Elisabeta had grown up in the same neighborhood as Gilbert and Ludwig. She hadn't been a terribly popular kid, but, as she got older, she joined an outcast group and became a typical high school tomboy. As a young child, her parents divorced and she was sent to live with her dad. After that, everything she did was some hopeless attempt to impress him and all the other boys. She cut her hair short, played all the "boy's" sports, and spent her days trying to force her company upon Gilbert and his friends.
When she was twelve, a boy named Roderich moved into the house next to her. Initially, she teased him for his incredibly formal manners and snobbish nature, but, with the Beilschmidt brothers growing away and her own social group diminishing, they became close friends. By the time they were sixteen, the two of them were deeply entwined in a kind of sappy, ridiculous love. But, as teen love often goes, she began to grow tired of his rude and clingy behavior. He threatened her with all sorts of things, from hitting her to leaving her alone. Most of the torture was psychological: he would tell her that no one else would love her, or that she was such a terribly stupid and useless girl. A few times, he got really angry and he did hit her. He wasn't nearly as strong as someone his age should have been, but, with his focused rage, he had bruised her face and even given her a black eye, once.
And yet she stayed with him.
She could tell how poisonous the relationship was. She knew that one day she would break. But not once during their relationship did she cry. She was a strong young lady.
That said, seeing Gilbert, whom she had admired as an idol her entire childhood; whose emotional strength she had always envied, have such a breakdown really disturbed her. It shook the foundations of her belief that men should be strong - and that she should be like a man.
She had broken up with Roderich after nearly five years, and, wanting to run from her old life, joined the military. That man had ranted and raved about how stupid she was, and how she wouldn't be able to handle it, but she ignored him. Once she was away from him, she found herself feeling free and unburdened, even with the strict protocol and weighing fear of failure. Roderich was just a part of her past.
But, now, she was scared - not for herself, but for Gilbert. There had been a time when, despite their rivalry and despite his flaws, she would have considered him her best friend. He was only about a year older than her, but she had looked up to him. All she could feel now was something between disappointment and concern. Through dinner with her father and her mother, who had flown in to see her, she kept thinking back to how fragile he seemed. /He can't walk,/ she kept thinking, but, as much as it frightened her that something like that could happen to someone she knew, it was more troubling when she realized that Ludwig was dead. He had /died./ He was dead and he couldn't ever come back. And Gilbert, who had been strong and athletic and arrogant, was crippled and drowning in depression and self hatred. The permanence of the entire situation frightened her. It made her want to reach out to Gilbert and comfort him, and make him comfort her for all that she had been through.

After dinner, Liz sat quietly on her step-mother's horrible, floral printed couch, her feet planted firmly on the ground, her head down, and her hands cupped in her lap. She stared blankly at her scuffed boots as her parents talked distantly about gas prices and old friends. Her pale brown hair hung at her shoulders, and she vaguely registered that it had grown out a lot since she last cut, but her mind was mostly wandering back to various points of her life. Her parents hadn't actually talked to her all night, but she was perfectly fine with being left alone. She needed time to think.
Liz had run it over in her mind, over and over. She had thought about Gilbert, and she had thought about herself. They would both be in serious trouble, soon enough, if they didn't do something. Gilbert had no one to pay for his medical bills, and she had no foundation to go off of in life. There was no one there for her. She could rent an apartment downtown and get an office job. It wouldn't have to be big; no one else would ever be in her life, right? All she needed was a disgusting home to use as an example of how terrible her life was.
Honestly, she didn't know what to do with Gilbert. She had an overwhelming urge to help him, but she didn't know how. They hadn't been close since they were very young, so she didn't know much about him. All she knew was that, right now, he was alone and desperately in need of a friend. Never before had she seen him cry. She suspected it was mostly because of his brother, but complete abandonment must have had something to do with it.
Sighing, she pulled her phone from her pocket and stood up. "Excuse me. I'm going outside." Her family glanced up with slightly bewildered expressions. as if they had forgotten she was there. They soon turned back to their conversation, and she walked to the door. She had his number saved, but she dialed it anyway as she pushed the door open with her free hand. It was still winter and the air was crisp and cold, but it was still twilight and she could just barely see the shapes of the neighborhood around her. She had grown up in this house. Every rooftop and telephone pole was familiar and nostalgic, as if it were something from a forgotten dream. The cement path through the garden was illuminated by a golden porch light. Through the dusk, city lights lit up the skyline of the peaceful suburb. The entire scene made her smile, but she realized how bittersweet it was. This was her father's dream, not hers.
So she dialed Gilbert's number and pressed the phone to her ear. It rang several times before he picked it up and answered enthusiastically.
"Hallo?" She closed her eyes in a sigh upon hearing him speak in German. The family had moved from Germany when he had been three or four, and he had retained a faint German accent and an automatic reaction throughout the years.
"Hey, it's Liz," she said awkwardly, wondering if she should have even called at all. It was going to be strange; they had hardly talked since she had broken up with Roderich. Gilbert didn't seem to mind, though.
She could hear muffled coughing through the speaker. "Oh.. Sorry for earlier. I've been pretty upset lately. Anyway, why'd you call?" he said, clearly struggling to catch his breath. She bit her lip and sat down on the cement stairs of the walkway.
"I just wanted to talk.. ask what you're planning to do," she replied, making tortured faces because she knew no one was looking.
There was a pause. "I don't know, Liz. I can't really do /anything/ now, can I?" There was a tired pain in his voice, but he managed to keep the level steady. Elisabeta frowned at his pessimistic words.
"Of course you can. Don't think like that," she insisted.
His voice lowered so she could barely hear it over the crackling of the line. "Liz, you don't know what this is like. My brother is dead, and I really loved him. And now I can't even walk. Never, Liz; not ever again. I'd be.. so much better off dead." His voice cracked and should could hear him sniffling.
"Gilbert, please.." she begged, her own eyes beginning to water. "You are so much more than your brother or your body."
He huffed into the speaker. "Stop saying that. Stop it with the lies."
"I'm not lying! I never lie!" she cried. "I.. I l- love you! I think you're amazing and.. awesome, or whatever. No, you matter to me!" The line was silent.
After a moment, she spoke again. "Gilbert?"
".. Really?"
She brushed her hair behind her ear to save it from the wetness of her tears. "Really, really.. Pleased, Gil. Come with me. We can rent a house. I can find you a job. I don't care if you don't want to be together or anything.. We can just be roommates."
Another pause.
"You're all I have left."
He sniffed again. "Okay.. Okay, yeah.. We should do that." She couldn't tell if he actually liked the idea or if he was just agreeing with her for the same of it.
They sat silent for a moment before he said something again.
"Hey, Liz.. I'm sorry for making you cry. I have to go now. Come over tomorrow."
She squeaked out a forced "Okay," before he hung up. As soon as the call was over, she threw the phone in the grass and put her head in her hands. Tears streamed down her face like raindrops, and she pretended they were. She hadn't cried for years, but she was glad that, when she did, it had been for someone else.