A/N: I'm very sorry for the long wait for this. I have this whole story fully outlined but I lacked the time to actually write it. Thanks for all the lovely reviews! This chapter was going to be longer but I'm cutting it to keep it at a moderate length. So I'm guessing two, maybe three more chapters after this. Hopefully no more than that, haha.
Please enjoy!
Warnings: Uh, I guess not extremely detailed sex ahead? This fic is already rated M but everyone appreciates a good warning I suppose
Extra Notes: Olympe = Monaco, Belle = Belgium
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
The Soldier Next Door
II
Francis had lunch with Olympe later that week. He could tell right away that something was wrong. She refused to meet his eye and kept playing with her long braid.
"Olympe," he said finally, "if you actually enjoyed your date I won't judge you. Is that why you look so nervous?"
Olympe let her braid fall back into place and scowled. "The date was terrible and that's not what's bothering me," she said. She bit her lip. "I heard something from Louise this morning."
"About her German beau?" Francis asked smirking.
"No, about you," she said somberly and continued quickly, "Louise said Mrs. Brouchard told her that she saw one the soldiers leave your house, after curfew, Monday night."
Francis had gone numb.
Olympe gave him a long hard look before continuing, "I told her that Mrs. Brouchard must have been mistaken. She lives three houses down from you and if it was that dark she couldn't possibly be certain whom she saw, if she saw anyone at all. Besides, you would never let one of them into your house. Would you?"
Francis swallowed heavily. "One of the soldiers came to my house Monday night," he said so quietly that it was almost a whisper.
Olympe's jaw dropped. "How could—"
"It's not what you think!" Francis said quickly. "He came over to inform me that there would be some changes in leadership. The Captain next door is leaving—has left. He was reassigned." He couldn't lie to her completely.
Olympe narrowed her eyes. "And you had to let him inside to hear that?"
Francis shrugged and hoped his face didn't betray anything. "He said it was important and preferred to tell me the news indoors."
"I'm certain he could have told you outside. I doubt there were listening ears about at that time."
"I wasn't in the mood to argue. I was exhausted from work and got home late. He came in, told me what he needed to and left. End of story."
Olympe still look unconvinced.
Francis forced a smile. "Darling, what could have possibly happened?"
"I don't know Francis, you tell me."
Francis frowned. "There's nothing to tell because nothing happened." That was the actual truth and he said it with confidence. "I could give a fuck what Louise or Annette Brouchard, the town gossip, thinks but it hurts that you don't trust me."
"I trust you Francis. I just don't trust them." Olympe stood up. "I have to get back to work. I'll come by later tonight, okay?"
She was still upset and he knew it but he gave her his best smile and said, "I'll see you then."
Behind Francis's house was a wide, rolling plain of grass dotted with bright wildflowers. It stretched down a quarter of a mile, eventually merging with a large forest. It was called 'The Commons' and technically belonged to everyone that lived on the hill, but since most of it lay behind and beyond his house, Francis considered it his. On clear summer days he and Olympe would take full picnic baskets into the field and lie out in the sun, eating petite fours and gossiping, but now there was war, Olympe was working two jobs and there would be nothing to put in the picnic basket anyway. Nonetheless, the following day, the sky was just the right blue and the temperate just the right warm so Francis spread out a blanket on the grass, laid down and smoked Gauloises, thinking about how to properly deal with all the current problems in his life. He hadn't seen Gilbert since his brother had left two days previous. It had been early in the morning when he had heard the deep rumbling sound of a car pulling up to the house. He had resisted the urge to peek out the window and had lain in bed staring at his ceiling, wondering how Gilbert was feeling at that very moment. Francis hadn't known the Captain very long or well. He didn't wish him the best or even good luck. He only wished he would survive whatever was in Poland, for Gilbert's sake. As for the 2nd Lieutenant himself, he seemed to be taking Francis's advice, which hurt, but he knew it was for the best.
Francis smoked until there were only three cigarettes left in the box. By then, clouds had begun to appear in the sky. Not the white and fluffy variety but the dark grey type that preceded a storm. He sighed and rolled up the blanket. Although his first intention was to go straight back inside, he somehow ended up leaving the neatly rolled blanket on the grass and walking towards the forest. He was nearing the trees when he thought he heard someone call his name. He turned and saw that it was Gilbert running towards him. Francis groaned because this was the last person he wanted to see at the moment.
