(A/N: Sorry it took a bit longer than in the past, but here is the fourth chapter. Things are really starting to move here.

I don't really have much to say, but soon enough I get to start naming some of my inspiration songs as the chapters they apply to roll around!

This chapter does hold inferences of Switzerland/Austria, which is actually a pairing I like (not as much as Prussia/Austria), so if you like it, enjoy, and if you don't, please do try to bear with it, there is more to the chapter than that. c:

Enjoy!)

It had initially seemed like a good idea to Roderich to speak with Vash Zwingli, but tracking him down at the man's personal shooting range really hadn't been what he'd had in mind.

It was the type with the booths and the earmuffs and the eerily human-shaped targets that looked like the ones used for police training; how Vash had gained authorization to build such a place on private property, Roderich could only guess, but the blonde-haired arms dealer was going at it like a pro when he stepped inside.

Without looking up at him, Vash muttered, "Cover your ears."

Roderich obeyed, wincing slightly as the man put six bullets from his handgun into the cutout at the far end of the booth. Violence had never been something he enjoyed; growing up, Vash had always been the one with the taste for it, not him. Not to say that Zwingli picked fights – he was just very, very proficient at protecting himself - and everything that belonged to him - using any means necessary. Though everyone knew Vash sold arms to both sides of the law (he was the most reliable dealer of weapons to both the police department and the mob), no-one had ever bothered to pursue a case against him, particularly since everyone also knew that Vash Zwingli was a childhood friend of the District Attorney.

After Vash spilled another round into the hapless target, he slid the great earmuffs down around his neck and pushed up his protective goggles into his bobbed blonde hair. "What do you want?" he asked, jerking his chin upwards at Roderich so as to look down his nose at the brunette. Roderich felt his stomach sink slightly. He and Vash had been on such…good terms, once upon a time.

"This is the last time I'm saving you from an ass-kicking, Edelstein, I mean it," Vash huffed, readjusting his grip on Roderich's legs as he piggybacked the beaten boy to safety, his passenger clinging weakly to his neck. Roderich smiled, inhaling the slightly minty scent of Vash's hair as he leaned his head against his shoulder.

"You said that last time."

"I mean it this time," grumbled the blonde. "You think I'm joking? I WILL ditch you."

Roderich sighed, falling silent.

"So what the hell did you do to get yourself beaten up this time, huh, y'idiot?" The bespectacled boy along for the ride smiled weakly to himself; Vash had an odd way of showing he cared, but that didn't change the fact that he did. Roderich knew he did. And he cared for Vash, too – very, very much.

"I didn't do anything wrong," the other responded, tightening his grip so as not to fall off. "They jumped me after school." He paused, thoughtful. "…oh, no, wait, I did refuse to let Brian cheat off of my test in Science today, I suppose he may have been sore about that."

"You need to learn some self-defense skills," Vash scolded him gruffly. "I won't always be here to protect you."

Roderich smiled to himself. "I know."

A lot of time had passed since then – sometimes Roderich missed their friendship, but he knew Vash had grown sick of him by now. He wasn't up to the arms dealer's high standards, his required level of physical strength…though, Roderich mused to himself, Vash underestimated his emotional power a great deal. Still, Roderich couldn't deny that he wasn't a physical being; his slender figure testified to that.

"I'd like to speak with you, Vash," Roderich responded to the earlier demand of a question, pushing up his glasses.

The blonde narrowed his eyes. "Depends on what you want to speak to me about."

"The evening your sister went missing?"

"Fuck you," Vash grunted, turning back to the booth. Roderich barely had the time to cover his ears before another four shots were unloaded into the target.

"…Vash, I ask for your cooperation on this. I'm prosecuting the main suspect in this case, and if your testimony is of any value to me—"

"Right, because that's all you care about, isn't it? Your case." Vash fired another shot at the cutout. Roderich could tell from where he stood that the blonde dealer's aim was exceptional.

"Right, because that's all you care about, your stupid sense of personal justice." Young Vash rolled his eyes, once again repositioning Roderich on his back. "It's going to get you killed someday. You should have just let him cheat."

"But that would be unfair to the other students."

"Screw that. Look what he did to you!"

Roderich looked away.

"Vash, this is no time to be sensitive…" the District Attorney said quietly.

