Dating Advice for Germans and Americans Chapter 7a of 8
January 11th, Derbyshire,
07.44am
After a night of poor, interrupted sleep, Ludwig awoke to find a neatly folded pile of clothes on the floor beside his bed. He studied the garments regretfully, having begun unconsciously to hope that simply wishing for the second day of the Conference to go better than was pre-ordained would be enough to keep him from his fate. The camouflage, gloves and helmet told him he had been an idiot for falling prey to such optimism.
The German also looked to his bedside table, where a second Iron Cross laid, its chain threatening to tangle with that of his own. The sight brought back, much to his displeasure, the recollection of his brother's vague account of how he had acquired it using methods so ingenious and seductive that the moment had been "so epic people would write ballads about it, if they weren't already" by the East German's own estimation. Ludwig placed both about his neck as the door opened, admitting Arthur already clad in his camouflage, gloves stored in his helmet which he swung at his side.
"Morning."
Ludwig fixed the man with a tired glare, earning him a haughty, crossed arm glare of expectation from the Englishman in return.
"Must we do this?" he asked.
"'Course we must."
"I am still confused as to how this activity is diplomatic, Arthur."
"It's character defining and promotes the building of relationships within teams," Arthur said, turning to face one wall at a shooing gesture from the German as the man climbed out of bed.
"It's paintball," Ludwig corrected him, taking off and folding his nightwear and donning the camouflage, "It is, simply, giving an angry Italian and an angry American guns."
"I booked it all at a time when the Italian was loveable and vivacious and the American was just a well-built nuisance."
"And I assume," Ludwig said once dressed, turning back to the other man, "That now that you have seen what will happen, you have no suggestions as to how we can protect ourselves?"
Arthur, looking especially sheepish, muttered something to his pair of scuffed steel-toe boots.
"I did not hear that."
"I said," The Englishman repeated in a grudgingly louder tone, "That I haven't even managed to rig the teams so we really are stuffed. I'm under a fair amount of stress," he said defensively, his hand seeming ready to grip his helmet a little tighter and little more defensively, "I can't be expected to be at the peak of my organisational powers," he gave Ludwig an expectant look, "Come on though, let's get to it. There'll be no leftover Chinese for breakfast at this rate."
Ludwig followed his host out of the room, noting the sound of people moving, sluggishly, behind several of the closed doors they passed, one cracking open enough for him to catch sight of a disgruntled Roderich, also dressed ready for the paintball game.
"I am tempted to take heed again of your previous advice, Arthur," Ludwig noted, earning himself a hopeful expression from the Englishman which he felt a grim joy from quashing, "That suggestion of creating a list of the issues I have with Feliciano. If you will recall, I told you that the list I sent you was not inclusive. That being said, I imagine the list of the problems I have with you would be considerably longer than the completed list for my lover."
Arthur sat, or rather slumped, down beside the German at the dining table, "I really wouldn't mind being on your team later."
"It would be a favourable outcome for you, yes."
09.03am
"This is seriously the only time this weekend that I haven't wanted to go back to bed."
"Ve?"
Alfred lifted up his helmet, "I said, this is the first time we've done something exciting. All that touchy-feely crap yesterday was a total waste of time."
The Italian mumbled an agreement, clearly only half listening. Alfred followed the man's gaze and spotted him studying another pair of men ahead of the general straggle of men and women making their way toward the woods where the paintball was to take place. They too were already wearing their helmets but were easily identifiable. The taller man had a purposeful stride and a firm gait, the other possessing a marching step. Whilst Alfred watched the pair the second man managed to catch the toe of his boot under a raised tree root and stumbled. The muffled cursing that the man spouted afterwards confirmed Alfred's suspicions.
"So," the American said, glancing away at length, although he sensed himself considering both men out of the corner of his eye all the while, "I'm thinking we shoot for me, you, Ivan, maybe Berwald – big guys, angry guys – in our team. I mean, Ivan is," Alfred gritted his teeth in an expression that suggested mere words were insufficient to express his emotions, "But if we want to really kick their asses, we need big, crazy guys with no reservations."
"Sure," Feliciano agreed again. Alfred noticed for a second time that morning the man rubbing absently at his collar bone, clothed as it was in their paintballing gear.
"Are you in pain?" Alfred asked, gesturing to the man, "You should say if you are, it's just a stupid game, no one will care if you skip."
"No, I'm fine," at last the man seemed to come to his senses and admitted to his friend, quietly, "I don't really want to play though. I don't like this kind of thing. I just want to go home."
"Yeah, me too," Alfred agreed, "But the way I see it, when life gives you lemons, shoot English guys in the ass with paintball pellets, right?"
As though inspired by his own declaration, The American let himself give the Englishman's backside a little look. The expression soon changed to a glower when he saw how often Arthur fell over either undergrowth or his own big boots, all of which offered Alfred a disturbingly appealing view of that particular part of the man's anatomy.
09.21am
Throughout the safety talk, which went a little way to calm Ludwig's nerves, it was clear that most of the others were tuning in and out. The crowd's eyes darted about as everyone sought out friends, enemies or lovers and began to organise themselves into their ideal teams in their own minds.