"Why are you here?" Francis asked when Gilbert was close enough.
"Where are you going?" Gilbert asked, coming to a stop in front of him. He was grinning widely and Francis thought that he preferred this to the look of despair he had worn the last time they had seen each other. "Running off?"
"No, just going for a walk."
Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "By yourself in the woods? That's a bit suspicious."
"This forest goes on for about five miles and ends at the edge of a cliff. There's nowhere to go."
"Still, I can't just let you go walking by yourself outside town limits." Gilbert wagged a finger at him. "That would be against the rules."
Francis frowned. "Are you ordering me to go back?"
"No, I'm asking to come along."
"No."
Gilbert pouted. "Why not?"
"Because I want to be alone."
"Now I'm really suspicious. So are you meeting with the resistance or perhaps a secret lover, hmm?"
"I just don't want your company now, you irritant," Francis snarled in English.
Gilbert burst out laughing and then answered back in perfect English, "Well you have it whether you like it or not. So, what now?"
Francis sighed. "Fine. Come along if you want but it's going to rain soon."
"How can you tell?"
"Clairvoyance."
"Seriously?"
"No, you idiot, the clouds."
Gilbert looked up. "Oh, I see. There aren't too many; we still have time. Do you come out here often?" He said it with sincerity so Francis refrained himself was snapping back.
"I used to," Francis said as they walked through the trees. It was an old forest and centuries old trees towered above them, blocking out the sunlight.
"How long have you lived in that house?"
"I moved to Imaldee when I was a little more than ten but I only moved to that house after I got married."
As he expected it to, this news shocked Gilbert.
"You're married?" he exclaimed. "Or are you just joking like I was?"
"Was. I was married. We divorced five years ago," Francis said casually.
"What happened?" Gilbert asked, his tone slightly calmer now.
"None of your business."
"What was her name?"
Francis kicked at the ground, disrupting a pile of twigs and pebbles. "…Belle."
"Was she pretty?"
"She was lovely."
Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Where is she now?" he asked. There was bitterness in his voice that Francis pretended not to hear.
"I don't know. We didn't keep in touch. I just know that wherever she is, she's happier there than she ever was with me."
"What? Were you a shitty husband or something?"
Francis glared at him. "I most definitely wasn't the best…and this personal interview ends now. I shouldn't even have told you any of that." He never talked about Belle with anyone and most people knew enough of the story not to ask. Even Olympe knew better than to bring her up.
To his surprise, Gilbert didn't pester him for more information but instead only shrugged and said, "Okay."
A long silence stretched between them. They were walking deeper into the forest and Francis wondered if they would keep going until they reached the end. But the end of what, he didn't know.
"So how are you holding up without your brother?" Francis asked finally.
"Awesome. Never better," Gilbert said breezily. "They might even let me visit him in a few months."
"Who's in charge now?"
Gilbert made a face. "Edelstein."
Francis couldn't help but laugh at his expression. "What? You don't like him?"
"I can't stand him. He's a stick in the mud and a pain in the ass. I've seen rocks with more personality. And he has absolutely no respect for the greatness that is I."
Francis laughed again.
"It's nice to hear you laugh," Gilbert said. "And I was beginning to think that all you could do was scowl and sneer. Just like you're doing now."
"Do you find it amusing, getting on my nerves?" Francis huffed.
"Just a little. I'm joking. Actually, it's hilarious to see you all riled up."
Francis's scowl deepened as Gilbert laughed harder. He looked up at the sound of thunder. A raindrop hit his head.
"Damn it," he said as he felt another. "We need to turn around, now."
They had walked further into the forest than he had thought and hadn't gone far before the downpour began. Gilbert pulled him under a large tree whose wide spaced leaves provided well enough cover from the rain.
"This is all your fault," Francis snapped. He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced when he found it was damp. Soon it would be frizzy. "This is just fucking perfect." He crossed his arms and leaned against the tree.
"How is it my fault?" Gilbert asked.
"This never would have happened if I had been by myself. Now I have to stand out here with you and freeze."
"It will stop soon. Stop whining."
"Why did you even follow me here? I thought I made it clear that it would be best for both of us if we stayed away from each other."
"Why are you so resistant to me?"
"Don't make me spell it out for you," Francis hissed angrily. "You know why."
Gilbert gave him a bitter smile. "Have you even considered that I might be someone besides the soldier?"