"Don't you call me sensitive, you pansy!" Vash hissed, stalking forward a few steps; he didn't put the gun down, but Roderich was unruffled, staring back into his angry bottle green eyes with his own even-tempered indigo. "Listen to me. I know your life is all sunshine and rainbows, but I just lost my little sister. You get it? She's fucking dead." Vash practically spat the last word, as if saying it harshly would make it less true. "Lili was the most important thing to me in the world, and you expect me to just fucking talk about it with you like this is some goddamn therapy session? My parents sent me to enough shrinks as a kid, Roderich, I sure as hell know how to play up a story."

Roderich hid a smile at the memory.

"So, can you…?"

"Stop right there. You're about to make me feel bad because I have to turn down another one of your stupid playdates. I have a date with a new shrink today," Vash cut in, his tone portraying just how bitterly annoyed he was.

"…I thought you were seeing the one…"

"I broke her window. They kicked me out of the office."

"Oh." Roderich buried his face into Vash's shoulder to keep himself from chuckling. He knew he shouldn't find Vash's anger issues to be amusing, but sometimes the things he did were just…funny.

"I know you want to laugh," Vash said with a scowl in his voice. "I do not have anger management problems. I mean it."

Roderich laughed softly.

"What?"

"You're cute when you're angry."

"...you little bastard."

That had been so long ago, before Roderich had put up walls to contain himself, before he had placed that pane of glass between himself and the outside world – that "aristocratic distance" that kept him together and apart. The world seemed so...fragile, viewed from behind that translucent barrier, and standing on the other side of that divider, Roderich found that everything was pleasantly clear and concise. He didn't have to become too involved or too attached to anything. He was safe.

Perhaps that was why he was so unaffected by Vash's fit of rage. It wasn't just that he was adjusted to it (and, in addition, understood that he was at his most volatile, what with the death of his sister), it was that he could not empathize. He couldn't feel that emotion the same way, and he didn't have to. Roderich was a bystander on the other side of his window, watching everything, but never comprehending it on a tangible level.

"I'm not a therapist," he responded coolly. "I know this is a difficult time for you, Vash, but I am making an honest attempt to bring the man responsible for Lili's death to justice. In order to do that, I—"

"Yes, you need my testimony." Vash scowled again, staring defiantly at Roderich. "I know that."

"Then help me." Roderich's expression was utterly serious.

"You're not one to beg."

"I'm not begging."

"Maybe you should be."

"Vash, do not make this difficult."

"Don't make it difficult? Why the hell shouldn't I?" Vash snarled, leaning forward ominously, the gun still in his hand. "Listen to me, you useless little rich boy. Either give me leverage or get off of my property."

"You claim to be a pacifist, and yet you sell weapons," Roderich mused humorlessly.

"What does that have to do with this?"

"Well, you do seem a man of contradiction, Mr. Zwingli," the attorney said slowly, as if every word was timed. "Similarly, you claim to have loved your sister, and yet you refuse to give your testimony to the one prosecuting the man who murdered her—"

"OF ALL THE INSOLENT LITTLE BASTARDS!" Vash screamed, throwing the gun off to the side so hard that it shattered the window looking into the hall. Roderich did not flinch – not at the screaming or the breaking glass, not at the angry blonde man with eyes blazing emerald, not at the fury in Vash's step as he advanced on Roderich, driving the brunette towards the door. No, Roderich saw everything from behind his wall of glass, but he did not react. His composure was something that was carefully constructed, layer upon layer upon layer of emotional control, locks and chains and closed doors and many, many walls. It took more than an angry arms dealer and a broken window to shake his foundations.

"You come in here, onto my property, and you fucking SAY I DON'T LOVE LILI LIKE THE EGOTISTICAL BASTARD YOU ARE—"

"I never said you did not love her, I merely suggested—"

"THEN YOU INFERRED IT!" the pale-haired man shrieked, shoving Roderich against the closed metal door. He was so close that Roderich could see his eyes flash and his nostrils flare; it was easy to see such details when you detached yourself from the situation. "IF YOU THINK THIS IS ANY WAY, ANY WAY, TO GO ABOUT GETTING MY TESTIMONY, THEN YOU MIGHT AS WELL GO HOME!"

"Are you going to shoot me, Vash?" Roderich asked, raising his eyebrows a fraction.

"Would you like to find out?" Vash snarled in a dangerously low tone.

"That's not what I am here for."

"You're not getting what you came for. Go home before I escort you out myself." Vash practically spat the words at him like foul language.

"...leverage is what I need, hm?"

Vash glared at him.