Naturally, when it came time for the teams to be randomly drawn, very few people were happy with their lot. Ludwig himself was disappointed because his name was followed moments later by that of "Arthur Kirkland". Likewise, the Englishman appeared equally awkward when "Alfred F. Jones"' name was also called for their team. Once again, in spite of an attempt to wish as hard as he could, much as he had done on that shooting star back in the war (an effort which had failed miserably), Feliciano was assigned to another of the three teams. The lists drawn up, each group formed a little huddle before the play started.
Through some unspoken arrangement, Arthur took it upon himself to act as the team leader, darting intense, steely eyed glances at everyone bar the American from under his eyebrows.
"My proposal is that we trounce the others. Anything to add?"
The Frenchman gave a sigh, readily identifiable by how often he tugged at the shapeless clothing which he had already declared "hideous".
"You are truly an idiot, eyebrows."
"Why is it that I always end up on your side?"
"Life is very cruel in that way."
"And what the hell does that mean, precisely?"
As both men came close to head butting each other their helmets were so closely inclined, Kiku cleared his throat politely.
"We may wish to focus upon strategies and "battle plans", not creating divisions within our own ranks."
Ludwig gave the man a thankful look, "I agree."
"Oh, wait!" Alfred spoke up suddenly, startling Raivis with the volume of his exclamation, "I've got it! We combine all our ammo and create a kind of giant-mega paintball gun so, say, if they hide behind trees or whatever, we just blow the trees away and get 'em anyway!"
Ludwig and Arthur exchanged a glance which Ludwig interpreted as Arthur seeking sympathy for being in love with such a person. Ludwig returned a wince.
"I think that may be beyond our means, Alfred," Toris said gently. The Lithuanian man was considering the other groups in turn, in which Gilbert could be seen gesticulating wildly, whilst Ivan was simply smiling and looking at each of his team mates with a combination of wry amusement and expectation.
"Yeah. Let's think simpler," the Dane said, "Simple stuff that takes out Berwald."
"Diplomacy," Ludwig muttered in Arthur's direction, "And developing relationships."
"Oh shut it, Kraut," Arthur snapped in return. He studied the rest of the group, "Any takers? Come on, we're nearly out of time."
"I've gotta few ideas," Sadiq nodded, goggles completely hiding the man's eyes from view, "Everybody come in a little closer and I'll run it by ya."
09.59am
Crouched behind a convenient natural barricade of logs and acting as protection for those members of his team attempting to take out other players, Arthur began to realise that the only advantage of Sadiq's battle plan was that it gave everyone a focus. It suffered a great deal, on the other hand, from the fact that the other teams appeared to be taking the approach of simply shooting wildly at anything that moved, including rustling leaves and their own players.
A more tangential benefit of a plan involving defence, attackers and scouts was also that it gave the Englishman a valid excuse for admiring the sight of Alfred looking intensely involved in a physical activity. That much had always been something that Arthur had found enjoyable, although the helmets rather spoiled the effect, he thought with a sigh that fogged up his goggles.
Sometime later, during which the Englishman had little or no opportunity to shoot at anyone or anything, Ludwig reappeared at his side, his arrival announced by a volley of paintballs which the man managed to outrun by a matter of inches.
"What's going on?" Arthur asked, when the German looked like he had his breath back.
"It's chaos," Ludwig said, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead behind his goggles, "Herakles and Sadiq have taken each other out; Francis has been shot in... a sensitive area and no one knows who is responsible. Feliciano is quite far away, so I believe we are safe for now. Only two teams remain: ours and his. The others are all out."
"Damn. Who's on the other team again? Feliciano, Antonio – no offence to your man but I can't see how he's stayed alive this long."
"You're forgetting," Germany said, with a wearied and surprisingly wide-eyed stare, "The other person they drew."
Arthur considered, "Gilbert? I saw him go down in a blaze of paintballs from Roderich and Elizabeta, laughing like a lunatic."
"Ja," Ludwig sighed, joining Arthur in watching Alfred in the distance, still darting from tree to tree, "But I wasn't referring to my brother. The team comprised originally of Antonio, Feliciano, Gilbert, Peter-"
"I took him out," Arthur said, smugly.
"He's a child."
"It was still fantastically satisfying."
"As I was saying – Peter, Timo, Ivan-"
"Is Ivan still active?" Arthur interjected.
"No. Yong Soo took him out in an attempt to defend Yao from Ivan's, well, "advances"."
"I see. So, who am I forgetting? We can beat that sorry bunch, easily!"
"That team," Ludwig started up again more doggedly than before, "Originally comprised of Antonio, Feliciano, Gilbert, Peter, Timo, Ivan and Vash."
At the name Arthur sprawled further against the barricade, looking limp, "Oh, we are fucked, aren't we?"
"Ja."
10.12am
"Here," said Vash, passing Feliciano his own empty gun and continuing to hold out his hand expectantly, "Pass me your gun and go and get more pellets."
