Well shit, Gilbert, what are you going to do now? Also I live for USUK banter.

Already in the brainstorming stages for a Nordic5 steamtalia spin-off prequel of the events leading up to this fic. Bad things happen to Mats.

For those who aren't sure (should have put these in the prev chapter tbh)
Lukas=Norway
Berwald=Sweden
Mathias=Denmark
Emil=Iceland
Tino=Finland
Marcello=Seborga (not really stated anywhere, but his new 'family' is comprised of other micronations/principalities. just a sidenote)

Update next Wednesday!


"Thought I'd visit," Berwald said.

"Did you…did you bring the others?"

Berwald shook his head. "They send their regards. Emil misses you."

Lukas gestured to a seat. His eyes flickered to Gilbert, but he said nothing. Gilbert remained standing as Berwald sank into the chair with a sigh. They were congregated in a single room that doubled as a kitchen, with a little wood stove set into tiled floor, and dining room. There wasn't much decoration, save for a few trinkets sitting on the window sill.

The man himself, Lukas, looked weary and frail, with pale paper-thin skin and hair, short and blond, like straw. Dark circles cut deep under lackluster blue eyes. He'd wrapped himself in a robe, probably sitting up into the night; the remnants of a cooling cup of coffee sat on the countertop.

"You need to get more sleep," Berwald said.

"I need a lot of things," Lukas said. He realized his tone was sharp, then retreated into himself as he took a sip of his coffee. Rubbing at his eyes, he yawned. "This visit is not without purpose."

Berwald nodded with a little grunt, then gestured at Gilbert.

With a start, Gilbert realized that Lukas was staring at him. He launched into a quick, jumbled explanation. "I need to get into Volare, and I was told that you managed to sneak in a whole crew of men a few years back. I'm not looking for accompaniment, just help. I fully intend on going at it alone—"

Lukas tilted his head back, eyes closed. He breathed out slowly. "Whatever you're trying to do, it's not worth the risk."

Gilbert opened his mouth. "It's worth my life—"

"That's what Mathias said. There are things worse than death," Lukas said. He shot a look at Berwald, "Do we have to reopen old wounds?"

"S'Wounds never closed," Berwald said quietly.

Resigned, Lukas dropped his head into his hands and massaged deeply. "I suppose I don't really care if you fail or not. I'll let you in on the secret, but you're completely on your own."

He disappeared into the back room and returned with a bundle, which he set on the table. He waved at it like 'have at it' and took the seat opposite of Berwald. "How's the ship?"

"Still flies," Berwald answered. "How's Mathias?"

Lukas frowned, "No improvement."

Gilbert carefully unwrapped what appeared to be a set of sturdy tubes welded together, thinner segments radiating from the inside of an obvious elbow-like joint. "The hell?" He flexed and extended the metal, completely fascinated by how fluid and flexible the structure was.

"Attach the cloth," Lukas said, "It binds to your arms. S'wings."

Gilbert stared at the jumbled pile of parts, mouth falling open. "You want me to make like a bird and just fly into the Tiered City?"

"They only guard the front gate. The wings work," Lukas said.

"How?"

"I am an alchemist and a scientist," Lukas said, "I made them work."

The two continued talking as Gilbert tried reassembling the wings, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth. He worked much like a toddler trying to piece through a giant puzzle.

"Your last letter," Berwald started, "Y'said somethin' 'bout healing."

Lukas stared at his shuttered window. "Another useless skill."

Berwald gave a noncommittal grunt. "Should visit Tino and Emil. I can watch Mathias."

Gilbert, who had finished lacing up one wing and was starting the other, lifted his head, "Are you referring to Mathias Kohler?"

Lukas's expression turned icy cold. "What's it to you."

"I-I knew him from my training days," Gilbert said, climbing to his feet. "He was a mercenary—I, did something happen to him."

Berwald put a hand on Gilbert's shoulder and shook his head, as Lukas stood and grabbed what remained of his coffee.

"S'none of your business." He retreated into the back room. The door fell shut automatically behind him.

"I—"

"Collect the wings," Berwald said. "Go to Volare. Will be here when you get back." He pointed to the exit then went after Lukas.

After finishing up the wings, Gilbert slinked out the front door. He stared upward. "I have to fly all the way up there. Goddamn…couldn't just…fly the boat halfway—" He groaned and strapped them onto his arms and tested them out. They felt light and moved as naturally as he did.

