Berwald is babysitting Myra, because Roderich has a concert and she's a little too young to silently sit through two hours of Tchaikovsky. He has just put the little girl to bed and watched her fall asleep, looking sweet and innocent with her eyes closed and her arms around her stuffed cat, when Matilda calls.

"What is it?" Berwald whispers, keeping one eye on Myra.

"Your father is in the hospital. You need to come." There are tears in her voice. No panic, just tears.

She knew this would happen, Berwald thinks, and he remembers the bad feeling he has had about his father.

"What's the matter?" He asks, trying to stay calm. "Is he hurt? Is he sick?"

"Just come."

Berwald promises to come as soon as he's found a replacement sitter for Myra. He thinks about whom Roderich and Liz would entrust with their daughter. Matthew is his first choice, but as a somewhat distracted Arthur, called away from a business dinner, informs him, Matthew has gone to the movies with his brother, Brian and Hayley.

He then settles on Antonio and Lovino, but they are busy at the restaurant. "I'll try to find Feli for you," Antonio offers helpfully.

"Th'nks."

Francis is out on the prowl, no surprises there.

Ludwig, Berwald thinks. Not his first choice for watching a two-year old, but Ludwig is reliable and Liz and Roderich both trust him.

"Berwald," Ludwig says, sounding slightly surprised, "what's the matter?"

Berwald explains the situation in halting words.

"I'm not really good with kids," Ludwig says, sounding faintly uncomfortable.

"'S an emergency, Ludwig."

Ludwig sighs. "I'll come."

True to his words, he arrives exactly twelve minutes later.

"Myra's asleep," Berwald informs him.

Ludwig nods curtly and takes off his coat. "I'll explain things to Liz and Roderich when they get home. Go to the hospital. I hope your father will get well soon."

I don't think so, Berwald thinks anxiously, but he nods anyway. He is just about to leave when Feliciano arrives on the doorstep, tousle-haired and panting as if he's run the whole way.

"Antonio told me! Of course I'll help, Berwald!"

"Th'nks, Feli, but Ludwig's here alr'dy."

"Oh." Feliciano looks around Berwald and notices the big German. He waves at Ludwig awkwardly. "Hi Ludwig."

"Good evening, Feliciano," Ludwig says evenly.

"Ve…" Feliciano seems somewhat flustered and at a loss for words, but then his face brightens. "I've got it! We can watch her together."

"Great," Berwald says laconically, his thoughts already at the hospital.

At the hospital, he is met by a middle-aged doctor with tired eyes and a serious demeanor, who speaks to him with practiced kindness.

"Your father is currently asleep. We gave him something for the pain, and he was truly exhausted. Your mother is still in his room. She will want to see you."

Stepmother, Berwald thinks, but doesn't correct him.

"What is the matter with him?" Berwald asks. He speaks very slowly, carefully, over-enunciating the words, as always when he is speaking to strangers.

The doctor looks a bit perplexed, but doesn't comment on it. "Your father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer."

Berwald stops in mid-step, staring at him. "When?" He demands.

"Five months ago. It was discovered at a very late stage, which is unfortunate. He is very sick. Did you not know?"

Berwald shakes his head. It's not as if Father and I talked a lot, he thinks. Still, it hurts that no one thought to tell him anything about this.

"Will he… will he die?"

The doctor looks troubled. "You are a grown man, so I am not going to lie to you: the situation is very grave."

So if I were a boy, you would lie to me? Berwald thinks bitterly. Maybe I'd prefer that.
He looks at the doctor expectantly.

"Pancreatic cancer generally has a poor prognosis and your father's is worse than most. The cancer has already metastasized. There is very little we can do but to ease his passing." The doctor puts a hand on his shoulder. "I am truly sorry. There is counseling available, if you need it. There is also a support group for family members."

I don't need a fucking support group. Once again he is glad that words don't come easy to him.

He follows the doctor through long, bleak hospital corridors and into a small room behind a gleaming white door. Its walls are painted in pale, unobtrusive yellow and there are pictures of beautiful landscapes hung up on two of the four walls. The shutters are half-closed, shutting out the night. Somebody has made an effort here, as if trying to say: this is not a room to die in.

But it is. His father is dying. The kindly doctor has as good as said so.