Roderich straightened slightly where he stood; there was a hand on either side of him, but he ignored the instinctive feelings of a trapped animal and stared Vash down with an even blue-violet gaze. "Leverage could come in the form of a warrant for your arrest, should you decide not to cooperate...obstruction of justice, to begin with, and I am certain it would be none too difficult to dig up evidence about your more 'under the table' arms dealing..."

"Are...you...threatening me?" Vash hissed.

"I am simply bringing into the light what could occur, should you refuse to aid me. It by no means needs to happen." Roderich knew he was thought of by a great deal of people as nothing more than a pretty face and a full wallet, but this – this straight-backed, stony-faced man was what he could be, the Roderich Edelstein who didn't back down, the Roderich Edelstein who did what was necessary for justice, the Roderich Edelstein whom Velt City had elected as its District Attorney.

When he put his civilities aside, he was capable of intimidation.

"...get out."

"You're refusing to cooperate with me, then?"

"I SAID GET OUT!" Vash shrieked.

"I'll be back in two days for your testimony," Roderich responded, and without staying to hear Vash's reply, he swung open the large metal door and closed it behind him. He heard gunshots ring out behind him, but continued to walk...though he was fairly certain that Vash had been firing at the door he had just gone through.

He managed to get to the front door before he sank against the wall, breathing heavily and fighting to recollect himself.

Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was some retained sense of workaholism, but Roderich felt the only place he could go after an experience like that was back to work.

The DA's Office was just as bustling as usual when he returned, and he found that as he stepped into that workplace named after his position, his sense of self-control crept pleasantly back into his being. He was top dog here. Unshakeable, irrefutable, in control. Something about that knowledge gave him a sense of inner peace that washed away the shock of his encounter with Vash Zwingli.

He was passing by the office of Eduard Von Bock when an unusual conversation unintentionally caught his ears, and he found that he was unable to turn away once it reached him.

"Please, do not hurt Raivis," the voice was saying – it sounded very much like Eduard himself, and Roderich found himself pausing, leaning in towards the door.

"I wouldn't have to," a heavily-accented voice replied, "if you would do what I told you…the first time I told you to. That seems fairly simple, da?"

"…you don't control me anymore," the blonde's shaky voice responded. Roderich leaned against the door frame, trying to subtly crane his head so he could see in the small glass window set high in the door. "You cannot make me do anything."

"Ah, but I can be very convincing," responded the bodiless voice in a high-pitched Russian accent. "Haven't you already learned by now? I always get what I want." The tone was eerily cheerful, and Roderich felt himself wincing despite.

Was Eduard…had Eduard been working for Braginski? Eduard Von Bock, one of the most devoted and intelligent attorneys he knew? Was there a leak in the DA's Office?

No…no, he couldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions. If Eduard was in some sort of trouble, he would have told someone, or else found his own way to weasel himself out – the man was very smart, Roderich knew, and capable. And surely, if he thought he or the DA's Office was in any danger, he would have come to Roderich…?

"I will not help you. Not this time."

"We'll see what little Raivis has to say, da? Or maybe your young friend Toris Lorinaitis…he worked so hard to get free of me, isn't that a shame? Now he's just the assistant for that cute Polish fashion designer…he could have gone so much farther in my business, too." There was a smile in that voice, and Roderich could practically see Braginski's uncannily content face looming at Eduard from the shadows. It took every ounce of him not to burst in and save the poor man…but this was not his business, he couldn't just—

"Mr. District Attorney?"

"Yes!" Roderich started, whipping around with wide, incriminating eyes, like a young child caught eavesdropping on his older sister. Behind him stood his secretary, Helena, who was watching him with an unreadable, albeit slightly puzzled, expression on her pretty face.

"I'm glad you're back. There's a call for you."

"O-oh?" Roderich cursed the stutter in his voice, turning to face her fully and straightening his tie self-consciously. "Where from?"

"The county jail."

Roderich swallowed.

"Very well," he muttered darkly, and followed Helena back to his own office, away from the ominous door at which he had been listening.

He entered his office without a word and closed the door softly behind him, crossing the floor to his desk and sweeping up the receiver in one smooth motion. "Roderich Edelstein speaking."

"Roddy! You actually picked up, imagine that!"

Roderich was silent for a long moment as he forced down a swell of irritation. The voice on the other end of the phone was unmistakable – the grating voice of Gilbert Beilschmidt.

"You are there, aren't you? You'd better not hang up. I'm way too awesome to be hung up on."

