Whiskey Lullaby
An adaptation of the Whiskey Lullaby CMV by VandettA Cosplay Group
Please see prologue for all disclaimer information.
A.N. I want it to be noted that with this chapter, I ended up writing an opening scene that did not occur in the original video. I needed to do this for flow and for continuity, as well as to offer explanation for later events that did occur in the video. No disrespect was intended to VandettA Cosplay or their original work, and I promise to do the best I can to keep directly to the CMV for the rest of the story. Thank you.
"Now, Roderich... let's start the conversation with something easy. Tell me why you've decided to call me here to see you."
Roderich wanted to respond with 'because my wife is the one who made the call. I certainly don't want you here', but he was somehow able to stifle the snide comment in exchange for one that was a bit more socially appropriate.
"Because I'm having some issues."
"Could you be a bit more specific for me?"
Under the table, Roderich curled his hands into fists and gripped at his pants so tightly his knuckles and fingers ached with the force. Elizaveta had been on the phone with this man for no less than an hour, so surely she had explained everything to him then. What was the point of making him go over everything the doctor undoubtedly already knew?
"... I'm having issues involving the recent death of a friend. His name was Gilbert. It was a suicide."
The words hurts to say, though he wasn't sure what hurt worse; 'suicide', or 'friend'. Maybe it was a bit of both. Whatever it was, the man before him apparently picked up on his distress, because he nodded to himself before jotting something down on the notepad in his hand.
"I see. Could you perhaps tell me some of the incidences that have led you to seek psychiatric evaluation and assistance?"
The Austrian licked his lips and glanced over at his wife, who gave him what he took to be a terrible attempt at a comforting smile. Things had been tense in the last few months, especially since their trip out onto the dock. Since then, Roderich had basically refused to leave the house and had taken to the bottle with a frightening sort of reckless abandon. He had done the best he could to hide his excessive drinking from Elizaveta, who up until three days ago had been surprisingly patient with his reclusive temperament and unspoken attraction to the bottle. Although his emotions and his temper had been on an extremely short leash since Gilbert's death, he had always managed to hide his anger and wear the perfect mask of cool indifference and pleasantry whenever he was around other people. It had therefore been surprising to him that her off-handed comment of running into Ludwig in the market had been the straw that had broken the camel's back.
"Gilbert's brother Ludwig happened to catch up with me in the marketplace a few days ago and made comment that he wanted Roderich to come over to play cards at some point. My husband hasn't had much interest in going out, and he hasn't seen Ludwig since the funeral four months ago. I hoped that maybe the idea of seeing a friend, rather than having to leave the house for social gatherings and other obligations, would help Roderich start to take interest in interacting with others once more. He's always been quite the conversationalist, so it's been concerning that he's been so withdrawn and sullen."
Elizaveta had apparently taken his silence as an indication that he was lost for words and had subsequently filled in. An echo of the annoyance from three days ago flared up in his chest, but this time he was thankfully able to control it by biting his lip and digging his nails into his legs until he felt the skin break. The doctor nodded and scribbled vigorously on his notepad once more, and it took everything Roderich had to not rip the pad from his fingers and shove it straight down his throat.
"Can you tell me what happened next, Roderich?"
"I told her I didn't want to go see Ludwig. I told her I didn't want to see anyone. Ludwig is a kind man, and I have always respected him, but I feel that it's too soon for me to venture out for social pleasantries. I still attend the required dinner parties and I play concerts when its requested of me. I feel that I should be permitted to sit in my home and grieve, when the time is available to do so."
"Roderich, it isn't just that I find so concerning. Darling, I've noticed that you've taken to the bottle quite a lot since Gilbert passed away. I had hoped that perhaps you would drop such a terrible habit after a few weeks, or maybe a month, but it's only gotten worse as time has gone on. I feel that I have been more than tolerant of it, but it's become too much lately for me to stay quiet about it."