He crawled his way onto solid ground. If these failed to support his weight, he wasn't about to test them off a cliff face.

"Do I…do a running start or…?" He stared at them, feeling ridiculous and anxious and out of his element. He bit his lip and pumped his arms up and down a few times, trying to convince himself he wasn't actually flapping them like some kind of flightless chicken.

He felt the pumps inside activate and something hiss through the hollow tubes. He flapped harder and started to run, until he could feel pressure build beneath.

His heart skipped a beat. With a sensation much like one missing a step, he felt as if he was running in air, until he realized that his last footfall had barely grazed the grass. Arms already aching, he pumped harder.

He worked toward gaining height then found, as he climbed higher, that a gust of wind helped stabilize him. Encouraged, he evened out his body so that he was positioned with his stomach down, finding that as he worked at it, the wings seemed to store and even amplify the power from his movements.

A scream ripped from his throat. Was this the odd freedom that Alfred or Matthew felt hurling through the sky? The idea that not even gravity could contain him?

He breathed in deeply from his nose and whooped again, climbing higher with a few strokes, and praying a gust wouldn't smack him into the ground. With increased altitude came a bone-chilling numbness and heaviness of his limbs, and he cried out in victory when he came upon the Grounded Tier, which was only the highest of the Plateaus. Still, he swooped down to land, pressing circles into his shoulders as he cried out in pain. Just as Lukas had said, there was no one guarding the periphery—just the front gate.

"How in the hell am I supposed to make it to the Third Tier like this?!"

Voices.

He dove into the bushes, then crouched there, listening to people go about their morning routines, up before the sunrise to tend to vineyards tangled between meandering stone walls.

So this was Volare.

The bushes rustled and shook as he crawled beneath them, hidden yet obvious. No one bothered him; maybe they assumed it was some wild animal rummaging around. On his hands and knees, dirty and aching, with the wings catching on twigs, he picked his way toward where little houses gently marked the transition between vineyard and the city limits, porches with little stone railings spilling out vines and pastel flowers.

He figured they didn't get visitors much; closed gates did not encourage much travel. Would he need documentation or special papers to prove he belonged here, or would he have to exude confidence so no one would think to question his presence?

Crawling around in the bushes would not achieve this. He poked his head out, waited, then—wrestling with his wings to free his arms—rolled out, leaving his wings safely hidden. He noted the location and started to walk.

He wandered what looked like a countryside community, with trailing low walls and fountains gurgling in courtyards while cats skittered around. A few kids paused a game to watch him pass. They wore simple cotton smocks and kerchiefs for their heads.

He nodded vaguely in their direction and continued on. A little girl stared and scurried into her house.

Bemused, Gilbert realized that most of these houses were left open to air out during the day. Did they not experience foul weather?

He gnawed on his lip. He needed to figure something out. Every minute he wasted was another minute that they could be torturing Lovino. With a pang of guilt, he remembered the plans that he and Lovino had made—to explore the Restricted City together.

The pain only made him trudge faster. He didn't have a plan so much as a vague idea of what he should do. He knew that the city operated completely on internal trade from Tier to Tier. He knew hijacking one of the taxis would end in his death, but if he could smuggle himself at least to the second Tier, then he could cheat and use its final stop as a leg up, then slip through the gated wall on the back end on the Third.

Or, he paused, spinning around on the ball of his foot, taking off back toward the bushes to retrieve his wings. He could board a ship to the Fourth, guessing that the security was significantly more lax there, and swoop downwards and eliminate most if not all the strain on his arms.

He found the wings again and tied them onto a bundle on his back, and began to walk toward the center of the city, passing little parks and market squares where men sold wares in open tents. He stopped at one stall, hyper aware of the stares that the man gave him, grip tightening on his young daughter's arm.

"You aren't from here," the man said. He cast a wary eye from Gilbert to the strings of gold jewelry on his own table.

No shit, Gilbert wanted to say, irritation and desperation mixing on his face. "I'm from the Second Tier," he lied.

The man scoffed, "Maybe the Fourth."

Gilbert opened his mouth but clamped it shut. "Fine, you got me."

The man nodded like there was no question. "Then you'd best hop on that taxi down to the Mid Plateau where you belong. They've been letting 'em off here lately and it's downright unsanitary, even if they are contained."

Gilbert grit his teeth, crossing his arms. He kept his tone as level as possible. "Actually, I'm heading up. And I'm new."