"I'm here," Roderich managed, his voice low and bitter, portraying some of his annoyance no matter how hard he tried.

"Fan-tastic. So listen, they let me make a phone call or two. My buddy Antonio's going to take care of my bird, and Francis is bringing me my Diary of the Awesome Me – because, you know, I record every day of my amazing life in that diary, and now I'm at least three days behind. I've been forced to write in Sharpie on my bedsheets, how undignified is that?"

"And how did you manage to delude yourself into believing I would care about this?" Roderich returned, each one of his words laced with mild acrimony.

"Well, seeing as you're trying to get into my head, I thought you might wanna pay me a visit – if you do, I might let you read an entry or two from my diary. I'll even let you pick which one. But only if...ya know. You play nice."

"Play nice." The brunette's tone was utterly flat.

"Yeah. I deserve a little respect, you know."

"...do you."

"Mhm."

"We shall see."

Roderich slammed down the receiver in a fit of impulse.

He wasn't sure what drove him to actually go down to the county jail, what flight of fancy actually compelled him to stand in the presence of Gilbert Beilschmidt once more, but something did, and it was half an hour later that the unfortunate District Attorney found himself pulling up his blue BMW in to the parking lot.

Past the spiky-haired guard he went again, the man offering him a wave and a gesture with a mostly-empty beer bottle as Roderich passed, his own arms held stiffly at his sides. "We moved Beilschmidt to Interrogation Room 2 when we heard you were coming, Mr. District Attorney," the young cop spoke up, grinning at him. "He had a visitor earlier. I dunno if he's gone yet. Spanish or something, brown hair, green eyes, nice accent."

"Noted. Thank you." Roderich offered him a slight dip of the head and walked past the desk, keeping his steps as regulated and in-time as the steady beating of his heart in his chest. He carried an air of invincibility as he walked, and that was exactly the level of effortless assurance and poise he wanted to radiate. Even when there was no audience, Roderich's front usually helped him more than it helped anyone else.

As he swung open the door to Interrogation Room 2, he was met with a tanned face and an easygoing smile, coupled with a pair of bright green eyes. Roderich started slightly—the face was slightly familiar, the locks of chocolate hair and that happy-go-lucky aura the exotic brunette seemed to radiate. There was an easy confidence about him; in fact, one could say that everything about the man seemed natural, laid-back, and untroubled. Roderich immediately assumed this person was the friend Gilbert had spoken of in passing once or twice and was immediately suspicious, though his skepticism hardly showed through into his expression - one of slight surprise.

"Oh, lo siento, hombre, I was just leaving." The man's voice was pleasantly thick with a Spanish accent.

"You would be Antonio, then," Roderich stated, almost an inquiry, but with not quite enough inflection to be one.

"Heh, sí, I'm Antonio. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Mucho gusto, Señor."

"Roderich Edelstein. District Attorney." Out of common courtesy, Roderich offered one gloved hand to the Spaniard, who looked at it hesitantly before shaking.

"Ahh, yeah, I voted for you." Another nonchalant grin. "You've come to speak with Gil, then, I'm guessing?"

"Yes."

"...I suppose my input wouldn't be of much use to you, would it?" Carriedo said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

"If you have a statement to make in Mr. Beilschmidt's favor, I would suggest speaking with his attorney, not with me," Roderich responded. "If you would excuse me." He stepped back to allow Carriedo passage into the hallway, and, with a nervous glance at Roderich, the green-eyed man followed the hints he was given and stepped completely out of the doorway. With a brisk nod of his head, Roderich stepped through the door without a glance over his shoulder at the Spaniard whose footsteps he heard receding down the hall.

"You know, I could quote that Batman movie right about now. There's no crazy in latex coming out of the shadows to slam my head into the table, is there? I'm too awesome for that sort of treatment." Beilschmidt was leaning back so his chair went up on its rear legs, his shoulders resting against the wall behind him and his feet on the table. It was a precarious position, but the albino seemed not to care, as his expression was almost serene.

Roderich chose not to respond to that statement, instead pulling out the chair across from Beilschmidt and seating himself almost silently. He folded his hands and set them on the tabletop, watching Beilschmidt with attentive indigo eyes, studying him. "Please cease with the silliness, Mr. Beilschmidt, you did summon me here for a reason."

"Do you just go wherever you're summoned then, huh? You really are just like a dog, Specs. It's why your nickname is so appropriate." Beilschmidt was smirking at him.

