Chapter VI
"Tell me about your brother." Denmark held his breath as he unleashed the question, afraid that even the slightest noise would bring about a fire-cracking effect.
"What about him?"
All the pretty smiles from before had vanished, without even a shadow in its place. The little connection he ever so carefully built between them broke easily into pieces, and the barrier his patient had usually put up snapped back in shape. He couldn't place the emotion in Norway's eyes. It frustrated him to no end. But of course, none of that was new. As a psychiatrist, Denmark had devoted most of his life pursuing the secrets of the human mind. He had long realised that one cannot simply assign a name to a feeling and call it as that. It would be like specifically naming every single shade in the visible spectrum: a guaranteed tedious and impossible project.
"Were you two close?"
"Yes," Norway answered quietly, his hand on the chair unconsciously tightened. "We are very close."
The use of present tense brought out a small frown on the Dane's face, but he quickly brushed it aside with a smile. "Of course, seeing how much you love him, I would assume you guys were like best friends."
At this, the Norwegian's expression softened. "It's my responsibility to take care of him."
"Right," Denmark nodded, "because you're the older brother. And older siblings take care of the younger ones, to make sure they're happy and safe. Am I right?"
Norway looked away.
"You know," the Dane smiled casually, trying to re-divert his patient's gaze. Despite the relaxed exterior, Denmark was watching closely, just waiting for that flicker of emotion which will somehow magically spill the beans, "I'm an only child. Pampered with adoration and didn't have to share my parent's love with anyone else. So I can't really imagine having a younger sibling."
"No," Norway shook his head, agreeing with the Dane for once.
"Then tell me."
"I can't"
"And just why the hell not?"
"It's not something you could just describe with words." The Norwegian raised his eyebrow sarcastically. "You of all people should understand that."
Denmark felt like it was an interrogation; where he, of course as the intelligent and suave police officer, was trying his best to wring the truth out of the equally intelligent and suave (not to mention good-looking) criminal. He needed to identify the relationship between Iceland and Norway in order to further support his diagnosis. But unlike an actual criminal case, he could not simply base judgement on forensic science. Sure he could obtain the medical records of every visit the Norwegian paid to the doctor but what great use would that be? The human mind was not a structure of rigid statistics but a messy cluster of undefined feelings and raw emotions. And it is its instability which makes psychology such an intriguing yet controversial thing.
Denmark was more than aware that the bond Norway seemed to share with his brother held the key. But in order to understand that relationship, his patient had to cooperate. So far, all he got was that Norway was close to Iceland. And that was great, because surely nobody would've figured that out.
Fed up with the lack of progress, the slightly frustrated psychiatrist sighed. Laying one long gaze at the Norwegian, he slowly stood up from his rotating chair and walked toward one of the lower cabinets. A brief moment of fumbling and paper shuffling later, a confidential folder was pulled out.
Denmark did not want to use it. And really, up until this point, he really didn't think he needed to. Using it would be like cheating and someone as awesome as himself would never stoop that low. But his incredibly stubborn patient had really left him no choice. No matter what he tried, the Norwegian always managed to wittily dodge his questions and then fire them back at him with his standard cold and sarcastic manner.
Out of the corners of his eye, he could see Norway eyeing the file. Curiosity tinted his pretty cerulean eyes as they swerved up and down, trying to peek through the opaque yellow cover of the confidential folder.
Good. Let him look.
"Do you remember what happened three months ago?" Denmark spoke slowly, accenting each and every word to make sure that they were well understood.
Norway could not turn his eyes away from the suspicious folder.
Something about it just seemed highly distrustful and the fact that Denmark had took it out and just left it on the table in plain sight made it even more so. From where he's sitting, he could vaguely see his own name and a series of numbers neatly printed at the top.
"Do you remember what happened three months ago?"
His head snapped up suddenly to look at the Dane, whose serious blue eyes reflected his own sombreness. A flood of memories flowed through his mind, tinting all his thoughts like splashes of colourful paint.
Among them, before he could even react, an unexpected chain of black splotches covered up almost everything.
And suddenly, strangely, he couldn't recall a thing. The remembrance was undeniably there but Norway could not seem to reach it. It seemed like there was a great wall between him and his own memory, a giant, thick barrier that was impenetrable with just Norway's strength alone.