His cheeks immediately flushed pink and he glared over at his wife, who gave him a stern look in return. This had been the match that had lit the fire of their argument a few days prior; the catalyst that resulted in this well-schooled American doctor being summoned from Berlin to make a private house call. The moment she had pointed out that she was not so blind to his drinking as he had hoped, his voice had raised in anger and hers had followed suit. It had started with the yelling and ended with a broken tea cup and Roderich crumpled in a ball against the wall, his head down in his arms to hide the tears growing in his eyes. Since he could barely afford the energy to get dressed most days, such an outburst had been much the same as the indignant wails of a child fighting their bedtime. It was fast, intense, and exhausting straight to the very core of his being. Eliza had immediately sunk down to his level, wrapped her arms around him, and begged him through her own tears to allow her to call in a psychiatric specialist from America that was practicing in Berlin. Too ashamed of his own actions to resist, he had given in and agreed to the meeting.
Now, two days later, sitting before his wife and this complete stranger and feeling as though he was being mercilessly ganged up on, he was starting to regret that he had caved in so easily.
He wanted to deny that he had an issue, but he already knew that would fall on deaf ears. Elizaveta had figured it out, intuitive and observant woman that she was, and lying about it would only make the situation worse for both of them. There had been a strange sort of a tension buzzing between them over the past few months, and it had grown to a near-crushing level in the days following his outburst. After losing Gilbert, he couldn't afford to lose her as well. Even if he did not love her, and never would, he could not deny that he needed her to be the stronghold that grounded him. He needed her to support him, though he knew he should be the one supporting her.
"... I would suppose that I have taken to drinking a bit more than is healthy. Given the circumstances, I feel that it's only natural."
"It's normal to feel that way, but you have to understand that your addiction is unhealthy. Your wife was right to call me in on this. Death is a hard thing to deal with, but your case is not normal. If Gilbert's brother was able to overcome his passing and begin to move on with his life, that means that you should be able to as well. Grieving is natural, but you've become stuck in one of the five natural stages of loss. I'm going to provide you with a prescription for Rivivol. The pharmacies here in Germany don't carry it yet, but I have a supply in my office in Berlin and I'll send you a 30-day supply at the first of every month. It may make you feel a bit sick at first, but once the side-effects die down, I think you'll notice a change. It's been working wonders on patients all over the United States."
The idea of being medicated was appalling to him. He didn't even like the idea of using smelling salts for feeling faint, or taking Aspirin or Bufferin for a headache or cold symptoms. What made this man think that he wanted to take a medication he had never heard of that Germany had not given approval to yet?
Assuming the conversation was over, the doctor reached over for the bag sitting at his side. As he started to look through it, examining the labels on several different glass bottles of varying sizes, Roderich felt the warm touch of Elizaveta's hand over his own. He glanced up at her, relieved to see her usual charming smile on her face.
"Thank you for doing this. I know you don't want to, but I'm confident that this doctor knows what he's talking about. He's won many awards in America for his studies and has helped many people in Germany. I would not have called him if I did not trust that he would take care of the man I love."
Roderich smiled thinly and placed a hand over hers. After a few more moments in which the quiet of the room was broken by the sound of clanking glass bottles, the doctor produced a small black bottle with typewriter print on its pink label. Roderich accepted the bottle with a nod and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket, settling back in his seat.
"Let me know if there are any adverse reactions, or if the symptoms do not get better within the next three weeks. You can expect headaches, some upset stomach, and sleepiness as your primary side-effects. If they don't fade within a month, please feel free to contact me directly."
"Of course. Thank you, Dr. Anderson. We do appreciate your time and patience."
So he had a name after all. Roderich hadn't cared to ask what it was, though he was sure that Eliza had known that information all along. The doctor said something in reply to his wife's words before rising from his seat and tipping his hat. As was her way, the Hungarian woman stood as well and insisted on showing their guest out, refusing to take no for an answer.
"Roderich, I'll meet you in the sun room in a few minutes with a pot of tea. Make sure to bring your medication with you so you can start taking it."
He nodded obediently, watching as Anderson and Elizaveta disappeared out the parlor door. He listened carefully for the sound of their footsteps receding down the hallway, and once he was sure they were out of hearing range and sight, he was immediately out of his seat and on the move. Making sure to avoid all the boards in the hallway that were chronically noisy when stepped on, he made his way down the back hallway, through the kitchen, and into the bedroom they shared. He shut the door and then pulled open his bedside drawer, rummaging through stacks of sheet music and a few personal odds and ends before he came upon a large green bottle of Aspirin. The pills had to be years old and completely ineffective by now, but that wasn't his concern. Taking an expired Aspirin had to be far better than any pill some egotistical, self-important crack pot from America tried to force down his throat. This man had known him for all of an hour, and suddenly he felt as though the answer to Roderich's depression lie in a bottle of pills? If the Austrian were to have his way, and he would have his way, he would make sure he never took a single one of those pills.