A woman is sitting next to the bed, a figure of misery, slumped and haggard.

Matilda.

She raises her head as he approaches. Her face is pale, old, lifeless.

"Berwald. Oh God, I am so glad you're here," she whispers.

Berwald pulls her from the chair and holds her close, her head against his chest. They remain silent like frozen statues for a long moment.

"Why didn' you tell me?" He finally asks.

Matilda sobs into his chest. "Your father… we didn't want you to worry. He said it was better not to tell you, not too soon at least. You are doing so well right now… with all your friends, and finishing school with perfect grades, starting university… we are so proud of you. We didn't want you to get upset and to…" – she struggles to find an appropriate word – "relapse."

Berwald is angry, and has half a mind to tell her, but then she starts to cry again, and he swallows the words.

I'm not some sort of mental patient, and don't treat me like one. Don't treat me like a child, either. I'm not. And I hate to be kept in the dark. Are we are family, or are we not?

Not a very good one, he admits to himself. But then, what is a good family?

One where all the members love and trust each other. One where no one has to keep secrets, because everyone loves and accepts the others as they are.

We were never that kind of family. And now we never will be.

"We should go home," he says. "Catch some sleep. Come back tomorrow."

He leads Matilda from the room and across her shoulder looks at his father for the first time since he came to the hospital. The unconscious man in the hospital bed is almost a stranger to him.

Liz calls him first thing in the morning.

"I was so worried about you. Is everything okay?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"My father's dyin', Liz."

Pause. Maybe she's holding her breath, maybe she's thinking really hard, but in any case, a pregnant silence reigns between them.

In the end, she just sighs. "Oh, Berwald. I'm so very, very sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Can you work miracles, Liz?

"No."

"Do you want me to come over? Call any of your friends?"

I don't want to be alone, Berwald thinks. Matilda is lost in her own grief, in a dark, dark place far away and she barely talks to him. It's Sunday. She is getting ready to go to church, for the first time in years.

"What will you do?" Berwald has asked her.

"Pray. Light a candle. I don't know."

He watches her tie her shoe laces, slowly, like an old woman.

"'M fine, Liz."

"Oh. Huh. Well, okay. Call me if you need anything? Please." She sounds worried.

"Sure." He hangs up. Matilda is reaching for the doorknob.

"I'll be back in two hours. I'm taking the cell phone. Call me immediately if the hospital calls, okay?"

"I will."

Berwald closes the door behind her. Turns around. Paces through the living room. The silence is oppressive, like a living thing, a vicious, evil minded thing, intent on suffocating him.

He goes back upstairs, tries to concentrate on a book he is supposed to read for one of his classes. It doesn't work. He puts on his boots and an old brown jacket and goes outside to work in the garden, raking up dead leaves and rearranging the fir branches Matilda uses to cover her precious rose bushes in winter.

A soft cough startles him and the leafless thorny branches scratch his hand. He looks up. Tino is leaning against the fence, looking frail and young, wrapped into a thick baby blue parka. Berwald drops the pair of garden scissors he is holding. They hit his foot, but he doesn't care.

"Hi." Tino says. He looks nervous.

Berwald's face is a silent question.

"I… uh… look, I need to talk to you. About the other night…?"

Tino's face, so close, too close. I'm about to do a very foolish thing. Soft lips against his. Berwald briefly closes his eyes. Bad timing, Tino. Seriously.

"Now's not a good time."

"Oh." Tino fidgets nervously. "Are you busy? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

He looks so lost, standing there, kneading his hands. Berwald feels his heart sting at the sight.

You have no right to look this lost, Tino. And you have no right to be so beautiful, so heartbreakingly beautiful, even when you aren't smiling.

He sighs. "'S okay. Come."

He opens the garden door, and Tino steps in, slowly, almost shy. His gaze travels unsteadily across the leafless bushes, covered flowerbeds and wintry lawn. "This must be a beautiful garden in summer."

"It is."

Adding a decidedly nervous and uncertain person and one who is quiet and reserved by nature does not make for a great conversation.

"Do you like working in the garden?" Tino asks, still not looking at him, but at the brownish grass.

Berwald shrugs. "'M good with my hands."