Slowly, in response to Denmark's question, he shook his head.
The psychiatrist's frown deepened, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. Norway could not fathom why though, because he truly did not remember.
Denmark's voice was as calm as ever but below the surface of peaceful waters presented a slight edge. "Really now," he said smoothly. "You just can't think of anything important that happened three months ago." He paused for a moment, waiting as if expectantly for Norway to shake his head like always then began again. "Perhaps you need something to remind you."
His hand reached toward the table and his fingers danced around the edge of the folder, as if reluctant to open it. But slowly, he did. And as the yellow cover flipped oven, Norway saw a large laminated black and white photo. The car in the image, which lied upside down inside what looked like a dirt ditch, was destroyed beyond imagination, the front windows completely shattered and air bags popped open. Below the picture scribbled a caption, a messy swirl of handwriting that sent a tremor through his body.
April 4th, vehicle at incident scene.
"Remember anything?" Denmark's voice was gentle, tentative. As if Norway was made up of expensive fragile glass that was guaranteed to break at any second. Though he wasn't a beaker, but a human being, made with emotions that were a hundred times stronger yet a hundred times more breakable. "I'm sure you recognize this car."
Despite the initial shock, Norway could not recognize the wrecked car in the photo. It certainly looked familiar, but only like a déjà vu.
"No," he mouthed, his voice barely more than a gasp.
"No?" Denmark's tone was surprised and curious; skepticism rang loud and clear in his words. "You're telling me that you've never seen this car before."
Looking into his psychiatrist's eyes, Norway managed to calm himself slightly. When he spoke again, his voice seemed much more convinced than before, a frail confidence that he was desperately clinging onto. "No, I haven't."
Denmark narrowed his eyes. "And I am to believe that is the truth?"
Perhaps it was the desperate edge in the Dane's voice, much like his own, that triggered something in Norway. He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process. Denmark flinched, slightly startled by his sudden movement. His hands tightened its grasp on the arms of the chair as he looked up at his patient cautiously.
"I need to go," Norway spoke quietly, breathlessly, as if he had been running a marathon. His blue eyes depicted shadows of panic and doubt, making them more hazed than usual.
It wasn't really the reaction Denmark was looking for, but it was much better than his patient's usual nonchalance. Had it been someone else, Denmark would simply drop the subject or let them leave as they requested. But it was Norway who stood before him, and after several weeks of almost zero progress, Denmark's desperation overruled his better judgement.
"You go when I say so," he spoke coolly, standing up so his new height would better conduct his authority. "And right now, I need you to tell me what happened on April 4th."
Denmark told himself that he was only pushing Norway because he needed to know answers that will benefit the treatment program, and a higher level of understanding of his patient's mind means a greater chance of mental improvement.
Or perhaps he just cared more about Norway than anybody else.
Norway opened his mouth, as if to speak but then closed it again. Slowly, he backed away, eyes fixed on the floor and head shaking slightly. "No," he mouthed.
"No?" Denmark was agitated, slightly angry but mostly due to his own frustration. "Is that all you know how to say?" He moved forward and grabbed the Norwegian forcefully at the shoulders, two large hands on each side forcing Norway to look up at him. "How about actually cooperating with me so I can help you get better? How about actually answering my questions so I know what's going on?"
Norway froze. And for a fraction of a second, he just stood there, slowly absorbing the meaning behind the Dane's words. But reality soon reached him and he pushed Denmark away, more violently than he intended. His eyes, now restless and wild and so full of agitation it seemed like an all-out war is going on in his head. Almost humorously, the Dane prayed that it wasn't a war about whether or not he should actually listen or he should just keep being stubborn.
And then, he started to whimper.
Denmark didn't even hear it at first, for the noise was so small that even in a silence office room, it was barely detectable. But of course, it gradually grew louder, more strained and desperate. Norway looked as if to be on the verge of tears but was too obstinately strong to let them fall. The sound was a knife to Denmark, slowly cutting his heart to pieces and mocking him for his inability to help someone in need.
Someone he cared about.
"Nor?" he stepped closer.