"Why should I when there's no point? Up until now I've been patient with you. I am grateful for your assistance after my accident and I admit that I did feel some sympathy towards you regarding your brother's departure but that is done. Just talking to you is a betrayal and I love my country too much. So just stay away from me, okay? Just stay away. It will save us both from a lot of pain."
Gilbert turned to face him and gave him a look that made his heart skip a beat. "That was a pretty little speech." He took a step closer to Francis. "But here's one thing you should know about me. When I see something I want I don't give up until I have it. Right now, I want you."
He pushed Francis against the trunk of the tree and kissed him roughly.
Francis reached up and punched him.
Gilbert staggered back, clutching his cheek. The skin was already turning red.
"I could have your life for that," he said calmly.
"Then what's stopping you?" Francis said. He had no idea where that sudden burst of courage had come from but it was quickly dissipating and the words came out shaky. Was he insane? What had he just done?
Gilbert approached him slowly. "Good thing I don't want your life. I just want this."
He kissed him again, gentler this time. Francis tensed up but his resistance lasted only a few seconds. This time, instead of pushing him away he found himself grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him closer. He wanted this, although he would never admit it. The kiss became desperate and needy and they clung to each other. Francis moaned softly as Gilbert sucked on his lower lip and then bit down on it. A million and one thoughts were running through his mind but he could focus on none of them as Gilbert pressed him harder against the tree. They pulled apart only to catch their breaths. Gilbert's eyes were dark and triumphant and this only heightened Francis's arousal. There was nothing more erotic than simply being wanted. Francis ran his hand through the tangle of wet white locks and pulled Gilbert back to him. He swiped his tongue over Gilbert's bottom lip and when Gilbert parted his mouth, he slipped his tongue inside, intent on exploring every inch of it. Heat and desire had travelled between his legs and he groaned as Gilbert thrust his body against his. Before he could say anything, Gilbert's hands had already traveled down to undo his belt.
"No," Francis whispered against his lips. "You don't have to."
Gilbert smirked. "I want to," he said as his undid the buttons of Francis's pants. He then broke the kiss and knelt down in front of him. Francis let his head fall back against the tree, thinking at that moment only of how risky this was but the last thing he wanted was to stop. He hissed softly as Gilbert touched him; it had been too long since anyone had touched him. The small part of his mind that could still process logical thoughts told him that he knew where this would inevitably lead. Since Belle, his relationships had become like a book that had been read too often with an ending that never changed—and it was never a happy ending. Physically though, it would have been impossible to stop. He could barely muffle a groan as Gilbert took him in his mouth. At first, he had no technique, just spit and barely a rhythm but quickly he was able to coordinate his hands with his mouth and Francis's breath was soon coming in short gasps. He laced his hands through Gilbert's hair, careful not to pull, the other man's name falling off his lips in a fast breathy, mantra. It took all of his power not to completely fall apart when Gilbert began using his teeth. Watching him only wound Francis tighter but he found that he couldn't look away. Too afraid of being caught and too sensitive after trying so long to prevent this, Francis couldn't last long. Afterwards, he lay against the tree, the stars fading from his vision, panting heavily as Gilbert redid his buttons. He suddenly realized that the rain had stopped.
Gilbert stood up and Francis couldn't believe he was still smirking.
"You didn't," Francis said.
"I did," Gilbert replied.
"I wonder if I should be proud."
"You should be fucking ecstatic."
They both laughed.
"The rain's stopped. We should go," Francis said.
"We're not done yet," Gilbert said, reaching for him.
Francis stopped his hand and shook his head. "Not here, not now. It's too risky."
"Then where?" Gilbert asked huskily, impatiently.
Francis thought quickly before answering, "Tonight. After curfew at my house. Come around the back."
"I'll be there."
"You should probably leave first," Francis said. "Just to be safe."
Gilbert smirked. "Just to be safe."
He started to turn to leave when Francis pulled him close and kissed him deeply. He tasted himself on his lips and found that he loved it.
.
.
.
Olympe came to visit later that afternoon.
"What are you doing here?" Francis asked when he opened the front door and found her standing there.
"How rude," she said before brushing past him. "I was going to apologize but now I'm not so sure."
"Apologize? For what?" Francis asked as he closed the door. He thought they had made peace when she had visited yesterday.
Olympe took a seat on the couch. "For what I said during lunch yesterday. I should never have doubted you. You're far from perfect but you're not all that bad."