"Which nickname is that?"

"Papillion, of course." The smirk widened into a grin, and Roderich found himself chanting the mantra, Don't slap him, don't slap him, don't slap him over and over in his head. "Kind of endearing, don't you think?" The man snickered, running a hand through his silver-white hair. "Anyway, I see you met Tonio on his way out. Watcha think?"

"About your friend?" There was the faintest note of incredulousness in Roderich's voice.

"Yeah."

"I will never cease to be amazed that anyone can tolerate your presence for extended periods of time," the District Attorney replied in a completely somber voice.

"Goddammit, Roddy, you sound like my brother. He's all serious, too, you know. All, 'Gilbert, you should get a job' and 'Gilbert, you should work harder' and 'Gilbert, you should stop bringing prostitutes home with you.' I love my little Bruder, don't get me wrong, but he can be so serious."

"It seems we share similar opinions. Perhaps we would get along," Roderich mused.

Gilbert sized him up for a moment with a skeptically raised eyebrow, then burst out laughing.

"And what, pray tell, are you laughing at?" the brunette almost snapped.

"Ahahaha, y-you and Ludwig, friends? Pffft! You'd piss your panties if you so much as saw him!" Beilschmidt responded, laughing heartily at the thought and wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Aw, that's rich."

"That is rather quick to judge. You hardly know me." Don't slap him, don't slap him, don't slap him.

"Touché, District Attorney. But, you know, you've been judging me this whole time. In fact, I don't even think you've given me a fair chance for a good first impression. Since the moment you saw me, you've hated me, so don't go nagging me about prejudging." There was almost...anger in Beilschmidt's voice. Only it wasn't anger. Roderich struggled for a moment to pinpoint the emotional point in the albino's tone and finally settled on frustration. But at what? Roderich's own hypocrisy?

I won't apologize.

"As you well know, presumptions were not what I came to talk about," Roderich said after a moment, pushing up his glasses with his index finger.

"Right, of course, you're here to talk about your stupid case instead of basking in my awesome like a good little boy," Beilschmidt replied with a snort, and Roderich found he could further identify that strange edge to the man's voice. It was some brand of bitterness. "Is work all you care about?"

"No, actually," Roderich responded.

"Oh, yeah? Name one thing you care about more than work," Beilschmidt challenged with a sneer.

"Music." The answer came easily, without any thought. Yes, music had to be the most important thing in the world to Roderich, the core of his being, the glue that held the shaking pieces of his instability in place to form some semblance of solidity. After years of suppressing himself and years of being suppressed, the closed-in young gentleman's only connection to his emotions had become music. It was, to a degree, his own world.

That was why he didn't realize that perhaps it was an inappropriate first answer before the accused man across from him jeered, "Pretty little girlfriend isn't your first answer, then? Tut tut, Roddy, bad choice."

And, for a fleeting moment, Roderich actually felt shamed by Beilschmidt's words. He nearly ducked his head for his insolence. After all, he had practically given up his main connection to music in order to be with Elizaveta. That should make her the most important thing in his life, the first thing he should name on his list of things more important than work. He felt guilty, even slightly mortified, at how quickly he had leapt to a hasty answer like "Music" instead of a logical, thought-out answer like "My significant other."

But then he remembered that it was Beilschmidt shaming him, and he collected himself, unwilling to show weakness to his adversary. For, as much as he tried to fixate his hatred (or at least dislike) on Bonnefoy as his main enemy, Beilschmidt was really his rival in this case.

"Of course Elizaveta is more important than music." He was fairly certain Beilschmidt wouldn't be able to detect the slight forced quality in the statement. "You asked me only to list off things more important to me than work. Music and Elizaveta are both more important than work."

"...aw, man, you're totally a procrastinator!" Gilbert said with a laugh after a moment. "You like your hobbies, don't you, Priss? Do they take priority over work?"

"No," Roderich responded. "I always make time for both." He did, however, leave out that the albino was right about his procrastination. Though he made time for work and hobbies, the latter usually came first chronologically. "And regardless, this is all beside the point. This is not what I came here to discuss."

"Right, I'm sure you have some great deal laid out for me that'll send me to a deluxe suite cell in prison if I tell you where I buried the bodies or some shit. But the thing is..." And here Beilschmidt allowed all four legs of his chair to rest on the concrete floor, leaning across the table towards Roderich. "...I don't give a damn about your plans and your deals and your rules, okay? I transcend 'em. I mean, I'm fucking me, after all, I'm awesome."

