Author's note: Lucyverse because more Lucy! I love her. I mean, she doesn't have two sexy daddies like Freja, but she has a sexy boyfriend.
Confession: I also love love love Katy Perry and listening to « Part of Me » made me think of Lucy and Ludwig. So here you go, fast-forwarding a little in their story. (Not sure at this point if I'll ever finish the original fic Lucy was written for, maybe I'll just have a string of fics instead since I like the feel of this more.)
But that was then and this is now
Throw your sticks and your stones, throw your bombs and your blows
But you're not gonna break my soul
This is the part of me
That you're never gonna ever take away from me, no
The one-woman dance party is a lot easier to throw in Ludwig's country house than his Berlin apartment. She understands, of course, why he spends so much time in his capital but still, Lucy likes the country house more, Reason Number One being more space to dance.
A voice, wary, calls out from the door, "How many times are you going to listen to this song?"
"Dance with me!" and she grabs his hands before he can stop her, pulling the much larger man into the room.
"Pop isn't exactly my thing Luce," Ludwig starts, but she's already singing the words along with Katy Perry, not a care in the world.
When he relents, holding her so that her back is pressing into his chest and following her lead, the American laughs and rewards him with a kiss.
She's in the kitchen finishing packing away her tea bags when a hand grabs her wrist roughly, pulling her out of the house. Angrily, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his top buttons undone, Ludwig yanks the driver-side door open. Lucy silently follows his lead, settling in beside him up front. There's the sound of gravel crunching as he revs the engine before they take off down the driveway, turning onto a country road.
Minutes pass in silence, Lucy watching the concentration on her German's face: his wire-frame glasses, the hard lines of his jaw, the way his eyes are dark and brooding. As they finally slow down, a straight road ahead of them, she slips her hand in with his that had been gripping the gearstick like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"Are we running away?" she asks lightly and though he doesn't turn to look at her, his whole body does seem to relax. Ludwig finally lets his back touch the seat.
"Sometimes I want to," he admits, "just pack up and get in the car. Just you and me and a thousand places to see, a thousand places to hide. I hate being a country; I feel like my life is just war and failed compromises and being worn down."
"You have me," Lucy tries and Ludwig does smile at her.
"The only bright spot in an otherwise painful existence, Frau Pontecorvo."
He's still in his office, desk lamp on, when Lucy pushes open the door to bring Ludwig a cup of coffee and some cookies. "Danke," he murmurs without looking up, rubbing his forehead, pen between his lips.
"The economy will still be just as fucked-up in a few hours," his girlfriend sighs. "Leave it for tonight, and come to bed. Please?"
Shaking his wrist to look at his watch Ludwig murmurs, "Twenty minutes."
On her way out Lucy pauses at the door to take him in. The German nation's shoulders are raised in an unpleasant way; she'd have to give him a massage later. "I love you," the American calls out.
"Love you too." His slight blush indicates how much he means it.
On the news there's some discussion that Lucy isn't paying attention to, but she keeps hearing the word Nazi come up and her boyfriend does look very put off as he watches from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with coffee in hand. "I hate my life."
"That was then," Lucy sighs, wrapping her arms around his middle. From her neck hangs the Star of David her father had bought her before she moved to Germany; on the back there's a Hebrew blessing. "This is now." Ludwig isn't that man anymore, of that the Italian-American Jew was sure.
"If I–" He pauses, swirling his beverage and wrapping an arm around Lucy's shoulders. "If I wanted to marry you, they would get mad."
"Who?"
"The government."
"Why would they get mad? Because I'm Jewish you mean?" Standing she shakes her head. "What's it to them?"
"There are rules for me," he says bitterly, his heart clearly not in his words though he says them smugly to get his point across. "I cannot live within a certain proximity to certain places, for example."
"Jewish places, you mean."
"Mainly."
"Well those rules can go fuck themselves, because I need to live close to Jewish places; how far am I to be expected to walk on Shabbos?"
"That's why they'll get mad."
"Yeah well," and Lucy tries to think of some witty comeback. Instead she falls back on her American roots. "Fuck The Man."
"Fuck The Man," and Ludwig drinks to that.
Growing up Lucy always knew she was in trouble when her Hebrew name came out to play, which leaves her in a funny situation here. "Ludwig."
"Ja?" he sighs from the other side of the window seat, turning a page in his book.
"Ludwig is a completely Germanic name, isn't it?"
"Ja."
"Poop."
"Why?"
Lucy wrinkles her nose. "No Hebrew equivalent."
"Why do I need a Hebrew name?" He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and closing his book.
"In my family you knew someone was mad at you when the Hebrew came out."
"The Hebrew professor just called me Beilschmidt. Or tipesh."
"Tipesh means idiot."