Norway's head snapped up. His expression grew from what seemed to be uncertainty to downright frightened. He backed away, frantically trying to increase the distance between himself and Denmark. The method succeeded until the back of his head hit the file cabinets. His eyes grew wide, like a cornered animal. He looked at the Dane with pleading eyes.
"Nor?" Denmark spoke but held his ground, cautious to not frighten his patient anymore than he apparently already had. "Tell me what's happening."
The Norwegian shook his head violently. Eyes never straying away from the Dane, he slowly opened one of the cabinet drawers with one hand. From where he was standing, Denmark could see a long line of yellow folders they kept for records, within each held pages of extremely important and confidential information. Judging from the current situation, the Dane felt a sick feeling in his stomach.
"Nor," he strained, "what are you-"
Norway didn't let him finish.
Hand reaching into drawer, the Norwegian dived in, without any mercy or hesitation, grabbed a handful of important files and flung them to the floor. Denmark watched wide-eyed as the pages swayed in the air. Some contained pictures and treatment plans, but most were records of past patients. The psychiatrist thinks he saw a photo of Belarus somewhere within the fluttering pile.
The room was now a compete mess. An upturned chair decorated by sprinkles of pages, like black and white confetti.
Norway looked at him, slightly frightened eyes were coloured with rebellion. His hands were in the drawers once more and again came a snowfall fluttering documents.
Amidst the panic, Denmark did what he knew best. The emergency phone on his desk had a speed dial button to Lithuania's office.
Norway could not see a thing when a team of nurses, led by Lithuania, stormed into the office. All he remembered was a pair of strong arms that held him ever so tightly. And he clung desperately at them, trying to reminisce that odd and unfamiliar feeling of security.
He could not recall why he scattered the papers all over the floor. It just seemed right at that moment, a futile attempt at defiance. Of course, it just made him sicker as he looked at the results of his childish tantrum. When he finally collapsed though, Denmark reached to him. He held out his hand and smiled. Perhaps it was the Norwegian's own imagination, but at that moment, Denmark's eyes seemed to be a bit bluer than usual, and his hair a bit more gold than yellow.
The weight of Denmark's arms wrapped around him felt heavy, but in a safe and secure way. It made him feel loved and protected. And if he closed his eyes, the arms could be thinner, lighter, and lined with soft skin rather than hard muscles. The hair could be a lighter shade, more silver than blonde. And if he really imagined hard, he could open his eyes and see instead of deep blue, a beautiful violet colour that reflected the sky at sunset.
Norway knew he was slipping. The syringe in his arms gave a titillating effect to the world. He lifted the corner of his lips and buried himself deeper into Denmark's embrace, hiding his pretty smile from the world.
…
Help me.
Norway awoke in cold sweat. The raging thunderstorm was no help to his nightmares. He sat up in his bed and looked outside. The rain was berating heavily onto the glass panes. Ever so often, the wind howled in dramatic agony.
The night patrol nurses forgot to close his windows.
Getting out of bed, Norway padded bare foot on the cold ceramic floor of his little room toward the curtains. He gripped the handle tightly, and pulled, with a little struggle, hard on the window. The glass pane slid shut with a quiet thud, muffling the noises outside.
There was no clock in his room and the bad weather outside made it impossible to judge the time of day based on the severity of darkness.
Norway drew the curtains, flinching slightly as a sudden clap of lightning rattled his window frame. He walked back toward his bed and wrapped himself in the warm covers.
It was nights like these that reminded him how much he hated the rain.
"He's been really quiet these days hasn't he?"
Denmark flashed a quick glance at the nurse standing behind him. Nodding faintly, his attention went immediately back to the monitor. Norway appeared to be speaking to England on the screen. But Denmark could tell no more than that for his voice was muted by the camera and his expression blurred by the badly coloured pixels.
They needed to get better computers.
"Really, ever since that day when he threw all the papers on the ground, he's been a lot nicer to everyone." Joyce continued, her voice was high and sounded like bells. "It was like he finally let go of all that feeling, you know. Like he finally said what he wanted to say."