He made quick work of dumping the large white pills out of the black bottle, counting out exactly thirty Aspirin, and then swapping the two out. He stashed the green bottle at the bottom of the drawer, pleased to note that it still had more than enough room to hold several more months' worth of Rivivol, and then slipped the black bottle back into his pocket before he rose from his seat and calmly moved through the house towards the sun room.
"Roderich, where are you?"
"I'm here, Eliza. Sorry, I was looking for something in the bedroom."
He calmly took a seat across from her, accepting a cup of tea with a smile. Before she could ask him to take his new medication, he produced the bottle from his pocket, placed one tablet in his mouth, and obediently swallowed. She smiled at him from her place across the table, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it.
"Thank you. I know you don't like taking medication. This will make you feel better, I promise. Dr. Anderson is a good man, we can trust his judgment."
He smiled thinly, trying to push back the voice in his head that whispered words of shame at his deception. Never had Roderich imagined that it would come to this; that he would be a shell of his former self, an alcoholic and a liar who swapped out his pills and vowed to become better at hiding his addiction rather than working to extinguish its flames. But, then again, he never saw himself mourning the suicide of the man he fell in love with, either. He never saw himself marrying a woman he didn't love because that was what society demanded he do. In some way, because the world had failed him, he now had to take solace in what little control he was afforded.
"Of course. You've never had bad judgment before, Eliza. Now is certainly no exception."
Eliza smiled and released his hand, picking up her book and opening it. Roderich followed suit, cradling the first edition of his favorite novel in his lap, staring beyond the words as his mind wandered to the next time he would be alone, and the next time he could lose himself at the bottom of a bottle.
Gilbert,
Would you like to go out dancing some time? I know a great place in Graz – I know, it's pretty far but when I say "great" I mean great. If you don't want to then that's fine, I don't expect you to know how to dance (uncultured swine).
Said in the most loving way possible.
And for heavens sake NO I'm not getting into any weird outfits. You're disgusting and impossible. I do I even know you.
Okay fine.
Yours,
Roderich
"... a card game at your brother's house? I thought we were going dancing."
They were lying together in a disorganized heap of arms and legs, curled up contently under a thick wool blanket as just outside the window the wind howled, a sure sign that summer was long gone and fall was descending down into winter. Roderich had arrived in town late the night before and had checked into his room at a local hotel, barely able to get himself organized before Gilbert practically pounded the door down in his single-minded focus to get to him. It had only been two months since last they saw each other, but that span of eight weeks had felt like a span of eight eons to both of them, and they had indulged in each other shamelessly, now that they had the means to do so. Although Roderich was traveling under the intentions of looking for work in Germany, they both knew the real motivation behind his trip was to spend some much-needed time with his lover. That was the driving force that had convinced Roderich to rent a room at the hotel, rather than asking Eliza to house him for his week-long trip. Additionally, he felt as though his many stays in her home were starting to become burdensome (even though he knew she would not agree), and he felt as though it was time for him to carry his own weight and indulge in his own freedom in the process.
"I think it's getting a bit too cold to go dancing, don't you? I mean, I'm sure we could go to one of those boring dances your aristocrats think are so great, but that means I'd have to wear a suit and a tie and I'd have to spend the night watching you dancing with every lady that asks. I'm not sure I could stomach that. I'd rather go to an outside dance, and we lost our chances this year when the first frost happened two weeks ago."
Roderich frowned and sighed, admitting without words that Gilbert was right. His red-eyed lover would stick out like a sore thumb at a social event such as that, and it would be dreadfully boring and uncomfortable for the both of them. Although there was no place where their love would be considered okay, it was much more likely that it would be condoned at an outside venue with drinking and merry making than just about anywhere else in the country. The social pressures of post-World War II were strict and rigid, especially for someone of Roderich' noble-born class status.
"I've never met your brother. I'm a bit afraid to do so, I fear. What must he think of me, a high-bred man, keeping company with people who consider themselves commoners?"