"Ja, I figured that out eventually." Lucy smiles, Ludwig following. "What names were you thinking of?"
"Lev," Lucy starts, "it means heart."
"That's masculine," and Ludwig shifts so his stretched-out legs are resting on the seat, his girlfriend throwing hers over his.
"There aren't many that have an « l » that I also actually like. There's Eli; it means 'my God'."
"I'd rather not have a God-one like that," the German sighs.
"But there's Immanuel, 'God is with us'."
"That's not bad actually."
"Malachi, my messenger, Mulch, king… there's Yisra'el."
"Israel?"
"There's lots of ways of translating it but basically it means 'wrestled with God'."
Outside the dogs bark happily, chasing one another. "Yisra'el," Ludwig repeats, trying to repeat her pronunciation of the name.
"Just something for me to call you so you know you're in trouble."
"What's your Hebrew name?" the German inquires.
"Yaffa, Yaffa bet Akiba. Yaffa means beautiful." Ludwig smiles.
"How appropriate."
They hide under the sheets watching a military documentary about WWII. These Ludwig is much better at handling, the ones that are all tactical, correcting the narrator or elaborating as they fast forward through commercials. The military side of the war is less sensitive than what they saw while in Berlin about the rest of the war.
"You've got a thing for planes," Lucy notes as commercials come on.
"I flew a beautiful plane during the war," Ludwig sighs. "Fighter; I never could drop bombs, it seemed so… I don't know."
"How much did you know?" When he stiffens the American knows he's understood her question.
"Not much, because I didn't want to."
"And now?"
"Now I know more."
"Do you ever worry for your soul?" Lucy muses aloud.
"I worry about everything, Luce, my soul included."
Today they make a cake, the landline having been unceremoniously yanked from the wall and the cell phones stashed away somewhere. It's Ludwig's recipe so he takes the lead, Lucy doing as she's told, fetching ingredients, stirring, spreading. While it bakes they sit at the kitchen table, watching the dogs in the backyard. "I was thinking about maybe having the family over this weekend."
"That could be fun," Lucy agrees happily, holding one of her boyfriend's big hands between both her smaller ones. "Hey Lutz, I've got a question for you."
"Shoot my little American."
"Are they blood?" When Ludwig quirks an eyebrow she elaborates. "Your family, are they blood? How does it work for... you know."
To fill in the blank Ludwig murmurs, "Nations incarnate," before taking a deep breath and considering the question. "It's sort of all over the place. Sometimes a brother is blood, like… like the two Italies. Sometimes they're cousins, like my brother and I. And sometimes the one comes from the other: Norway and Iceland, England and America, that sort of thing. And sometimes they're just someone you've always been with, France and his sister Monaco."
"What's the rule of thumb then?" Lucy asks, tilting her head to one side.
"Isn't really one I suppose. It's kind of like foster care, sometimes you have relatives your age, sometimes friends, sometimes strangers, but you make a family because you have to, to stay sane, no parents to learn from. Family isn't blood for us, it's something deeper that lasts centuries."
"That's kind of beautiful," Lucy sighs and it makes Ludwig blush.
"I have a complicated past, I know you know the history of my country and the German states before me. But Gil has always been there, always raised me, always loved me. He's the only one who has never, ever turned his back on me, through war or hardship or anything. That's what makes him blood, that's what makes him my brother instead of my cousin, like Roderich is." The German laughs. "You really start to get to know people after a century or two, with some wars thrown in just for good measure. I'd like to think it makes us put our lives in order, figure out what's really important. Most haven't figured it out though, even after centuries for them to try."
"Have you?" Lucy has a thousand other things she wants to know, who else has been his family, who else has been his friend, what are the names of those countries he listed, who else is out there, but those can wait.
Ludwig lifts her hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "Definitely found what's important to me."
Everyone sits outside, the dogs coming over to lay in the grass or have Ludwig's brother throw something for them to fetch. Lucy's still a bit wary of big does like Aster, Ludwig's blond guy, but Aster is also the oldest and his master's favorite, curling up under Ludwig's legs. Berlitz, whom Lucy is less afraid of having had a friend back home who owned a German Shepard, brings her a ball that she throws. Blackie and his tiny legs run in circles.
"You should get Lucy one," the Hungarian comments, Erzsi as they call her.
"A dog?" Ludwig asks as he sips his beer. "That's not a good idea."
"Why not?" Roderich sits beside his girlfriend, arm around her shoulders as he eats a sausage. "You're not a cat person are you?"
"I am," the American sheepishly admits, taking her place beside her boyfriend. "My mother had a cat my whole life, it was just easier in the townhouse in a city like New York. Plus big dogs scare me, like to knock me over." Ludwig reaches down to scratch behind Aster's ear.