"Great, recruitment." He frowned but let his daughter tug free to scamper around with a few friends. "Because my hard earned money definitely needs to go toward lazy assholes…"

"Just point me to the air taxi," Gilbert muttered. "The one that goes up."

The man merely pointed and turned away, done with this conversation.

Gilbert took the rest of the distance at a jog, slipping into line with a ragtag group of men in tattered grey clothes, oxygen masks draped around their shoulders. He grabbed a newsboy cap from the back pocket of the man in front of him and jammed it on his head.

Silently, they filed into the taxi, taking seats on two rows of wooden benches. Air whooshed as the balloon above them gradually re-inflated. The crafted lifted.

Gilbert looked around, his own heart racing. He saw that most of these men stared down at their hands, eyes glossy, lines etching exhaustion deep in dirty faces. One shifted. Gil caught sight up purple veins bulging along his wrist and blue-tinged finger tips. A shudder ran up his body, but he said nothing. The man noticed he was watching and stuffed those fingers into his armpits, shivering though it was not cold.

"Is it really that bad?" He finally asked.

Several looked up at him, blinking dully.

"Puts food on the table," one answered.

"I'm, uh, new," Gilbert explained.

A few more shook their heads sadly.

"Should have joined the army," the same man said, "Man like you could have made physicals."

Gilbert frowned, "It wasn't an option."

"Seems to be a shortage of those. Options, I mean," The man said.

Gilbert groaned a little bit. The man beside him finally lifted his head to give him a sideways glance.

"You," he said.

Gilbert pointed back at himself, "Yeah?"

"You don't have equipment," he said, watching him. "No oxygen mask. Just how do you expect to do manual labor on the Fourth Tier? Air is thin."

"Yeah, I was hoping to—"

The other shushed him. With a start, Gilbert realized that this man was significantly younger than him, still bright eyed but weighed down with slight fatigue.

"You have no commission to be here," the other said, quietly. "Government gives us the masks to work." He waved his hand, not terribly concerned. "Unless you steal one from someone, you aren't going to find one just lying around." He leaned forward, intensely fervent, "Are you a spy?"

"W-what?" He leaned back, uncomfortable with the other in his face. "No I just—I need the work is all. Maybe I'm bending a few rules."

"I wouldn't tell anyone," the man said. "Who would I even tell that would listen?"

Gilbert's brow furrowed. He scoffed a little to the side but peered closer into this man's face. "What's your name? You look really familiar." There was something about the shape of his nose and the point of his chin.

"Marcello," he answered. He brightened. "Does this mean you're going to admit the truth now?"

"I—I'm not a spy," Gilbert insisted. The craft bumped against the dock. "I'm just—I just have something I need to do, and it involves the Fourth Tier. Didn't your parents ever teach you not to be nosy?"

"I'm sure they would have if they could," Marcello said with a shrug, "But I'm a grown man, and I taught myself anything that I need to know."

The men around them started to secure their masks around their face with little clips and straps. The masks were leather domes that fit over the entire face, eyes cut out as goggles and a hose running from the area over the nose and mouth into little tanks strapped to each man's waist. It amplified each breath into a solid, almost strained rush of air. They departed the tram.

"Good luck breathing, then," Marcello said as he rose to his feet, also fastening his own mask on. "Thought about helping you out, but I mean, partnership is built on trust and you obviously don't trust me enough to spill." His voice sounded metallic, muffled. He puffed a few heavy breaths.

"Hey, wait a sec—" Gilbert followed after him.

Stepping foot onto the Fourth Tier was a lot like being punched in the gut. Instantly his lungs seized and he wheezed for precious oxygen. "Shit—" he gasped.

Marcello snickered but threw a mask at his head. "I stole this the other day."

Gilbert managed to catch it and wrestle it onto his face. "You just said that—"

"Look," Marcello said, "I'm not supposed to be here either, but I figured out where they kept the masks and took a few for myself. I have to support my family. I don't qualify by their stupid standards for this work, but I don't have much of a choice. So I made my own option." He shrugged a little bit. Gilbert could only feel the cheeky little grin behind his mask. "So, fess up."

Gilbert silently vowed to never take oxygen for granted again as his airway reopened. Slightly light headed, he stumbled forward. "Okay, but it has nothing to do with the Fourth Tier."

"Oh," Marcello said. Disappointment dripped from his slackened posture. "That's probably good, though. You don't seem to know much of anything about this place. Really sucky spy, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," Gilbert muttered. He could feel the warmth of his own breath fog the inside of the tube. His face felt heavy. "I'm going skydiving."