Francis felt like he would drown in the wave of guilt that washed over him. He had wanted to tell her but now it was too late.
"Now, sit down," Olympe said, patting the spot next to her. "We need to talk."
"About?" Francis asked, trying to keep his voice even.
"Oliver," Olympe said darkly. "It was one dinner. One ridiculous dinner and now him and everyone else in this town thinks we're together. He has become a major problem." She curled her small hands into tights fists. "He is an irritating bug that needs to be squashed."
Francis breathed a sigh of relief and sat down next to her. "How long do you plan on being here?" he asked.
"I was actually thinking of staying the night." He could hear the worry in her voice. She believed that he was innocent but she still feared for him.
"No!" Francis said so quickly that it startled both of them. "Tonight is bad. Very bad."
Olympe crossed her arms. "And why is that?"
"I…was thinking of sketching tonight."
"You haven't drawn anything in over year."
"Exactly! Which is why it's so important that I have peace and quiet."
"I'll stay out of your way."
"Not good enough. I absolutely must be alone. Please my darling Oly?" He purposely called her by her childhood nickname hoping it would help sway her.
Olympe gave him a skeptical look but then she shrugged. "Alright, that's fine," she said.
"Thank you, love," Francis said, patting her head.
"Stop it," she said but not meanly. "So, are you going to help me with my problem or not because I'm not leaving here until you do."
"About sweet Oliver? You could give him to me."
"I'm not that cruel."
"Then I might need to think about this one for awhile. Let's have a drink. Tea, coffee or wine? Wait, I only have two of those and one's nearly finished."
"Tea is fine," Olympe said. "And I brought something that will cheer you up. Think of it as an addition to my apology." She handed him a small box.
He opened it and found two small chocolate éclairs.
"It wasn't easy to come by those ingredients but I guess you are worth it. Sometimes"
Francis gave her a warm smile although he was writhing from guilt on the inside. Sitting on the couch in her pale pink dress with matching hair ribbon, Olympe looked like a picture of goodness and innocence. What had he done to deserve such a wonderful person? And was he willing to betray her, again, for a night of simple pleasure?
Yes, he was.
Francis was pacing back and forth in the kitchen when there was a knock on the back door. The clock on the wall read a quarter past 11. He opened the door to find a sheepish looking Gilbert.
"Second thoughts?" Francis asked.
"No. Edelstein wouldn't let me leave until I told him where I was going," Gilbert said as he stepped inside.
"And did you?"
"No so he had a little hissy fit and began going on about 'proper military conduct'. At first I stayed to humor him, because I'm a great person like that, but then I just walked out. He's probably still talking."
"What's he like, Edelstein?"
"He's the worst. A stuffy aristocrat. He probably thinks he's even better than me, which he definitely is not."
"Is he married?"
"Believe it or not, yes. To this crazy Hungarian woman. I met her once, right before we left Germany, and she tried to beat me to death with her bag. Edelstein keeps a picture of her by his bedside and won't let me touch it." Gilbert gave him a sly look. "Why so curious all of a sudden? Are you interested in him?"
"Perhaps," Francis said coyly. They were standing in the front room now. "Can I get you anything?"
Gilbert shook his head and glanced around the room. "This place looks different since I last saw it," he said.
"Most likely because you're sober now."
Gilbert shrugged. "I guess. You have a nice place."
"Thank you," Francis said. He suddenly realized that they were both stalling. He took Gilbert's arm and led him up the stairs. "Let me give you the grand tour."
"This is my cousin's room," he said, pausing at the first door at the top of the stairs. "She lives in town but she visits often, I'm sure you already knew this. She's like a little sister. The room at the end of the hall was the one I shared with my wife. It's empty now except for a few boxes so I usually keep it locked." Francis pointed to a short rope hanging from the ceiling. "That leads to the attic. It's actually quite large. You could probably hide a full-grown person in there." He pulled Gilbert into the room next to Olympe's. It was painted dark blue and sparsely, but neatly and elegantly decorated. "And this is my room. Lovely, yes?"
"It's very…you," Gilbert said, nodding towards the full-length mirror propped against the wall. He wandered over to the closet and pulled it open. "Gee, don't tell me these are all yours?"
"Would it surprise you if I said yes? I do work at a clothing store and that's means a lot of free and discounted merchandise."