He has not intended for the words to be suggestive, but the way Tino looks up at him, slowly raising his eyes, with a very soft smile on his lips seems to give them an entirely new meaning. Berwald blushes furiously.

"About the other night," Tino says quietly, taking a step closer.

Berwald holds his breath.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Oh."

"Yes. I…" – he pauses for a moment, apparently struggling with the words – "I believe I hurt you. And I didn't mean to. I didn't think… it was thoughtless of me."

Berwald waits for further explanations, but apparently, there are none.

"Why?" He finally asks.

Tino shrugs helplessly. "I don't know. I just acted on impulse. I tend to do that… too often, in fact. Curiosity, maybe? I knew that you wanted to kiss me, I had seen it written plainly on your face, so I just gave it a try. Stupid, really. But please" – he touches Berwald's hand – "you must believe me: I never meant to hurt you."

"What 'bout Eduard?"

"Maybe I wanted to hurt him a little bit," Tino admits sheepishly.

Berwald nods. "Did you?"

Tino sighs. "I don't know. We haven't talked since then. He left for Tallinn yesterday morning."

Let him stay there till he rots, Berwald thinks.

Tino is still looking up at him, his beautiful eyes filled with emotion, and so sincere. "Listen… do you think we could still be friends?" He asks. "Because I really like you, Berwald."

I a lot more than like you, Tino. Berwald looks down at the hand that is still touching his, and in an impulse, wraps his large, earth stained fingers around Tino's soft and delicate ones.

"Yes."

Tino smiles. It is like the sun coming up after a long, dark night.

Berwald gathers all his courage and asks him inside for a cup of tea. He stumbles over half of the words, but it doesn't seem to matter, because Tino listens patiently and graciously accepts.

After washing his hands, Berwald prepares the tea, watching Tino settle down at the kitchen table. His cheeks are rosy from the sudden warmth, and a molten snowflake glistens in his light hair. He looks positively lovely.

How come misery and happiness lie so close together? Berwald wonders. How can I be worried and grieved about my father and at the same time look at Tino and feel only joy and love? And he is doing nothing but sitting in my kitchen, drinking tea and chatting, but I still feel so rich, so incredibly blessed.

Tino sips his tea, and between sips smiles and talks animatedly about nothing important, about Christmas presents he got and doesn't know what to do with, about a concert he went to with Brian last weekend, about Raivis breaking his wrist skiing. It's comfortable to just sit there and look at him, listen to him.

Until Matilda comes back from church, bringing with her a gust of cold winter air and thoughts of his father. Berwald suddenly feels guilty about sitting here and feeling happy, while his father is in the hospital deadly sick.

Matilda looks at Tino, then briefly at Berwald questions in her eyes.

"'tis Tino," Berwald explains. "A friend."

Matilda manages a shaky smile and reaches out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Tino."

Tino gets up to shake her hand, but apparently notices that something is amiss. "Uh… I should probably go now…"

Yes, Berwald thinks, and no. Please don't go, Tino. Stay, and stay forever.

"'Kay."

Tino smiles and waves awkwardly. "Well then… see you, Berwald. Listen, call me, okay?"

Berwald nods and morosely watches Tino leave.

When he turns back towards her, Matilda raises her eyebrows at him. "Did I interrupt anything?"

Tell me, her eyes say. You can tell me everything, you know that I love you and would never judge your or treat you like Mathias' parents treated him.

"No."

Matilda rolls her eyes. "Which most likely means yes."

Berwald shrugs. None of your business, Matilda.

Matilda sighs. "Let's go visit your father."

The sense of elation he has felt during Tino's unexpected visit evaporates on the way to the hospital. Walking into his father's sickroom, Berwald feels the last traces of happiness vanish. Matilda is by her husband's bedside in the blink of an eye, reaching for his hand, her voice soft as she asks how he is feeling. One good look at his father tells Berwald that it is a pointless question and would even be a mockery from anyone but a loved one. Love makes us all blissfully blind, he thinks, but in this case it's a mixed blessing.

Reluctantly, he steps to the other side of the bed. His father is looking up at him as he has been doing for years, but now for the first time, there is a clear sense of a shift in superiority. It feels strange. Figuratively speaking Berwald has always looked up to his father, even though they have nothing in common but half a set of chromosomes and the love for two women, one of whom they both only dimly remember.