Marcello perked up, "Really?"

Gilbert nodded. "It's kind of a weird…thing. That frankly had better work. I'm going to find an opportune place to jump then swoop down to the Third Tier—"

"Trying to assassinate the king?"

Gilbert shuddered, "Hell no. Just free an innocent man. Look, I know it's crazy to try to topple his fucked up empire. I'm not touching that shit—"

Marcello nodded with a little shrug, "Probably for the best. But if you were, I'd totally be down with it. I think secretly everyone would, they just don't want to say anything because who the heck knows where the spies are."

"You have a very active imagination," Gilbert said. He started to walk, staring down through the railing to find the best point to jump. His walk took him through bushes and over pipelines. Marcello followed.

"I have a new family now, but it's because of the king that my old one is gone." He shrugged a little bit. "But you gotta take these losses in stride. Nothing is forever, so I'm making the most of things. Appreciating my new family as much as I can while we're all still together."

Gilbert only grunted. He double checked the location, seeing that the edge of the Fourth Tier just barely hovered 100 feet over one edge of the Third. "This is where I'm going to jump," he said.

Marcello joined him to peer downward. "Um, hate to break it to you, but you can't survive a drop that big…"

Without a word, Gilbert pulled the wings from his back and started to unwrap them. He attached them carefully.

"Ooooooh," Marcello exclaimed. "Do they work?"

"I sure as hell hope so, or else my damn ghost is going to haunt the mysterious asshole who handed these over."

"That sounds like fun," Marcello said. His hands wrapped around the bars of the gate, "So this is goodbye, then?"

"We only just met," Gilbert said, "Don't act like this is some kind of heartfelt goodbye."

"Sorry," Marcello said, "I just—" He paused, "Hey, if you ever need backup, just give me a holler. I, uh, yeah, I gotta get started on work. It's a long day."

Gilbert nodded, "Uh, sure." The space between the bars of the gate was tiny, but, grunting and huffing, he managed to squeeze through until he was perilously balanced on a ledge that gave way to thin air. He took a deep breath, ripped his mask away and threw it back over the fence, then let himself drop.

Any fear of heights was stripped away at a sudden rush of cold air that choked his scream away. Exhilaration took over. He plummeted straight down then, last minute, fought the wind resistance to straighten his wings. His shoulders ached as the air plucked him upward.

He took a few deep breaths; the air was still thin, but breathable. He circled a little, squinting. The palace walls glinted gold back at him with the rising sun. The sky had brightened into a calm blue. Little wisps of clouds drifted.

"There," he muttered, seeing a patch of bushes overgrown along the fence area. It was toward the back of the palace, where there would be less guards to see his descent. He swooped in that direction.

A torrential gush of water dropped down out of nowhere. Gilbert changed directions, barely missing the downpour of water draining from the pipes of the Fourth Tier down into the basin of the Third. He shivered. Something like that would have smacked him right from the air. He looked up then back down.

Hopefully there would be no surprises. He dove a little lower, careful to test the wind, adjusting his arms and elbows as needed, biting against the strain of holding himself up. He was able to land feet first on the ledge of the Third Tier just as a huge gust of wind tried to tear him away from the ground. He latched on to the fence.

The wind slackened. He squeezed through the fence, panting, too eager to rip the wings from his body. Then, after massaging the length of arms that wanted to hang limply at his sides, he crawled through the bushes into the back of the courtyard. There was no sign of guards here. Maybe the king had become complacent sitting on this little island all alone. He thought back to Marcello's words. How easy would it be to just assassinate the king and be done with everything? He shook his head. That was the kind of hubris that would wind up getting Lovino or himself killed. He just needed to get in and out with Lovino.


They worked in a ballroom, scattered out among robotics parts, gears, and glowing diodes. For a while, Arthur used alchemy to weld different plates together while Alfred tried to fit them together according to a schematic. Several times he paused to sputter through thick coffee that his little percolator system churned out. No one accepted the offer for the steaming, bitter liquid.

"I may be a tinkerer, but this really isn't my forte," he finally complained. "I really don't understand what these little pipes are supposed to be doing…"

Arthur shrugged, "Hell if I know, just follow the schematic. I can only help you so much—My mechanical prowess comes from alchemy and fixing what I can see is broken. Not creating things out of the blue."

"Then alchemize me a new brain," Alfred muttered. "Because my current one is starting to hurt."