Gilbert shut the closet and looked around the room as if he was searching for something. "No pictures. You didn't have any downstairs either. Everyone has pictures."
Francis was surprised that he had been so observant. "I put everything away before you and…your people arrived." But he didn't want to think about those memories. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Come here."
Gilbert walked slowly over to stand in front of him. Francis reached up to unbutton his jacket, tossing it carelessly aside once it was off. He then took off the shirt underneath, undid the belt and helped him out of his pants and underwear.
"Like what you see?" Gilbert asked. He was smirking but even in the dark it was obvious that his face was red. He had a bruise on his cheek from the punch Francis had given him earlier.
Francis grinned. "I love what I see." He started unbuttoning his own shirt. Gilbert knelt down and began working on his pants. "I have to ask if this is something you've done before." Francis added his shirt to the growing clothing pile on the floor.
"Sex?" Gilbert asked as he slipped off Francis's pants causing Francis to fall back onto the bed.
"With a man." They were now both completely devoid of clothing but there was still an air hesitation and nervousness that hovered around them.
Gilbert's hands, which had been slowly moving up Francis's sides in almost shy, exploratory motions, paused. "Once," he said slowly. "But that was a long time ago." His face held a mix of emotions.
"I don't want to force you into anything," Francis said, wondering when he had become so considerate.
"I'm doing this because I want to," Gilbert said.
Francis pulled him down to him and kissed him softly. "Then I promise to take good care of you," he whispered. He slid further up the bed, taking Gilbert with him. He kissed him again and then let himself be pushed into the pillows as the kisses became deeper and more wanting and the touches more bold.
Finally, reluctantly, Francis pulled away and reached over to tap the desk next to his bed. "In there is everything you need," he said heavily.
Gilbert raised an eyebrow and leaned over him to pull open the drawer. He let out a low whistle when he saw the contents inside.
"Oh…Oh. Damn."
Francis couldn't help but laugh.
"So I'm going to take a wild guess and say that this is nothing new for you either," Gilbert said.
Francis laughed again. "No, sorry to disappoint you."
"Disappointed is the last thing I am," Gilbert said as he began rifling through the drawer. "But, damn, I feel like I'm in a department store."
"You won't find any of that in a department store."
"I'm not even going to ask where you found this stuff. Hell if I know what to choose."
"Take your time," Francis said casually. He stared over the curve of Gilbert's shoulder at the blue ceiling. His heart was hammering in his chest. What would happen after this night, he could only wonder. Was is possible that things would go back to the way they once were? Gilbert just the 2nd Lieutenant and he just another person trying to find his place in the ever changing world? It seemed absurd to think that might be their fate and he found that he didn't want it to be.
"Fuck it," Gilbert said. "I'm just going to choose this." He slid the drawer closed. "You need to alphabetize that thing," he added snickering. "Or maybe not." He popped open the cap of the bottle as he settled between Francis's legs. "So does this come with instructions?"
Francis smirked. "I'm your instructions." He beckoned him to lean and he whispered what he wanted from him, what he wanted him to do to him. He guided his hands and then his body and then Gilbert was inside him and he could say nothing more as the only thing that left his mouth were muffled groans. He was terrified of being heard, even though there was no one else in the house but them, and his neighbors that still remained were all far enough away. He lasted longer this time and when he came he let out a silent cry, his nails digging into Gilbert's shoulder and back. He hoped he left marks.
For a long time afterwards they lay silent, their legs entwined, the only sound their soft breathing. Finally, Francis said he needed a cigarette and slipped out of bed. Still naked, he padded down the stairs and went into the dark kitchen to find his last box of Gauloises. When he opened the box and emptied it out onto his palm only two skinny cigarettes rolled out. That was all he had left. He took one and put the other back in the box, to save for when he most needed it. When he came back into his room he found Gilbert poking through the desk drawer again.
"See anything you like?" Francis asked as he slipped back into bed.
"A few things," Gilbert said grinning. He closed the drawer. "Is that my lighter?"
Francis glanced at the lighter in his hand and saw that it was. He had just grabbed the first one he could find off the counter.
"It would seem so," Francis said, lighting the cigarette.
"You only brought one of those?"
"Don't you have your own?"
"No on me. Got any more?"
"Sorry, this is my last one," Francis lied. "Besides, I thought you didn't like French cigarettes."
