's words play in his mind. He wonders if the world will ever change, if their relationship can be more than paper and words. It's only so many family emergences Gilbert and Julchen can fake.

He wonders what makes his love strong, waiting or fighting. Gilbert doesn't say it but Antonio knows he won't push the boundaries because of him because he doesn't want whatever consequences come with crossing the Curtain to be on him. It's a bit of an insult, actually. Did Gilbert not think he could handle it?

Antonio is slow to get up, slow to shower and slow to eat dinner. A few bites in and he realizes that's not it at all. So he get's up, grabs a pen and paper and starts his letter.

Gil,

Cats can eat grapes but Scratchy probably won't. They aren't exactly fond of them. Also, you have a cat? I thought you hated those? Well, at least you have someone to keep you company at night. They won't allow pets in my building.

Don't worry about the smudge at the top of the page. You don't have to be perfect, you know. Plus, if I put my thumb there, it's almost like we're touching thumbs! I'm going to put a fingerprint somewhere randomly in this letter and you're just going to have to find it.

About your job, I think you should do what you feel is best. Potsdam is big on coal and that's what they deal with at the factory. That may be the most stable business they have, even if they fire you. Stay where you are until things pick up or they let you go but don't leave assuming they're going to get rid of you anyway. You have a backup just in case, which is good but I wouldn't make any rash decisions. Or maybe you can work something out with your second job where you don't work on the same days as your first, coordinate your off days. That way, you're not working double shifts with lack of sleep and too much coffee. You're going to run yourself into the ground if you do that. Don't you dare say you're awesome enough to handle it. Just, no. It's going to catch up to you.

I saw some pictures from Julchen. Tell Felix I said hello and he looks as manicured as ever. Good luck with him and his lucky lady friend.

You've gained a few muscles, I see. Did you wear that tight shirt on purpose? Are you trying to seduce me with pictures? You've succeeded. I'm seduced. What are you going to do about it? Keep telling about all the things you wish you could do? I'm here. I'm waiting. If you want me, come get me. Or I'll do you one better and come get you, pack up all my cares and woes. Then we'd build that house in Potsdam. I'll teach how to make churros and you can teach me to make potato soup. I'm not afraid of giving up the freedoms I have here and I don't care about the consequences of leaving. I want to see you and be with you and Scratchy (we'll come up with a new name). I want you to seduce me in person and say my name like you want to. I'll keep your bed warm with unnecessary cuddling and hold your face in my hands while I kiss you. You can complain to me about work conditions and when Felix comes over, I'll lie and tell him you're not home.

We'll work hard together. Argue together. Laugh together. Be cold in your tiny apartment together. Throw fits and get on each other's nerves together. But we'll be together doing it and I won't have to hold your hand through smudges on a piece of paper. I love you, Gilbert. I love you enough to cross the Iron Curtain and leave west Berlin behind. Then you can take creative pictures of me.

We don't have to wait for the world to change to be happy. So say the word, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Tell me you want me to come and I will. I'll tell the blackbird bye. It's on you now.

It's late by the time Antonio finishes his letter. He tells him about the old man with his plants and how they're growing. He writes about his job at a local bakery and the amount of sweets he finds himself consuming in a day. He writes about the Italian apprentice he has and how the man is always so grumpy but makes great tiramisu. He writes about Julchen, about Ness, about Gilbert's brother Ludwig and how his studies are going.

Antonio writes about little insignificant things and anything his mind can think of in that moment. At the end of it all, when the words are done, he puts the pen down and grabs his own camera. He tries to take the picture himself but, in the end, he has to wake Julchen in the middle of the night to do it for him. They take three pictures. One is of him alone, sitting on the albino woman's sofa, one leg resting on the other just smiling. The second is a bit more relaxed with him and her because they keep laughing as she tries to get them both into the frame.

And the last one? Well, the last one Antonio doesn't know is taken until he gets ready to put his letter in the post. He stays at her place after they take pictures. A few laughs and a few beers later, Julchen lets him sleep on her sofa and that's when she sneaks a dozy picture of a sleeping Antonio covered in a wool blanket on an old sofa.

Antonio sees the developed film the morning he's getting ready to send the letter. It's chuckle worth that's for sure and he supposes that Julchen knew Gilbert would appreciate it. He puts the pictures with the rest and seal the envelope. If Stasi want to read his letter, than Antonio hopes they like his pictures as much as he does. If they catch on, he doesn't care because this time the return address is his and the pictures are of him, not his sister and not Gilbert's cousin. Antonio isn't afraid.

It's quite the opposite of fear actually, as he stands in front of the post drop. There's a giddy sort of happiness and relief he feels at not having to hide. Antonio clenches the letter to his coat for a moment as he stares at the drop box. He's smiling though his chest burns and his heart races. It's like turning back to take one last look at the thing or place that's held you back for so long. You watch and you remember and wonder why you hadn't left sooner or fought earlier to take those chains off and now that they're off, there's a moment of reflection.

Antonio reflects for another second or so before reaching for the hatch and opening the little door. The letter falls in one quite swipe and with it goes his inhibitions.

He walks away, hands tucked in his coat pockets, humming 'Bye, bye Blackbird'.

Totally Irrelevant Facts:

Word Count: 4,828 without author's notes

Page Numbers: 16

Musical Inspiration: Josephine Baker, "Bye, bye Blackbird", Norah Jones, "Come away with me", Vera Lynn, "Auf Wierersehen, Sweetheart"

A/N: If anyone would like to do an art trade, please let me know! I'd love to trade.

Peace, Love and Pasta!

-CeCe ^^