"Can't create something out of nothing," Arthur retorted.

Feliciano sat back to back with Lovino, both sort of watching, bemused and a little nervous. Ludwig was off on duty, a mission in the Second Tier, which he was glad for, as he told Feliciano, because it was best if he didn't know what the group was planning. Feliciano knew this talk of dissent made him uncomfortable, even if it was just Lovino's escape. He knew that disobeying sworn loyalty went against something very fundamental within the soldier. But he also knew there was no victory without sacrifice, even if that victory was just living another day and hoping for freedom.

Lovino's thoughts were solely on Gilbert, so much that when his cuts and bruises throbbed, he could retreat to old memories of their adventures. He knew the minute that he saw him again, none of the pain would matter. He longed to hide in his arms.

Arthur finished with a little dome he'd riveted together both with a few odd bolts and alchemy. He brought it to Lovino, along with the diode, which he hooked to the device with some twisted wires wrapped in sheets of elastic cloth.

"Okay," he said, "We're going to try this…"

Lovino stared at it, "And what is this supposed to do again…?"

"Your powers are weak," Arthur explained, "And I've been charged with amplifying them. I figured out how to do so for your brother—though his are plenty strong—so I adjusted the design toward more of your signature."

Lovino only sighed but held out his hands to take the machine. "Okay, so what am I supposed to do…?"

"Use your powers," Arthur said. "The diode will measure the strength of them after the dome has supposedly—hopefully—amplified them. We can't expect for you to power an entire human sized robot with where they are now."

"Seems like a lot of work," Lovino groaned. "Like fuck it. We're not addressing the actual problem here like how to fix my damn defective powers."

"That's beyond the scope of my ability," Arthur said. "Talk to the one who broke them in the first place." His gaze fell on Feliciano.

Feliciano frowned at him. "I can't fix what I ruin," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. He reached behind him to take Lovino's hand in his. "So if you'd stop wasting your time reminding me that I broke my brother, you'd get more of your own task done."

Arthur kept his mouth shut but gestured back to Lovino. "Have at it."

Lovino squeezed Feliciano's hand but released it to place it on the dome. He grunted as he sent a surge of power through it. The effort left him drained.

The dome only warmed up a little, some of the parts shifting. The diode lit up only slightly brighter than before.

Arthur sighed and removed the object from Lovino's hands. "Some progress, but not quite enough."

"I can power little things," Lovino said, "And sometimes my powers are stronger than others. So…hell if I know about this shit. I don't really want to make these damn robots for the king anyway. He's just going to use them to be a dickwad."

"Then you better hope your little boyfriend comes fast," Arthur muttered. He channeled his frustration into reworking the inner panel of his dome, retreating back to his side of the hall.

By then, Alfred had completed the upper half of one of the robots, but sat scratching his head as he read through the next few pages of the little packet of papers. "This really is some complicated stuff…"

"The king likes to brag about how great of an engineer he is," Feliciano said, "Back before he knew that he could use me to control Ludwig, I used to be what he called an adopted son." He shivered a little bit, shaking his head. "Pretty rich coming from the guy who killed my actual father. I didn't have much of a choice but to allow him to. But he'd go on and on about everything that he'd done for this city. He claims he's the reason that they float, but I don't know how much of that I want to believe."

Alfred shrugged, "According to the texts, these islands have been floating for at least a hundred years. I call bullshit on that one."

Feliciano laughed a little bit, "I know people can do some pretty amazing things, but yeah, I doubted it too."

Lovino groaned and flopped over flat on his back to stare at the ceiling. It was vaulted, arches gleaming gold in the rich sunlight that streak in from high windows. He closed his eyes with a long sigh.

They snapped open.

He'd heard a metallic chirp.

He had to squint, but he could make out a little shape hovering outside one of the windows, peering in. It landed and tapped its beak against the glass then, scrabbling against the incline, slipped down.

Lovino sat up. Was that…Gilbird?

"I…uh…need to take a shit," he announced, rising to his feet.

"Congratulations," Arthur muttered.

Lovino glanced at the guards leaned against the posts on either side of several sets of doors. "Do I just uh…?" His cheeks went red.

Feliciano also rose to his feet. "Don't be so uptight. You don't need to ask permission." He took his arm and started to walk him out past the guards.

Lovino stared up at them as they passed, paranoid that they'd snatch him up and punish him. He had not recovered from the first and only torture session, though the pain came and went now. He still limped.