Gilbert shrugged. "If there's nothing else available, they'll do." Before Francis could say anything he took the cigarette from his lips. He ignored the heated glare he was received in response and took a deep drag. He made a face. "This shit is terrible."
Francis rolled his eyes. "You're such a brat."
Gilbert puffed on the cigarette for a few more seconds before he handed it back to Francis.
"So…what about next time?"
"You're assuming there is a next time," Francis said, hoping his voice didn't betray him.
Gilbert grinned. "After that, how couldn't there be a next time?"
"What makes you think that was anything special?"
It's was Gilbert's turn to scowl. "So you think you're funny now, huh?"
Francis grinned. "You're not the only one who knows how to be awesome." He stubbed out the cigarette on the ashtray by his bed and then rolled on top of Gilbert.
"A next time you say? I'm not completely opposed to the idea but I might need a little more convincing." He leaned down to kiss him. "Convince me."
Gilbert managed to convince him not just once but twice more that night.
"Yes, I think you've made your point," Francis muttered into Gilbert's hair after the heat had finally left them and their breathing had returned to normal. He was half-asleep and Gilbert was starting to doze off on his chest. "I have a bit of confession to make."
"What?" Gilbert yawned.
"I don't feel guilty."
"Huh? What does guilt have to do with anything?"
"Every time I've spoken to you I've felt some degree of guilt. Back in the forest it was so strong I felt like it was choking me. But now, I feel nothing. I should feel guilty, but I'm not. I think it's because I knew, in a way, that it would end up like this—you and I—no matter how much I resisted or tried to deny it. So now the question is, where do we go from here?"
They conducted their relationship with absolute secrecy.
They only ever met at Francis's house and, once there, very rarely ventured outside his bedroom, partially because of the risk of being discovered. They established a simple system of communication. When Francis was available, when he was sure that Olympe or anyone else wouldn't be around to visit, he would place a red wax candle on the kitchen windowsill. Gilbert was always there at 11, which was long past the time when any nosy neighbors would be peeping out their windows. Francis usually greeted him by asking if he wanted anything to drink and afterwards it was up to bed. Gilbert would be gone by 7 the next morning, 8 at the latest. Still half-asleep, Francis would roll out of bed, get dressed and see him safely out the back door. Once Gilbert was gone, Francis often found it difficult to go back to sleep. He wasn't required to be at work until 10 so he was forced to find something to occupy his time. He worked in his garden or cleaned up the house. Some mornings, he even went into town to see his cousin. They would have breakfast together and then he would walk her to her first job.
After her dinner at Oliver's house, Olympe now had three jobs; working at the bakery and at the post office and, twice a week, helping Oliver's mother around the house. Mrs. Vatel was 64 and had a bad hip. Oliver was often away from home, either working or meeting with friends to devise new schemes to irritate the German soldiers. Her only daughter had moved to Spain three years earlier and her husband had been dead for almost a decade, so Mrs. Vatel was left to take care of the big house by herself, even though it took her 20 minutes to get down the stairs in the morning. Despite her mixed feelings for Oliver, Olympe liked his mother well enough and had offered her services. She hadn't expected payment, but Mrs. Vatel had been adamant. So Olympe did the laundry, the sweeping, the dusting, she washed the windows and did the grocery shopping. She was spared from cooking. Mrs. Vatel was recognized as the best chef in Imaldee and never backed away from the opportunity to prove why she had held onto the title for over 20 years. Olympe received her salary once every two weeks and was kept well fed.
"Are you gaining weight?" Francis asked her after she had been working a month for Oliver's mother. They had been having dinner at his house and she threw her spoon at his head.
The days crawled by and the war continued on. Besides the food shortages, which were still only a minor inconvenience, the people of Imaldee hardly seemed to be aware of the troubles going on in the rest of the world. By September, the soldiers had become a normality. So much, that people like Olympe's friend Louise were becoming more and more common. Olympe relayed to him all the news and gossip. Marie Le Blanc was seen holding hands with a soldiers after church on Sunday. Twice divorced Mrs. Laroche often had one of them over at her house. She claimed he was helping her fix the place up but that didn't explain his presence after dark every Friday. Mr. Martin had almost been shot for attacking a soldier when he and his wife had come home and found their 16 year-old daughter curled up on the couch with one. The rumors varied on just how much clothing she had been wearing. Even as such stories grew more common and more scandalous, they didn't make Francis feel any better about what he was doing.