"Matilda told you." It is not a question.

Berwald nods anyway.

His father sighs. "Are you angry?"

Not anymore. A shake of the head. Confronted with his father, Berwald has always felt oddly wordless, and not just because sign language is natural to him now, but nothing but a confusing jumble of gestures to Father.

"When w'll they let you c'me home?" he inquiries, carefully trying to enunciate the words but not quite managing it.

His father looks troubled at the question. "I'm not coming home," he finally says.

Matilda's head jerks up. "What?"

Father pats her hand in a perfunctory gesture of appeasement. "I've spoken with the doctors. It seems that there are two options - go home and put the weight of my illness and care on your shoulders, or go to a specialized facility, where professional treatment and care will be available around the clock. And since it's not a question of money, that decision was an easy one."

Die at home or in a hospital ward for the terminally ill, by whatever nicer name they may call it, Berwald thinks. It's no great surprise to him that his father would choose the latter. Father has always been uncomfortable with intimacy, and there are few things more intimate than being nursed by your wife and son.

Matilda must have anticipated this decision, too, but that does not mean she is happy with it.

"But we want you to go home with us," she protests.

Berwald wonders if that is strictly speaking true. Does he want Father to come home with them? When you get right down to it, Berwald has never been terribly comfortable with intimacy either, at least not where his father is concerned. Their father-son relationship is dominated by large expanses of uncomfortable silence.

"Tilly, we have spoken of this before. You know my reasons," Father says, his voice not unkind. Only he ever calls her 'Tilly' and only in private. Berwald supposes that not even his unemotional father can escape the mechanisms and side-effects of a long-term relationship.

I would have to come up with some sort of endearing pet name for Tino, Berwald muses, his name is just too short for abbreviations.

Idle thoughts. Despite their recent understanding, Tino and he are very, very far from the pet-name stage.

"What now?" He asks his father. There is really no use in sugarcoating the ugly reality, especially since his father does not appreciate mollycoddling.

"They'll keep me here for some further testing, or whatever it is doctors do when they are trying to pretend that they have not yet capitulated and declared your case a lost one." Father's smile is a bitter one. Berwald looks at Matilda; she is choking on tears. Her husband's forcedly calm demeanor doesn't do much for her nerves. Berwald wonders if his father is afraid or angry, and if it might help Matilda if he showed his feelings. He really can't tell. While his own relationship with his father is grounded on silence, lack of understanding and guilt (yes, guilt, because I never loved you like I should have); Father's relationship with Matilda appears to be based on an excess of feelings on her side and a lack of discernible emotions on his. They are a good match in that respect, each balancing out the other's deficiencies.

"We'll visit you ev'ry day," Berwald says loyally.

Father pats his arm. "You take care of your studies first. I don't want you to miss anything in class because you worry about me, you hear me?"

I'm not worrying about you, Berwald thinks, worrying about something that is apparently inevitable seems rather pointless. But that doesn't mean I don't feel bad about what's happening to you. You wouldn't understand, though. You never did.

"I'm proud of you, you know," Father adds for good measure, "I never thought you'd make it to university."

Me neither, Berwald thinks, yet here we are. You did preciously little to help me get where I am now, but I'm still glad you approve. You'll never get to meet Tino now, though. And I can't say I'm too upset about that. It spares you the trouble of adjusting to a son who's not only half-mute, but also likes boys, and it spares me the pain of your rejection.

In the end, he says nothing and merely nods his appreciation.

He gets a text from Liz that night, and another one from Matthew. They are virtually identical messages of 'are you alright? Can we do anything to help?'

Liz calls him, too, and instinct tells him that it isn't the first time.

"'M fine, Liz."

She doesn't contradict him, even though they both know it's a lie. Merely asks: "Do you need anything?"

Berwald feels a hot surge of affection, because she cares so much. It's great to have friends.

"'M a big boy, I c'n han'le it," he assures her.

Liz chuckles unexpectedly. "You certainly are. On a more cheerful note - how did your conversation with Francis go?"

"'M alive 'n unharm'd," Berwald replies drily.