"Ludwig is cool about stuff like that. He doesn't really let it bother him. His friend Feliciano's grandfather is a well-known politician in Italy, but those two seem to get along just fine. Unlike some people, Feliciano doesn't put so much importance on the fact that his family has a shit-ton of money."
Roderich wasn't sure if that last comment was supposed to be poking fun at him, but he let it go in light of the way in which Gilbert had used the word 'friend'. There was an implication there that was hard to ignore, and the Austrian turned a questioning gaze on his lover as Gilbert grinned in return.
"I'm just saying. Ludwig has his secrets, and I have mine. I can't confirm it, but they sure spend a lot of their time together. Kinda like you and me."
Assuming the conversation was over and the decision made, Gilbert nuzzled himself down into the covers and pressed a tender kiss to the soft flesh at Roderich's throat. The Austrian shivered in pleasure, burrowing himself against Gilbert's side and closing his eyes as he tried to wrap his head around the concept that there may very well be someone else like them out there. Another couple that was hopelessly in love, forced into silence at the idea that society may not only condemn them, but also persecute them.
"Don't stress about it, Little Master. You'll have a great time, I promise you."
Roderich wasn't so sure of that. But if there was one thing that he had in Gilbert, it was trust. Gilbert would never lead him astray, or present a situation to him in which he could not escape or would be in any form of danger. They would, of course, have to be careful with what they said and did around Ludwig and Feliciano, but since they had to be careful in any situation, this wouldn't be much different.
"So, what do you say? Ludwig wants us at the house around five for dinner before we play. He makes a mean wurst, maybe even better than mine. And that's saying something, because I excel at making wurst."
"... alright. I'm in."
"Awesome!"
"But you owe me a night of dancing for this. No questions asked, no complains about the setting. And I get to pick what you wear."
Gilbert pouted and huffed indignantly, pulling the sheets over his head.
"Compromising sucks! I knew I should have stuck with my plan to get a dog and live alone!"
As Roderich laughed, he could see Gilbert's shoulders shaking through the blanket in a silent laugh of his own.
"Do you drink whiskey?"
"Not usually, no. But I wouldn't mind giving it a try."
So far, Ludwig had proven himself to be nothing if not a gracious host. The first few minutes after their meeting had been awkward, mainly because the German man was so much larger than his (apparently older) brother, and seemed to have all of the seriousness that Gilbert lacked. Where Gilbert was loud and inappropriate, Ludwig was more soft-spoken and polite. Where Gilbert made a joke out of everything, Ludwig was very serious when he answered questions or posed any of his own. Still, he was not unfriendly, and after they had dined and cleared the table to start the card game, the man had finally started to loosen up a little and even gave Roderich a smile here or there when he would entertain the endless inquires about his home in Austria, his profession as a musician, and his friendship with Elizaveta.
Of course, it was not Ludwig asking the questions, but rather his friend Feliciano. Roderich had immediately recognized Feliciano as the kind man who had sold him his camera upon his last trip, but since the Italian didn't seem to share the same memory, he had neglected to find worth in bring it up. If Roderich had been able to guess what kind of friend the blond German man would keep company with, he never would have pegged someone who was so hyperactive and oblivious. The Italian was nice, but he was nearly as bad as Gilbert when it came to a blatant disregard for what was appropriate conversation amongst recently-acquired acquaintances. At the very least, in Feliciano's case, his behavior could be chalked up to cultural differences. Everyone knew that, short of France, Italy was the most liberal European country when it came to personal boundaries and expressions of love.
"So Gilbert says you come to visit fairly often. Are you courting your friend Elizaveta in hopes of marriage? She sounds like she would be one pretty lady!"
Roderich blushed brightly at the question as Gilbert coughed into his hand, warranting a confused look from Feliciano and a raised eyebrow from Ludwig.
"Well, my father wishes for me to court her and someday as for her hand in marriage. She is a lovely woman, and very pretty, but I have known her since we were children, and I do not harbor any form of feelings for her. If I am to marry, I would want to do it for love, not out of a preconceived expectation."
"Everyone should marry for love! In Italy, we believe that love is one of the most important things in life! It is like food for the soul! You would not want to eat a rotten tomato, because it could make you so sick! I would suppose that getting married to the wrong person would be much the same. At least, that's the way my grandfather thinks of it."