"They don't care," Feliciano reassured him as they made it out into a dim hallway. "Really, where would you even go? Jump off the side of this island to your death? Even if you tried to hide they'd round you up eventually. So we have free run of the place most of the time."

"Then how come you have to sleep in a prison cell?" Lovino asked.

"Because I'm dangerous," Feliciano said, "And they're afraid of me, like I'll sneak into their barracks and stare into their face or something. I don't know." He blinked, confused when Lovino walked right past the waste chamber. "Hey wait—" The slap of bare feet echoed after him.

Lovino scoffed, "Should just rip them all up, then."

Feliciano sighed, "That's the problem. Even if…even if I liked being this destructive monster. Even if I wanted to resort to that…they'd just kill Ludwig." He shook his head a little bit. "Ludwig thinks they're using me to control him, but it's really the other way around."

Lovino grunted.

"Where are you going anyway?"

"Fresh air," Lovino answered.

Feliciano cackled in delight. "You liar!"

Lovino promptly shushed him and pulled him down the hall by his elbow. "Just…just be quiet, okay."

"You know, we used to sneak around the house when we were little," Feliciano whispered, keeping pace, "Usually early morning, trying to get at the bread before it was put in the ovens so we could poke at the dough and try to scratch our initials in."

Lovino's face sobered, "I don't remember…"

"Well, I can just tell you all the stories," Feliciano promised, "We have to have something interesting to talk about, being prisoners together." He sighed a little bit, "I wondered if I'd ever see you again, to be honest. I knew it would be best if never, under the current circumstances, but…I'm so glad that you're alive and well."

Lovino put a finger to his lips. The two slipped through a door in the side, out onto a little balcony supported by marble pillars. He climbed up over the railing and started to pick his way downward on a fence made from thick vines that had tangled around one of the columns. The flowers, past their season, had wilted and smelled dank.

Feliciano dropped down to the ground beside him. "So, this is more than a fresh air adventure, isn't it."

Lovino nodded, "I'm…confirming something." He glanced around, unsure how to relocate what he had hoped was Gilbird. It was possible that he was just seeing things out of desperation.

Feliciano shrugged and pulled a bit of bread from his pocket. He gnawed on it as he waited.

"Shit…well that was pointless," Lovino said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Feliciano handed off the bread to him and made sure that he took a few bites. "Well, we can still make a walk of it," he said. "Fresh air, remember?"

Something pelted Lovino. Something hard. He clapped a hand to the back of his head, cursing softly. "The fuck…?" Something similar hit his shoulder. He turned to see a pebble roll into the grass. He headed toward the bushes. "C'mon," he muttered to Feliciano.

Feliciano checked the windows and the area around to see if they were being watched. No one. He followed.

They ducked into the foliage. Lovino yelped, only to find a hand clamp over his mouth and strong arms pull him tightly against a chest.

Gilbert.

"F-fuck you, it took you long enough—" Lovino gasped, curling into the other, grateful for a moment of warmth and safety—however temporary.

Desperate, Gilbert stroked at his hair, peppering his face with little kisses, his breathing uneven. "I'm sorry, I was tied up but I came as fast as I could…"

Feliciano took a seat nearby and waited for Gilbert to notice him.

Gilbert paused, "Wait is this…?"

"My brother," Lovino said. "He's alive."

"Alive and kicking," Feliciano said.

"O-oh…" Gilbert blinked, "I mean I guess that's good but—" He groaned a little bit but buried his face into Lovino's neck, closing his eyes into his hair. "I made it as far as here but I'm not sure how to get you out."

Feliciano crawled forward to stare at the wings that Gilbert had discarded behind him. He turned them in his hands. "Huh. I've seen these before…"

"Got them off of some ex-pirate," Gilbert mumbled.

Feliciano frowned. "Oh…" He curled up into himself and rested his chin on his knees. "Okay, um, well I guess I can give you two privacy for a bit if you want."

Gilbert shook his head, "No, I mean, I just needed a moment to just see Lovino to make sure he's alright. I…you guys are going to have to go back in there until I can figure out a way to get off this island. One pair of wings will not work. It's hard enough work just to keep one person suspended."

"I can bring you food. And supplies," Lovino promised. "Maybe you could make another pair—the castle is full of spare parts and stuff."

Gilbert's mouth fell open, "That's a good idea." He glanced over at the wings, the cogs in his mind already turning, "It's a cool technology, so I'm not even sure how they work, but I've always been good at dismantling and re-mantling things. I think I could do it!"