"You keep saying that," Roderich noted, "and yet, you have so little evidence to back it up."

"Aw, don't be a fuckin' stick in the mud, Papillion," Gilbert replied cheerfully. "The funniest part about it is you can't even offend my awesome, because it's just way too big to be bothered by a little gnat like you. You're like...a little mosquito bite. Annoying, but not damaging. You know?"

"I refuse to sit here and be patronized," Roderich hissed, getting to his feet; the chair slid across the floor behind him as he stood. "If you will not cooperate, then I will take my leave."

"Hey, hey, don't get so excited, Roddy. I didn't say I wouldn't cooperate."

But Roderich was unwilling to speak with this man anymore, this vile, horrid, disgusting man, this unbearably conceited egotist, this...this...villain. Without even a goodbye, he turned on his heel and stormed from the interrogation room in a flurry of fabric and frustration, slamming the metal door behind him. Someone else could deal with Beilschmidt. He couldn't take it anymore.

By the time Roderich got home from work that day, Elizaveta was seated in front of the television, a snack bar in one hand and a ten-pound weight in the other. She was doing arm curls at a steady pace, her green eyes watching the screen, glancing up at Roderich in greeting as he sat down beside her. The mayor was making a speech on television.

"He seems awfully upbeat," Elizaveta said with a snort, putting her feet on the coffee table. "His brother was just murdered, for God's sake, you think he'd be a little more solemn."

"It isn't as if they were twins," Roderich responded, sipping a glass of water. "Their relationship was not outrageously strong, as far as I know. Jones did care for his brother, but I think he left him behind somewhat in the wake of his political career." The District Attorney studied the pixilated face on the screen attentively. "He is upset, you know."

"Sure doesn't seem like it," his girlfriend commented.

"It is...somewhat difficult to tell," Roderich responded, "but you can see it. His posture. His expression. They are all considerably faker than usual. More forced." He might not have been the best at reading the atmosphere, but Roderich would be damned if he wasn't objectively attentive to detail.

"...they are?" Elizaveta's brow furrowed as she leaned towards the screen, as if that would make these small aspects of the mayor's pretense more visible.

"You would have to know what to look for," Roderich responded, somewhat dispassionately. "His smile is different, slightly smaller. He is stiffer than usual, and standing straighter. He's not gesticulating as wildly as usual, and his voice is louder than it needs to be. There are also shadows around his eyes, which either means the lighting is odd or he did not sleep well last night."

"How the hell can you tell all that just from looking at the TV screen?" Her green eyes were fixed on him skeptically.

"...is that unusual?" he asked her, glancing to the side to meet her gaze.

"Um, yes," she replied. "You're lucky we have an HD television set or I'd think you were psychic, pointing out all those details."

"Nonsense, extra-sensory perception is rubbish," Roderich replied, leaning back slightly.

"So how was your day?" she asked after a moment, seeming to give up on scrutinizing the television.

"Terrible," he told her bluntly.

Elizaveta's eyebrows knit together. "Really? Why?"

"Between having my eardrums nearly burst by a screaming arms dealer and forcing myself through another visit to Beilschmidt? I spilled my coffee this morning."

"...oh, dear, I'm sorry." Putting down her weight and her snack bar on the couch beside her, Elizaveta draped her arms around him lovingly and held him close, resting her head on his shoulder.

"...thank you." Roderich made the conscious decision not to tell Elizaveta what he had overheard upon returning to his office – as the ADA, she would undoubtedly want to get involved and ask more questions and get to the bottom of the confrontation he'd overheard, but Roderich refused to take action until he was sure it was necessary. After all, things could be misinterpreted...and his thoughts could be exaggerated, he didn't really know...

"Do you want to go to bed?" she asked him after a moment as she turned off the television.

What I really want to do is play the piano.

"...no, I think I will...read for a little while," Roderich replied. "Are you going to bed?"

"No, I have some work to finish up." She didn't release him.

"I suppose you should do that, then..."

"I suppose I should."

Neither of them moved for another ten minutes.

(A/N: There. Have a cute AusHun ending.

This brings us to the end of chapter 4. The updates will be slowing down a bit now because I'm entering territory I haven't prepared for yet. I should probably draft out an outline, because I really want to finish this story...regardless, no need to be concerned, the next chapter should be up soon!

Reviews are adored, and constructive criticism is definitely appreciated. Thanks for reading~)