"Very funny," Liz grumbles. "No, seriously, Francis is a bit overbearing"

- a bit? -

"but he knows his boundaries, and he's really a good guy. I hope he didn't embarrass you too much, he loves to provoke other people and to make them blush, especially when they are a bit prude."

"Poor Arth'r."

Liz laughs. "Yes, theirs was an ill-fated relationship. Arthur just can't handle Francis, but it took him a while to realize that. It was an education for both of them. Anyway, did talking to Francis help you? At least a bit?"

"T'was int'restin." In more than one way.

"You are such a diplomat, Berwald."

"He likes you," Berwald states matter-of-factly.

"In a totally non-platonic way, I know. A lot of people do, though, and since Francis also likes my husband that way, I've never really taken his infatuation serious. It's all a game to Francis. Not to you, though, and that's why I'm concerned about you and Tino. Okay, that and because I'm a total gossip girl and love to play the match-maker. Arthur and Alfred? That was my doing, you know. Poor Arthur just needed a nice guy after Francis; and he's such a lovely person. And Alfred needed somebody to anchor him a bit. Roderich did not approve at first, though. In his opinion, matching troubled twentyish rugby stars to sixteen years older corporate heirs is not an acceptable pastime. He has been forced to admit that it all worked out rather well, though."

Well, at least Tino and I are approximately the same age, Berwald thinks. Which causes him to wonder...

"Liz, how old 's Tino?"

"Tino? He's of an age with Brian. Twenty-two, twenty-three, I think. Definitely your age-group, don't worry. Not that it really matters. Roderich is a few years my senior, too."

"But... Tino doesn' like me that way, Liz."

"If he doesn't like you, then why does he keep coming around to see you, Berwald? Tino is no Gilbert, who likes to mess with people just for the fun if. There must be something about you that attracts him. And if he found you physically repulsive, he wouldn't ask you to dance with him. Especially since he would have had no trouble finding a suitable girl. There were quite a lot of nice-looking girls present and they love guys like Tino - good-looking, a decent dancer, but at the same time absolutely safe. A girl's dream. That's what I love about my gay friends, too, you know." She chuckles, adding in an afterthought: "It's what Roderich loves about them, too."

"He's jealous?" Berwald asks incredulously.

"Of other men? Oh, ridiculously jealous. Of course, being jealous of girls would be rather pointless, since I don't like them that way."

"But... it's silly." Liz adores Roderich, and it's easy to see that she is still in love with him even after ten years of marriage.

"'re you jealous?" Berwald asks curiously.

"Usually, I'm not. I'm not sure if you've noticed, since he's pretty good at hiding it by now, but Roderich isn't much of a people person. It takes him a while to warm up to someone, and even then he's more reserved than, say Alfred. He's actually quite shy. It's cute. It also means I don't need to worry about him. There has only ever been one menace to our relationship, and he is a threat to us both, not just one of us."

"Gilbert."

"You met him. He's trouble."

That's putting it mildly, Berwald thinks. He remembers that one strange meeting with Gilbert well. He wouldn't doubt for a second that the man is dangerous; and from what Roderich and Liz have told him or hinted at on various occasions, they have a complex and not very happy history with him.

A strange thought crosses his mind. "Liz, you th'nk Ed'ard is dang'res?" Tino's obnoxious (soon-to-be-)ex-boyfriend is half Berwald's size, but one should never underestimate one's opponent. From what he's seen so far, Eduard will certainly fight back when threatened and he might just be the type for vicious vindictiveness.

Liz seems to seriously consider her answer for a moment before replying. "Eduard has a very high opinion of himself because of his extraordinary musical talent. And nobody likes to be double-crossed by someone he considers his inferior. He won't be a fair loser I think. But if I were you, I'd worry more about Tino than about him."

I do, Berwald thinks, I'm thinking of him constantly. Not that it'd help me much.

"He said he wants to be my friend," he tells Liz still unsure whether to feel hopeful or dejected. Friendship may after all lead to something more. Or it may just be a friendly way of saying, 'Hey, I think you're a nice guy, but I'm really not attracted to you.'

"It's a start," Liz says, obviously trying to encourage him.

It's only after he has wished Liz a good night and hung up that Berwald notices that for about an hour or so she has effectively distracted him from his worries about his father.

She really is a good friend.