February 1947
There is something eerie about Berlin and Liechtenstein finds herself walking just the tiniest bit closer to her brother.
She really likes calling Switzerland her brother, even if their relationship had initially been one of desperation on her part. Austria had never allowed her to call him brother, citing that close relationships with other nations were strictly business-like, though Liechtenstein supposes that his marriage with Hungary had been something else.
They don't necessarily have to be in Berlin, but the Allies are there for some final proceedings concerning the control of Germany, and Switzerland still has some issues to settle with America about the compensation for the bombings of his land during the war. Liechtenstein had wanted to come because she never got the chance to leave either her own country or Switzerland's much. Now, she almost regrets it.
Germany has been rebuilding, certainly, but there is still a lot broken. She wonders how Germany himself is feeling, then wonders if she's allowed to worry for his health.
"You're quiet," Switzerland comments as they walk past the remnants of a building. It looks untouched and undisturbed. It almost seems as if people are afraid to come close to it, the dust layers thick.
Liechtenstein hums, offering a smile to a lady who clutches her baby to her chest and hurries away, eyes wide and scared. It pains her to see these people so broken without having the ability to offer them any help.
"Lili." It's part a sigh and she turns to him.
"I'm just thinking," she says softly.
Switzerland gives her a very long look. He has never been that good at reading people, not the way she knows Russia and France can, but he is getting better at reading her. His eyes stray from hers, to the ribbon she religiously ties in her hair every day, before looking away all together.
"These things happen. Humanity is cruel." Switzerland shrugs. "We all protect our own."
"But you protect me."
Switzerland flushes, coughing in his fist as Liechtenstein giggles at his expense.
"I picked you up because Austria dropped you like a rock in the ocean. I like to believe I do better than that."
"Mister Austria had little to say in the matter," Liechtenstein says with a soft sigh.
Switzerland doesn't answer as they stop in front of the Kammergericht, the building as impressive as the people currently arguing within. Liechtenstein can feel their discussion simmering in the cold and she wraps her scarf a little tighter around her neck.
She pauses just as Switzerland climbs the first steps. He turns to her, raising his eyebrows in question, but she just shakes her head.
"I'm staying outside," she says. "Your politics, not mine."
There is hesitation in Switzerland's eyes and he scans the park quickly. Then he nods, though it looks more like a sharp jerk of his head. "Don't stray from here. Stay in sight. Scream if—"
"Yes, yes, brother." She smiles and gives him a gentle shove back up the stairs he had descended back down from to give her instructions. "I know. I'll be fine."
He subjects her to another long look until she makes shooing motions with her hands and decidedly turns around to start her minor exploration.
The park is bare still, winter finally melting away in favour of more mellow spring weather. It's still chilly, but it's colder in her country now so it doesn't bother her too much. There are a handful of benches placed along the path, mostly empty, as is the park itself, but then she feels a tug in her chest. The feeling is reserved for being like them and it startles her a bit because they're all supposed to be inside. This one is weak, almost as if it isn't supposed to be there, and she carefully makes her way toward it.
She recognizes the mess of silver locks first, the sun glinting off it, colouring them golden. It's not as beautiful as his hair had been back then, the moonlight making him look ethereal. She would have thought him an angel had his eyes not been as red as the blood she knew he liked to spill.
Yet the person sitting on the bench shaded by the building hardly looks like the man who had playfully saluted her before vanishing within the gardens. Who had, later that evening, started a bet with Holstein who could drink the most glasses of champagne before Austria would cut them off. Who had lost because Hungary had caught wind of it and knocked both men out of the park much to Austria's exasperation.
Prussia sits with his elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands. He's wearing a pathetically thin coat, but the trembles that shake his frame aren't simply from the chill if the soft noises breaking past his defences are anything to go by.
It's disconcerting. Prussia is supposed to be the high and mighty creator of the German Empire, victor over many campaigns and battlefields, proud and boastful to a fault. Not this thin and gaunt shadow of a man holding back tears in a broken, former empire's equally broken capital.
She reaches for her pocket, pulling out a handkerchief that she's had for over a hundred years now. It's unravelling along the edges and she's had to do some emergency sewing to replace the lace lost during a particular disastrous tug of war with her St. Bernard. She really keeps it on her as a memento of a kindness the very man in front of her had once given her, a kindness that had once been difficult to find.
It is only proper to return it.
"Why are you crying, mein Herr?" she asks softly, as if not to startle a frightened bird.