When they were together, he and Gilbert never discussed town gossip and rarely the war. Instead, they talked about their lives before the war and, occasionally, their families. Thankfully, Gilbert never asked about Belle.
"I grew up in Bavaria, in a town about the same size as this," Gilbert told him one evening. They were lounging in a post sex haze and smoking German cigarettes liberally. "I just about pissed my pants the first time my grandfather took me to Berlin. That's too many people in one place. We moved there when I was ten. I hated it. Six years later we moved again, this time to Dresden and we've been there ever since. I like it a whole lot better than Berlin. It's really pretty there. You would probably like it, most artsy types do."
Francis sat straight up. "What do you mean by that?" he asked quickly.
"Well you're an artist, aren't you? I saw the drawing you tossed in the trash. It wasn't half bad. Why'd you throw it away?"
It had been during his free time before work when Francis had attempted to draw again. The urge had come from nowhere and he hadn't been able to believe it when he had started sketching. But then, suddenly, the ideas had stopped and his mind had gone blank. After staring at the half finished sketch for five more minutes, Francis had angrily crumpled up the paper and thrown it away. He had forgotten about it until that moment.
"It was nothing, just something stupid." He leaned over and kissed Gilbert to keep him from asking anymore questions.
Summer turned to fall and soon winter was upon them and the year drew to a close.
"1941. Let's hope it's a better year than 1940 was," Olympe said after the clock struck midnight, turning New Year's Eve to New Year's Day. They hadn't been able to find any champagne but Oliver had gotten his hands on a small bottle of spiced rum. Francis guessed that it hadn't been acquired legally but took it anyway.
He and Olympe sat at the kitchen table, sipping their drinks and thinking of the year to come.
"I hope the war ends," Olympe said quietly, "and the soldiers go away."
"Me too," Francis said weakly. He tried not to think about Gilbert. They had gone past the point when they could have stopped. They had gotten under each other's skin and every time they saw each other, Francis felt a crushing happiness accompanied by despair. Their story would have no happy ending, he knew this, but to say goodbye was no longer a possibility. They were trapped in a doomed affair.
"Hopefully there aren't any more shortages. The bakery is already crippled as it is," Olympe continued, unaware of Francis's internal struggle.
Francis raised his glass and put his worries aside for the moment. "Here's to the end of the war and more food."
"I can drink to that."
They clinked glasses and drank to their unpredictable futures.
The year began with rumors and news smuggled in from unknown sources. Any attempt by the soldiers to discover these sources proved fruitless. Francis heard stories of war on the East African front. Mussolini was embarrassing himself and Hitler was forced to send in aide. The Americans signed some bill to send aide to Britain and China. Bombs continued to fall on London—one even landed on Buckingham Palace. The most terrifying rumors, however, were the ones about the people who went missing. Groups of people were being taken—the official term was relocated—but to where, no one was quite sure. There was something especially sinister about these rumors that sent a shiver down Francis's spine. He told Olympe he didn't want to hear any more about these "missing people".
April brought warmer weather but not better news. Food shortages had turned to food rationing and they were all given ration books. Coffee had all but vanished and sugar was soon becoming a dream of the past. Working in bakery for all those years had given Olympe a sweet tooth and the loss of sweets made her often cranky. Francis mentioned this to Gilbert one evening, hardly taking the time to consider what he was saying.
"She's definitely more snappish than usual," he said, half amused.
"I have chocolate," Gilbert replied. "Edelstein's annoying wife sent him this huge care package and it seriously had five full bars of chocolate in it. I could hardly believe it when he gave me two of them. I guess he has a heart somewhere in there, maybe. Anyway, I still have one bar left. You can share it with your cousin."
"No, I couldn't. She would ask where I got it."
"Make something up."
"I'm tired of lying to her." Suddenly Francis was annoyed. "And the last thing I need is charity from you," he snapped.
"Calm down, I was just trying to be nice. People are usually much more grateful when I offer gifts."
"Maybe you should go. I'm suddenly very tired," Francis lied.
Gilbert smirked. "I don't think so. Come here."
Francis resisted for all of five seconds before he let Gilbert pull him into his arms.
"I've got you now," Gilbert whispered in his ear.
Yes, Francis thought, yes you do.
He had a question that he already knew the answer to. Yet, he wanted—needed—to ask it. For months, he tried but lacked the courage to do so whenever the opportunity to ask it arose. He tried to forget it but it persisted nonetheless. Finally, one night, it slipped out.