Lovino nodded. "Good. Then we'll run far away together."

Gilbert pulled away just enough to rub a thumb along Lovino's cheek. "Hey, about what you said—about that kiss on the train—did you mean that?"

Lovino grumbled something but met Gilbert's eyes. "Of fucking course I did." He swallowed a little bit, feeling so vulnerable but so safe at the same instance. "What's your answer…?"

He held his breath as Gilbert's lips grazed his own then settled in for a gentle kiss. Gilbert spoke against them, warm but dry and so tender. "Should think that is obvious as hell. I've been in love with you since before the aquarium shit went down."

"Don't make this a contest," Lovino muttered, closing the distance again. His fingers tangled into Gilbert's hair. This time, instead of desperation and urgency, he could quietly explore, his tongue at Gilbert's teeth, fingertips searching. He felt Gilbert smile against him and let out a giddy little laugh of his own. "This is so fucking ridiculous."

"Hmmm," Gilbert agreed. He pulled apart, brows furrowing. "You're pretty banged up."

"S'nothing," Lovino muttered, "I'm a smartass, remember? Apparently that shit really does come back to bite people in the ass."

"I'll get us out of here as soon as I can," Gilbert promised.

"I trust you," Lovino answered.

Feliciano coughed a little bit.

Both turned to look at him, foreheads still touching.

"Lovino, they're going to wonder where we've gone."

"Shit." Lovino climbed to his feet with a long sigh, but he moved as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Oi, Gil, I'll see you later. Signal with the bird or something. I dunno."

Gilbird popped his head from Gil's pocket with a little cheep.

"But I'll bring as many parts as I can, then you'll just have to keep telling me what you need. I can probably find it," he continued, letting Feliciano drag him from the brush.

They strode back to the castle together, Lovino trying not to glance backwards where he knew Gilbert was hiding and Feliciano staring glumly to one side.

"Well it's good that he's come back for you," Feliciano finally said, "But…this is dangerous. If they find him—"

"They won't," Lovino said.

Rather than climb up the balcony again, they walked around and in through a side door, confident that no one had seen. They returned to the room, both silent for different reasons.

"So taking a dump involves getting twigs in your hair, does it," Arthur muttered. He jammed the dome into Lovino's hands again. "About time you returned. Put some power through this."

Lovino felt the surge of power well inside him, something born of hope, and released it into the metal. The fans and gears spun faster than before. The diode lit.

Arthur scratched his head and squinted to read the little measurement panel. "Huh. Better than before, but still not to the level I want it. But that was quite a good jump…" He took the dome back and returned to his own corner. "Any progress is good progress," he said.

"Speak for yourself," Alfred groaned, flopping over backwards. His fingertips were stained with grease. His hair, similarly tainted, was tousled and his glasses askew.

Lovino's mind was on Gilbert. He wondered if he could spend the night out in the bushes instead of in the room with Arthur and Alfred. Would anyone notice if he was gone?

A few hours dragged by in this fashion, until all the group was exhausted and loathe to move. Ludwig returned from some errands at lower tiers to collect Feliciano, who looked guilty when Lovino shot the soldier a nasty look.

He waited until Arthur and Alfred settled on their bunks in their little room but sat awake on his, even as the night wore on. For a while, he listened as Arthur mumbled in his sleep, almost laughing when Alfred seemed to answer.

"Just get married already," he muttered, sliding off his bed and padding down the hall.

The corridors seemed haunted at night. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept catching glimpses of his darkened reflections spanning into infinity. He shuddered and walked faster, but they kept pace. In a sweat, he took the hall in a dead sprint, spilling out into the main hall where he collapsed panting, heart hammering while he mentally screamed at himself for freaking out.

He collected himself and scrambled to his feet. He knew the doors of the palace would be bolted shut, but he jimmied a door open to the same balcony that he and Feliciano had climbed down earlier. Finally a breeze charged the stagnant air, as if trying to soothe the quiet panic rattling through Lovino. His breathing slowed. For a moment he closed his eyes then, focused, opened them to scan the foliage below.

Nothing seemed out of place. Maybe Gilbert was asleep. He grabbed the balcony rail to lift himself up and over.

He froze.

Soldiers?

He dropped down behind it and peered through the thick foliage. His knuckles turned white where he still gripped the railing.

The colour drained from his face. Why would they checking the bushes? They shouldn't—he'd spent several nights out here and not once had they even patrolled this area—had someone seen him and Feliciano sneak through the courtyard earlier today-?