Denmark hummed a small sound of acknowledgement but he couldn't disagree more with her words. Norway was far from letting go, let alone finally saying what he wanted to say. In fact, the walls between them seemed to have grown higher, stronger and more durable than ever before. Denmark could feel the tension between them during their therapy sessions, with him politely asking non-directive questions and Norway politely skirting around with non-directive answers. Occasionally, the Norwegian smiled. But they were fake, bogus smiles that were all shine and no substance. It made Denmark sick in the stomach.
"And it's all thanks to you really," Joyce spoke quietly, an excited edge in her voice. "You know, I've never met someone like you doctor, always so full of energy and bright new ideas. I really admire the way you treat the patients, caring yet always so professional."
Denmark almost laughed at her words.
Professional? He was far from professional. If he was truly professional, then he would have long figured out a good treatment plan for Norway. He wouldn't have Norway so barred against him, shielding all of his thoughts and emotions.
If he was truly professional, he wouldn't be so startled by Norway's soft pale skin as he buried himself into his arms.
For a brief moment, Denmark let his imagination ran wild.
It was painful, almost, to realise the possibilities had they met in a circumstance other than this. Norway would be completely normal, perhaps still sarcastic and stoic, but sane nevertheless. Denmark would no longer be bounded by the tight ropes of ethics. It was an interesting subject to ponder. How would their relationship develop? Would they be good friends? How about more than that? Denmark didn't dare to think about stepping beyond the realms of friendship but curiosity left him so very tempted.
"Look, he's speaking!"
Joyce's voice snapped him back to reality. His face slightly flushed from his thoughts. Glad for the distraction, Denmark directed his attention back to the monitor, where a fuzzy looking Norway was making some sort of speech.
If it could actually be called a speech.
On the screen, the patients participating in the afternoon's group therapy activity all sat down in a circle like children in a kindergarten class. It was Norway's turn to speak. The camera showed a side top view of the Norwegian's face and from Denmark's perspective, he looked tired and bored. Very bored, in fact, for the lines of his eyebrows knitted together in such a fashion that it made him seemed younger than he really was. The Dane smiled.
"I really think he improved a lot since the last few days."
Joyce's voice was suddenly at his ear. He could feel her hot breath tickling the soft cartilage. Startled, Denmark turned around slowly, flinching unconsciously back as he realised just how close she really was.
He could smell the perfume on her; a rather flowery fragrance, like the overbearingly sweet scent of a decaying rose.
"And it's all because of you." Her lipstick stained mouth pouted upwards as her voice became no more than a husky whisper.
It wasn't a completely new sensation really, when Joyce started to unbutton her blouse. Denmark had dated girls in high school and as popular as he was, situations like this simply happened too often. What surprised him really was that she came on to him at work, and behaviour like this would get both of them jobless in seconds flat if they were caught.
And none of this related to his relationship with Norway of course.
Denmark wondered if it was the risk and impropriety that makes forbidden love so tempting. As human beings, it was natural to lust for things that would never truly belong to us.
He could see the top half of her bra now, lacy and a deep blue. It reminded him of Norway's eyes only not as pretty.
Joyce's thin, manicured fingers moved slowly, sensually, as if she was putting on a show for the wide-eyed blonde in front of her. Denmark was feeling none of the effects though, for his mind never left the computer screen where Norway now sat, quietly and stoically in the group activity circle. Slowly, he reached out, a large hand covering hers. Joyce looked up, smiling, almost expectantly.
"Don't waste your time on me love," he stated, calm and out-of-characterly collected. A nimble hand quickly tightening the loose buttons she managed to open. "I'm gay."
Ignoring the shocked stare from the now confused girl, Denmark walked out of the surveillance room with fast, long strides. As the door closed in a low thud, he refused to imagine that if it had been Norway instead of Joyce in a similar situation, the result would most likely be drastically different.
A/N: First of all, I like to apologize for being a huge dick. Yes, go on, do what you have to do, say what you have to say, just get all the anger outttt.
But really, I am truly sorry. I know I promised September 5th, but but but, school is being harder than me than I anticipated and everything right now is just a mess and my marks are dying and my life is dying and I am dying and just blehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Yes, it's not an excuse, I know.
On the bright side, this is finally up and I hope it can be some satisfaction to all of you.
And just for the record, I am not two months late, I am simply a month and twenty five days. There's a big difference.
So ha.
Happy Halloween guys, I love you all~
:)