"We talked about it," the German does murmur as if not wanting to seem like a total asshole. "However we quickly ran into a problem."
"Lutz didn't like the dog I picked," Lucy states simply which makes Erzsi laugh.
"What kind?" Gil calls out as Berlitz goes out to fetch something, taking his brother's beer to get a swig. "German surely."
"Nein," the younger German sighs, shaking his head.
"Norwegian, an elkhound."
"Isn't that what Bondevik has?" Gil asks, looking to Erzsi.
"Ja, it is adorable I will say that."
"But Lutz said no," his girlfriend pouts.
"There are small German dogs–"
"We're not getting another Dachshund." As if on cue Blackie comes running through the middle of the chairs, Berlitz chasing him. "I want a terrier then."
"Jagdterrier's are cute," Gil murmurs before stealing Roderich's sausage. "I'm sure you'll like one of those, and they're small too." He winks at Lucy; he doesn't wink at anyone else but her and Ludwig, she's noticed, taking it as a compliment.
"Hunting dog," Erzsi murmurs, curling into her boyfriend. "Have you ever hunted?"
"I've dressed up for hunting," Lucy admits, "when I was in northern Italy near the Austrian border, went out with an uncle. But I don't like shooting at living things, that's too cruel for me."
"Well we hunt," Ludwig, Gil, and Roderich all mutter at the same time. The Hungarian smiles.
"When you get your dog," she says in sweet German with a slight Hungarian accent, "we'll go hunting and you and I can dress up."
"Be warned, Erzsi kills the most," Roderich informs her before the dogs come back, interrupting any further conversation as they try and weave under legs and chairs and almost flip the table.
Jan sits happily in front of her, Lucy cooing over him as she plays with his ears. "Leave the dog along," Ludwig says as he pours out more coffee before settling beside her on the couch. "You'll spoil him."
"No; he's my dog and I'll spoil him all I want. You spoil your dogs."
"No I don't." When Lucy pulls a face, raising an eyebrow, Ludwig sighs. "Fine, maybe I do. They're my boys though, how can I not?" The German even bends down to scratch under the small Jagdterrier's chin. "They're a part of me."
"I know." Lucy lets her head fall to her boyfriend's chest, one of his arms wrapping around her. He kisses her hair.
In bed, Lucy wrapped up in strong arms, the American nudges her boyfriend with her nose. "You asleep yet?"
"Nein," Ludwig yawns, pulling her further to his chest. He blinks slowly, those blue eyes taking her in in an unfocused manner. "What are you thinking about?"
Lucy shifts before starting. "I don't want you to feel like you have to provide everything, in this relationship. I don't want you to come to resent me just wandering around with the dogs or futzing about while you–" Ludwig is already shaking his head, kissing his girlfriend to stop her words.
"Lucretia," he sighs almost dreamily, although maybe that's just because he's on the verge of falling back to sleep. "Do not ever think that; I'm from a different time, it doesn't bother me the way you think it does. And," and here he sits a little to clear his mind. "Being with me is a full-time job, I know that. Someone has to make sure I eat or sleep or don't lose myself in doing paperwork. Someone has to calm me when my blood boils or comfort me when I get caught up in the past. Someone has to remind me of who I am, keep me grounded, come with me when I go to Berlin or to other places for meetings." A hand strokes one of her cheeks. "You're that someone Lucy, and I will never see you as being a burden. I love you."
She sits to kiss him.
The first world meeting after that is in London, Lucy flying first class with her boyfriend. She enjoys the treatment more than she should, the way they're catered to, how they get shepherded through the airport. Mostly she enjoys the way Ludwig's arm always wraps around her, how his blue eyes are always looking for any sign of danger. When they pause after disembarking, she steps into him, resting her head against his chest and inhaling his smell. Ludwig kisses her head before they're escorted to their luggage.
The Italian passport still feels funny in her hands. She's not sure what had gone down to get her one, but with her father's parents and her mother all from Italy, Lucy supposes that didn't hurt Ludwig's tries of getting it for her. She still keeps her American passport tucked into her purse, missing using it just a little; it all feels so surreal not having that blue one in her hand. Then again, a lot of things with Ludwig feel surreal.
As they get their bags Ludwig hands her his passport to keep safe, Lucy taking her time to flip through his pages to compare their info. Hers looks ridiculous with her full name spelled out (Lucretia Manuela Pontecorvo), her boring birthday of October 1st, her city of birth taking up nearly all the space allotted to it because Europeans apparently didn't know what to do with someone from the States, especially someone from Manhattan.
"Are you really 180 centimeters Lutz?" she asks in soft German. That was, what, 5-foot-11 in the system she grew up with, making him four inches taller than her. "I thought you were taller than that?" He feels a foot taller than her when she's under his arm.