Ludwig returned to the table with four empty glasses and a tall bottle of whiskey, shaking his head in exasperation.
"Come now, Feliciano. Roderich did not travel all this way to speak of societal obligations and marriage. We invited him here for a night of cards and drinks. Not to mention, things are very different in Italy than they are in Germany and Austria. You should know that by now."
He passed a glass to each man at the table and poured them a good portion of whiskey, settling himself down in his seat next to Feliciano as he began to shuffle the deck of cards. Roderich took a sip of his whiskey, watching as Ludwig dealt each man seven cards and then wrote everyone's name on a pad of paper.
"The game is rummy. If you don't know how to play, Roderich, I suggest you learn quickly. Gilbert cheats."
"I do not! There is no way to cheat at rummy!"
"If it's a game, you'll find a way to cheat at it. You can fool everyone else here, but not me."
Gilbert grumbled something under his breath that no one caught as he scooped his cards up into his hands, looking over them with a critical eye before selecting a card from the deck and then discarding a seven of hearts.
For a few hours, the mood was light and then men talked casually. It took Roderich about fifteen minutes to learn the game, and about twenty to realize that Gilbert actually did cheat, but no one seemed to take it too seriously, and it was nice to find himself in an atmosphere where he could relax and feel a bit more free to speak his mind. They talked of the aristocratic life, Gilbert's job at Elizaveta's home, Ludwig's profession as a banker, and Feliciano's love of pasta.
Somewhere around his fourth glass of whiskey, Roderich dared to grab Gilbert's hand, locking their fingers together tightly. Gilbert glanced over at him out of the corner of his eye and smiled, but gave no further notice of his lover's daring move. By now they were all well and truly buzzed, and it was apparent that Feliciano and Ludwig would take no notice of the move if they were careful to hold their bodies in natural positions.
"Oh, Ludwig! Did I tell you that my brother Lovino fell in love and ran off to Spain?"
"You had neglected to mention that, Feliciano. Did he find himself a lovely senorita, as you would put it?"
"A man, actually. A Spanish deckhand who works on a boat that docked in Venice."
Feliciano made the statement as though it were the single most natural thing in the world to say, but within moments the mood had soured and an uncomfortable tension had filled the room. Ludwig's shoulders tensed up and his eyes narrowed slightly, though they did not move from where they were focused on his cards. Gilbert's grip on Roderich's hand tightened, and the Austrian glanced over to see that his lover's face had become completely unreadable.
"... that's hardly something appropriate to say, Feliciano. And I would suggest that you keep such information to yourself when you're in town. You know how things are around here."
Ludwig's voice was cold and his tone steely, and Roderich winced as if he himself had done something wrong. On instinct he attempted to pull his hand away from Gilbert's, shocked when the fingers wrapped around his own tightened to a nearly painful degree and Gilbert grunted softly under his breath. A look of confused hurt crossed over Feliciano's face, and he put his cards down so he could turn to look at Ludwig.
"I... I don't understand what I said that's so wrong."
An exasperated sigh escaped the blond's lips, but he put his cards down as well and turned to give his friend a comforting, if somewhat strained, smile.
"Things are different here, Feliciano. Germany is under the strict control of the church, and the church is very specific on its views of homosexuality. It is something we rarely speak of even during our services, and something we have all been raised to know is a sin of the worst kind. Even lying with your neighbor's wife is not as frowned upon as being gay is. I know that things in Italy are far more liberal, but you are not in Italy anymore. You are in Germany, and such talk can bring you nothing but trouble. It is okay if you wish to tell me such things, as I understand that you are not the same as Lovino, but other people will not see it that way. This is why I tell you so often that you must not be so open with what you discuss. People will not take it the way you mean it. You must also remember that Hitler had a huge hold on our country for a long time, and he punished the homosexuals just the same as he did the Polish. It was not right, what he did, but his ideals still echo through our land to this day."
Ludwig turned away from Feliciano to direct his attention to Gilbert, who glanced up at his brother through his bangs.
"Do you not agree, Gilbert? We were raised by a good and God-fearing Catholic mother, so we understand the way Germany works. We may have the constitution of 1949 that promises us freedom to choose our own religion, but that does not mean that religion is not important here."
Roderich had to keep himself from wincing when Gilbert squeezed his hand so tightly that he felt his fingers crack, though the Prussian's expression never changed. He did, however, put his cards down so he could fumble around in his pocket in search of something.