"Are you a Nazi?"
There was a long silence. Gilbert was lying with his head on Francis's stomach. The cigarette he had been smoking hung limp in his hand; ash had already begun to accumulate at the tip.
Francis continued unsteadily. "I-I mean, I assumed you were, being a soldier and all, b-but I wasn't sure…"
Gilbert didn't answer immediately and Francis was just about to tell him to forget it, that it wasn't important, when he finally spoke up.
"You could say so."
Francis felt his heart skip a beat. Even though he had already known that that would be his answer, actually hearing him say it was something that he hadn't prepared himself for.
"I'm a member of the party," Gilbert continued slowly, "but so are a lot of people. It's…it's just something people do. You…you get connections and such. It's not as if I believe in everything they say."
Ash was beginning to trickle down onto the bed.
"Do you like him, Hitler?"
"What does it matter?"
"Just tell me. Do you believe in this war?"
"I'm fighting in it."
"That's not the same thing."
Gilbert sighed and sat up. He stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed.
"You have to understand what Germany was like before all this," he said, not turning around. "The Great War and the Treaty of Versailles brought it to its knees. Bread was millions of marks and people were starving in the streets. Hitler…is not perfect by any standard, sometimes I even think he's crazy, but he brought the country back. I don't believe in everything he says but…" he trailed off.
It didn't matter. Francis had heard everything that he needed to hear. The next morning he saw Gilbert off with a silent farewell.
They didn't speak for the next three weeks.
When they saw each other in town, Francis ignored him. If Gilbert came into the shop while he was working, Francis asked one of the new girls Babs had hired to take over the front and he retreated to the back room. Once, he found a note that had been slipped under his back door. He resisted the urge to read it and tore it up.
"You look…different," Olympe said over dinner one night. "Are you eating?"
"I'm fine," Francis lied. He was barely sleeping.
Eventually, he came to a conclusion. It was the first week in June when he put the red candle on the windowsill. When 11 rolled around and he heard the knock on the back door, he was ready.
"You sure know how to keep a guy waiting," Gilbert said when he let him inside.
Instead of taking him directly upstairs, Francis led him to the kitchen.
"I would offer you a drink—"
"It's fine, I don't want anything." Gilbert sat down at the table and put his feet up. He knew Francis hated this. "So, what do you want from me? Do you want me to apologize? To say that I hate Hitler and I think that this whole war is fucked up and a joke? Is that what you want Francis?" He stood up and began pacing around the kitchen. "Maybe…maybe I should just quit the army and join up with the French resistance. Would that make you happy? Come on, tell me!" There was pain and anger etched on his face when he turned to face Francis. "You knew, you fucking knew, who I was before all of this started. And then, out of fucking nowhere, you go and ask me that question and suddenly it's like I'm something…evil. What the fuck? I…I won't take any of it back. I love my country, got it? I would die for it and I don't care who the fuck is in charge as long as what they do, they do for Germany, okay? If that makes me a horrible person in your eyes tell me now and I'll leave and you'll never have to speak to me again."
"I don't want you to leave," Francis said. "And I don't want anything from you. True, I was angry before but not anymore."
He walked up to Gilbert until they were face to face.
"I won't ask you to choose because if someone asked me to do the same I don't think I could either. I love my country too and, as for you…" he smirked. "I'm not ready to let you go just yet. Forgive me, I acted irrationally."
Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "You're actually apologizing?"
"Don't make me regret it."
"I don't plan to. In that case, what now?" Gilbert asked.
"Now? Now you kiss me, take me upstairs and we'll see if we can make up what we've missed these past weeks."
They didn't make it upstairs and ended up on the floor of the sitting room. Normally, Francis would never have taken such a risk but his ability to think rationally that left him earlier that night. Yet, he knew, as Gilbert trailed a line of wet kisses down his body, that a day would come when he would be forced to make a choice: his country or his lover? He only hoped that by then he would be strong enough to make the right decision.
A/N: Please forgive me for any typos/grammar mistakes. I read over the chapter but was in a hurry when I posted this so I probably missed a few things. I'll fix everything later :)
I've already started on the next part but I have other fics that I need to update and then there's school and such...ugh. So, to be on the safe side, don't expect another update for awhile. I'm sorry, I'll do my best not to keep you waiting too long :(
-with love
dancer