He does anyway and stops breathing. Liechtenstein sits on her haunches in front of him, calmly and kindly looking up in case he decides to lower his hands. Then, she hesitates for a moment before she touches his hand with the handkerchief and Prussia starts to breathe again.
His hands fall away from his face and he just stares at her for a moment. He looks absolutely miserable, eyes red, cheeks glistening, mouth set in a taut line.
When he doesn't take the handkerchief from her, she presses it to his cheek instead. His breath hitches and he turns his head.
"Mister—"
"Don't," he says hoarsely. He digs his fingers in his leg, twisting the fabric of his trousers.
She bites her lip as she weighs the pros and cons carefully. Switzerland always tells her it's a good way to decide whether something is worth it. She hopes he's right because she reaches for Prussia's chin and forcefully turns his head toward her.
His eyes flash, but she ignores them, ignores what fear they must have instilled not two years ago, and gently dabs at his cheeks.
"Close your eyes," she says and she doesn't miss the wary look that crosses through them before he does as she asks. She wipes the tears from under his eyes, only faintly aware of how strange it must look for a small girl to wipe a grown man's face to anyone happening to walk by. But no one does, so it's of no concern to her.
Liechtenstein moves her hand away so she can observe her handiwork, but freezes when Prussia reaches out and clasps it. It's gentle even if his hands are rough and she stares, unsure of what to do. She glances up in his eyes and finds them focused on her already. They're bronze in this light and somewhat kinder, more reminiscent of that evening so very long ago.
Then there is a sly smile as he takes the handkerchief from her fingers and blows his nose. It sounds like a foghorn as it seems to echo around the park and Liechtenstein can't help the laugh that bursts past her lips. She covers her mouth as Austria's warning of lady-likeness echoes through her mind, but Prussia's eyes are as bright as his smile, so she supposes it doesn't matter much.
Prussia glances at the poor old handkerchief, fingers tracing over the intricate eagle embroidered in the corner. "You kept it," he says and he sounds a little marvelled, his voice so soft and unlike him.
Liechtenstein's legs are starting to cramp so she moves to sit next to him, brushing down her long skirt as to evade those curiously confused eyes. She hums. "Yes, well, it was a token of goodwill after all."
A small smile plays at Prussia's lips, but it's gone soon enough. A melancholy look enters his eyes and he sighs, lowering the kerchief to his lap as he stares unseeingly into the distance.
Words do not seem appropriate so Liechtenstein places a hand on his knee instead. He blinks and glances at it, almost as if it's something so foreign he's never seen it before. Carefully, Liechtenstein would call it shyly, Prussia places his hand on top of hers.
His hand is much larger than hers and she watches as he slots his fingers so they fall in between hers. He isn't holding her hand, not really, but it's a comforting touch.
Liechtenstein crosses her ankles, allowing a content smile as she looks around the park. There isn't all that much to see, and she ends up observing Prussia instead. His eyes are trained on a big oak tree, lost in some old memory.
She finds she doesn't like the expression much, remembering the sharp focus that had shone in them before. So, she squeezes his leg to gain his attention and his eyes snap to her.
He tilts his head and his hair catches the midday sun that peaks around the building again, making it glimmer gold. His cheekbones are sharper, more pronounced, and there's a faint stubble that she hasn't noticed before.
Yet, she finds herself drawn to his eyes. How could she not? They are loud and demanding all on their own, struggling between shades of red and bronze. They are a nation's worst nightmare, have been for centuries. They are a trap designed to lure and catch their opponent, and Liechtenstein is no match either.
She swallows and leans forward, waiting for him to…
A sharp tug tells her of a nation leaving the building and she gasps. She just knows it's her brother. He has a gift for unfortunate timing after all.
Prussia senses it too and he removes his hand from hers, brushing it through his hair. He flashes her a crooked smile and she wonders if he had caught onto what she had hoped he would do. She can't decide whether she's glad or disappointed.
Liechtenstein stands because she doubt either Prussia or Switzerland would be very happy to meet face to face. She turns to Prussia and is surprised when he reaches forward and takes her hand in his one more time.
"Thank you, Fräulein Liechtenstein," he says earnestly and presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles. It makes her blush all the way up to her ears. He releases her hand with a small smile and she clutches it to her chest.
She ducks her head and all but bolts away to Switzerland who is scanning the grounds with a laser-like focus. He gives her a confused look, but she brushes it off by looping her arm through his and dragging him away from the Kammergericht.
It's not until they sit in the train to Switzerland that she realizes she left the handkerchief with Prussia.