"... yeah. I suppose you could put it like that."
"What about you, Roderich? Were you not also raised in the church? I know that Austria was not so greatly influenced as Germany was by Hitler, but surely your parents raised you in some sect of Christianity?"
This entire conversation was making him extremely uncomfortable. Roderich felt as though Gilbert and he were two children that had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and now it was just a matter of making them sweat until one of them cracked and admitted to the transgression. Of course, Ludwig had no way of knowing that his brother was engaged in the very type of relationship he was condemning, but that did not make the conversation any less awkward. So much for Gilbert's theory that Feliciano was Ludwig's 'special friend'.
"... well... I..."
A waft of smoke passed under his nose and he immediately crinkled it up in reply, coughing and raising his free hand to wave the offensive odor away.
"Gilbert! I thought you gave up smoking! And what have I told you about smoking in the house?!"
Shocked, Roderich looked over to see Gilbert leaned back in his chair, idly puffing on a lit cigarette as though it were the single most natural thing for him to be doing.
"Come off it, Ludwig. This entire talk is bumming me the Hell out, and I've been drinking. All real men smoke when they've been drinking."
Just like that, the tension of their deep conversation was suddenly gone. Ludwig reached across the table to snatch the offensive cigarette from his brother's hand, and Gilbert look was suspiciously triumphant even as his treat was taken away and he was left to settle back in his seat, sighing softly. Ludwig doused the burning end in the sink and threw the soaking wet stick in the trash, glaring at his brother coldly.
"You have no manners, Gilbert."
"You need to lighten the Hell up, Ludwig. Now, don't we have a card game to get back to?"
"Don't mind Ludwig. He was always a momma's boy. Get a few drinks in him, bring up anything about religion, and he's suddenly a preacher. When he sobers up, he'll feel like an ass about it."
Roderich smiled, but the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes. It was late, and Gilbert had finally forced them to call off the card game and sent his inebriated brother to bed and their Italian guest to the couch. Even though he himself was fairly drunk, Roderich was not comfortable sleeping in the guest room at Ludwig's home and had elected instead to head back to his hotel room. Gilbert, of course, had insisted he not go alone.
"He has a point, Gilbert. Homosexuality is not looked upon kindly in our culture."
Gilbert made a face as though he had been sucking on sour grapes, puckering his lips up and dropping his eyebrows.
"That shit is completely outdated. I like Feliciano's view on it better. Who cares what a man does in his own time, in his own home? It's no one's fucking business, if you ask me. That's why we have freedom from religion in this country."
"It's a nice idea on paper, Gilbert. It's entirely different in practice."
"You're starting to sound like Ludwig. I think I need another cigarette."
They entered the hotel and made their way up the stairs to Roderich's room. At the doorway they paused and Roderich turned to Gilbert with a sad smile.
"I wish you could stay."
"Me too. But Ludwig might fight it suspicious if I'm gone two nights in a row, and I have to be at Eliza's first thing in the morning for work. If I stay here with you, I won't get out of bed tomorrow at all. You have a strange power over me that makes it hard for me to leave your side."
He glanced around the hallway, making sure no one was around, before he dipped his head and pressed his lips against Roderich's. The Austrian hesitated for the briefest of moments before returning the embrace, bringing one hand up to push his fingers into Gilbert's soft hair.
"Don't dwell too much on what Ludwig said. It'll only give you a headache."
Roderich nodded and Gilbert smiled, giving him one last kiss before pulling away and promising to meet up with him for dinner after work. Roderich watched him disappear around the corner and listened to his footfalls recede down the stairs before he unlocked his door and slipped quietly into his room.
Unbeknownst to both of them, a single seed of fear had been planted.
TBC
A.N. The national constitution of 1919 and 1949 guaranteed freedom from faith and religion in Germany. The 1949 version also ensured no one was to be discriminated against due to their faith (or lack thereof).
Rivivol was a medication popular in the 1950s in America. It was originally used to treat tuberculosis and had the side affect of making people who took it unusually happy. It is a medication in the class known as MAOIs (Monoamine oxidase inhibitors), and was the first MAOI on the market.
Thanks for reading, thanks for your patience, and I will work hard to have the next chapter up soon!