"I stand taller than you do," he says over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"You were born in Paris?" That makes Lucy laugh.
"Versailles, to be precise; have you seen my birthday?" And there it was in all its glory: 18th of January, 1871.
"Does that date not raise suspicions?"
"Not nearly as much as you'd think. Are you done yet?"
"Not until you tell me why your middle name is Gilbert."
"Because," and Ludwig takes a step towards her, switching to English, "my brother is a self-centered idiot, he had to get his name in mine somewhere."
"Now now, don't be so hard on him," a proper British voice chimes in from behind. The man stands about Lucy's height, green jacket that was probably once fashionable. He shakes hands with Ludwig. "And who's this?" the man gestures towards Lucy.
"This is my girlfriend," Ludwig says proudly, "the one I told you about: Lucy Pontecorvo. Luce, this is Arthur Kirkland."
"Oh!" She knows that name: England, Ludwig had told her. Once the two had been close; now they were trying to be like that again. "Pleasure to meet you."
"You speak English?" He seems shocked. "You'd said she was Italian," Arthur says to Ludwig.
"Italian American," she corrects.
"Well then." Not sure what to do with that, Arthur sticks his hands back in his pockets. Lucy smiles at Ludwig who just shakes his head in a way that seems to indicate the man has always been like this.
As Ludwig finishes getting dressed in the hotel bathroom, combing his hair, Lucy irons out the rest of his shirts. "You don't have to do that," the man says as he comes back to pack up his briefcase. "I don't want you to think you have to do it just because you're my woman."
"I'm your woman?" the American laughs over her shoulder. "That sounds funny coming from you." Two hands take the sides of her upper arms, lips kissing her cheek. "It's fine though, my mother would do this for my father and my grandmother for my grandfather. You do so much," and the springs of the bed creak as he sits on its edge. "Let me do this."
"Alright but let's go get breakfast, ja? My shirts will still be just as wrinkled when we finish."
"Ja."
When she finds Ludwig again in the hotel dining room he's sitting at a nearly-full table, one spot empty next to him. Taking it he shifts his arm around the back of her chair, smiling sheepishly. "Gentlemen, this is Lucy Pontecorvo."
"Hey!" the one on his other side says happily, grinning like a cheshire cat. "Look at you!" Letting her eyes continue in the circle she moves to his right where a sour looking man takes her in as if she was unbelievably boring. The one beyond him is caught up in his phone, seemingly embarrassed by his companions. The next one strikes her as more approachable, a happy look on his face as he sits beside his tall companion to Lucy's left. That one reaches out a hand to shake.
"Berwald Oxenstierna," he says in a deep voice.
"A pleasure to meet you," and she shakes his hand which is surprisingly softer than she had expected.
"We thought we'd lighten up your morning," the short one says, wrapping his arms around one of Berwald's. "I'm Timo Väinämöinen. These are Emil Steilsson, Lukas Bondevik, and Christen Densen."
"Oh! Fantastic," Lucy sighs. The names are all vaguely familiar: Nordic countries, she should have known by the look of the five blonds. "I hope I didn't interrupt any important conversations."
"We were discussing the meetings today," Ludwig murmurs in a cross between relaxed and tense. His girlfriend knows he has a long and complicated history with these countries: some had forgiven him, some never would. "If anything you've saved us from that until we have to get to work."
"What will you be doing while we've stolen your boyfriend away?" Timo asks. "I'm curious as to what's of interest here since our son–" he nods to Berwald "–is English and so this is very unexciting for him."
"Oh I have a list of thing," Lucy assures him. "But I'm meeting up with some friends later so we're just going to play it by ear."
"Play it by ear," Timo repeats under his breath as Ludwig leans forward to ask,
"Is that all you're eating? Did they not have anything else?" He means other kosher food; Lucy is suddenly very aware of the amount of pork the other men around her are consuming.
"They're bringing me eggs," she replies back, "and after breakfast I'm going to go talk with the front desk again. They did apologize for not having anything like they'd said they would." The German only nods as he sips his coffee.
The new kitchen in the big house finished and koshered with two of everything, Lucy sighs contently.
"We'll need to label it all," Ludwig says beside her, "or else I won't remember what's what."
"German or Yiddish?"
"Both, because some mornings are too early for the Yiddish." The American laughs, wrapping her arms around her taller boyfriend's chest. He pulls her even closer, kissing the top of her head. "What shall we make first?"
"Hey dearie?" Lucy starts in Hebrew, stirring her tea.
"Yes Yaffa?" Ludwig asks over his shoulder, stirring the soup in its pot.
"I love you." The German puts down his spoon to come to the table, leaning on it to steal a kiss. He smiles, his blue eyes shining.
"I love you too."