He had to warn Gilbert somehow. Tell him to find a better place to hide—maybe if he was quick enough they could get him inside the castle and under the bed—then he could steal a uniform and pretend he was a soldier again—

Crouched as he was, he tensed. They continued to search, disrupting leaves and sleeping birds, which squawked at the intrusion. They spoke in muted tones, jabbing away with their spears.

Then, like a tiger, he hurdled over the railing, using both hands to swing himself over. He landed heavily on his feet then ran, screaming as loud as he could, toward the soldiers.

They jerked upright. In the dark they could only see that he was one of the Vargas brothers, but not which one. They raised their spears.

Lovino careened into one of the men, barely dodging his spear, and started clawing at his face as they tumbled backward into the bushes. With a crack, the soldier's head hit the metal gate. He went limp.

Lovino wheeled around, the unconscious soldier's spear in his hand. He panted heavily.

At such proximity, the soldiers finally recognized him.

"It's just the older Vargas brother," one said, lowering his spear. "He's no threat."

The others jeered.

"Something in these bushes you don't want us to find, kid?" one snarled. "What could it be?"

Lovino hurled the spear at him. His aim was poor, but it grazed the soldier's side, effectively silencing him as he stumbled back, hand pressed where blood seeped through his tunic. "Just your bodies when I'm through beating the shit out of you," he hissed.

The remaining three chuckled, unfazed by their comrade's injury. "Those are some pretty big words coming from an unarmed, outnumbered little shrimp."

Lovino grit his teeth. "Fought against worse odds than a few uppity soldiers."

Nodding silently to each other, they advanced on him from three different sides. The first pounced and, while Lovino was struggling against his hold, the second slammed in him into the ground, pressing his face into the dirt until he coughed and sputtered, everything consumed by desperation for oxygen and the taste of earth. When his thrashing died into weak flailing, they loosened their hold.

"Cute," the first said.

"Isn't it sad though?" the second said, "Whoever was hiding in the bushes wasn't willing to protect you."

Lovino turned his head to the side. He heaved, still coughing. "There's…there's no one…"

"Yeah right," the first said, kneeling beside him. He slammed the butt of his spear into the ground right in front of Lovino's eyes, laughing as he flinched. "We heard reports of a man falling from the Fourth Tier, presumably to his death. But, upon hearing other reports, he apparently flew like a bird. We knew he was still alive, and hiding on our Tier. You see, we've seen this trick before, and we caught the men who tried to invade the first time. How foolish someone thinks they can use the same trick twice and get away with it."

"Plus, why so eager to protect something that's not there?" the second quipped.

The soldier stumbled back. A curse gurgled in his throat where blood started spurting into the grass as he collapsed, dagger embedded in his neck. The other two jumped back, giving Lovino enough time to roll free then, scrambling to his feet, grab the dagger from the dead man and plunge it into the chest of another. The last, screaming, butted Lovino's head with the end of his spear so hard that he saw stars. He fell somewhere past the cloying tang of blood and blossoming pain, but struggled to find his way to his hands and knees, blinking past black dots in his vision.

A shape tumbled from the bushes, fresh dagger in hand. The last remaining soldier peppered the air with a warning whistle, but fell to a flash of steel.

"Goddammit—should have known everything was going too smooth—" Gilbert said. Even though his lover was disoriented, he pulled him up by the elbow, supporting him as best he could. "Hey, Lovino. We don't have much time. We have to figure something out—"

"Can hide…" Lovino mumbled. He rubbed at his eyes. Every breath brought him a firmer grip on reality. He licked his lips a little. Raw panic ate at the lining of his throat, til all he could taste was bile. "If they find you, you're as good as dead. Take the wings and go. Get out of here. I…I'll be fine. We can communicate with Gilbird. I'm strong and smart, remember? We'll figure this out together."

"Not sure if we have time," Gilbert said, pointing to where soldiers started to pour out of a side door. "Damn, it's like an anthill." He tried to put on a brave face, but he shook, his hands clammy where he gripped Lovino's shoulders. "Is it worth going out with a fight?"

"There has to be a way to negotiate or some shit—" Lovino said.

"Do you really think there is negotiation with these people-?"

They found themselves surrounded and Gilbert, honoring Lovino's wishes, dropped both of his daggers. They thudded into the ground like corpses. He stood with his head held high, releasing Lovino save for his hand.