The Italian obliged, running off to grab some of their ammo stock. Upon his return, he saw Vash stood behind a tree, darting his arm out at intervals to fire calculated shots. The squeaks, yelps and thuds that sounded out in the distance were indicative of their success.
"This would be a much more effective exercise with real guns," Vash sighed, grabbing the new cartridge from the Italian, fitting it in a single motion and roaring out "You're mine, Lovino!"
The shot definitely reached his brother, Feliciano knew, from how it was followed shortly afterward by loud and crude shouts. Afterwards, an unnerving silence fell.
"Is he... is he actually dead?" he asked the Swiss man timidly. The look in the other's eyes, Feliciano realised, was exactly the same as the one Vash wore whenever he tried to shoo either himself or Francis off "his Alps".
"No," Vash punctuated the word with another shot, "No, he isn't," the man sounded particularly saddened by the fact.
Feliciano nodded meekly and took a step back to give the other young man room in which to do his work, "Have you taken out Ludwig yet?"
"No. He's fast," the Swiss man's tone again was disapproving, "Give it time. And please, just let me do my job."
"Vash, this is just a game - you do realise that, right?-" Feliciano gave up on speaking, however, when his words were lost in another volley of gunfire from the Swiss man.
10.37am
"The action isn't progressing," Ludwig noted after a time, causing Arthur to look up from his attempt to rub feeling back into his deadened knees, "At the current rate of play we will be here all day long."
"Does it matter? Come on Ludwig, attrition and wearing Vash down through boredom are probably our only hopes right now. We're hardly likely to out-shoot him, are we?"
"No. But I can take out Feliciano."
Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise, although from Ludwig's continued solemn frown he imagined the German was unable to read the expression, masked as it was by his helmet, "Well, if you want to try."
"I imagine I'll be a sacrifice to Vash," Ludwig said matter of factly as he raised himself up to his feet, "But you will still have Alfred when he returns from his scouting so you will at least you outnumber Vash. Perhaps the pair of you could concoct a plan to use that to advantage," his tone turning more thoughtful and slightly gentler, the man concluded, "You may also be forced to talk to each other one on one and perhaps you will begin to rectify the problems in your relationship, Arthur."
Arthur gave him a small smile, "Cheers Ludwig. I'll see you at dinner then."
"Tschau," Ludwig's own eyes creased with a smile behind his goggles before he grabbed his gun once more and, with a quick glance in the direction of Vash's hide-out, ran for the nearest cover.
10.49am
Ludwig cleared his throat quietly, gazing sadly down at the crouched form of his lover as the man carefully lined up canisters of paintballs from the dropped weapons of those who had left the game. Body turning stock still for a moment, Feliciano eventually turned and glanced up at the man, clearly unsurprised to see him, identifying the German from his cough alone.
"The game is nearly over," Ludwig said somewhat lamely, "Vash has taken everyone else out."
Feliciano nodded, "Yes; he's very good," he looked from Ludwig's paintball gun to the man's face, "Are you going to do it then?"
The German appeared to falter and then, swiftly, Feliciano leant down and grabbed a gun he hadn't yet dismantled. He raised it and aimed at the man's chest, causing Ludwig to take a step back in surprise.
"Feliciano?"
"Ask me," the Italian said coolly whilst Ludwig tried as hard as he could to decipher the man's expression, half-hidden behind his goggles. The man's narrowed eyes were not a good omen.
"Ask you what?"
"Whether I'm going to do it."
Ludwig only had the time to open his mouth before he heard the crack of the paint pellet leaving the gun and felt it thud against his chest. He placed his own gun on the floor in silence and turned to leave the wood. He stopped, however, as he heard a curious sound, a gentle crunching noise that was impossible to place.
Carefully, he turned to see Feliciano rubbing his gloved hands together. A second later the man pulled them apart to reveal the bright yellow paint splattered over them both, the remains of the paintball shell rubbed into either palm.
"There," he said in a lacklustre tone, joining Ludwig's side and walking with the man through the trees, "We're both finished, right?"
"Yeah," Ludwig picked up his pace, head bowed, in an attempt to put distance between Feliciano and himself. He was surprised when the man followed suit, matching his pace and eventually catching his eye.
"It's this way back to the house," Feliciano said, pointing to his right, "I remember because I thought about heading back a couple of times - I didn't really want to play. So follow me."
"Oh. Okay," Ludwig agreed and followed the man's lead, listening to the sound of their footsteps combined in quiet of their surroundings, Feliciano's gentler and rapid, his own slower and monotonous.
10.51am
Arthur gave Alfred an uneasy look as he returned to his side, unable as he was to gauge the man's expression behind his helmet.
"Ludwig and Feliciano just took each other out," he said, "Sort of. It's us and Vash left now at any rate," he said to the man, "I'm beginning to think we're scuppered."
Alfred moved his helmet a little so as to be able to fix Arthur more clearly in his sight through his goggles. To the Englishman's mind, he looked both weary from his running and from something less apparent, "I guess. We can't just give up though."
"It is just a game."
"It's the principle," the American insisted, his getting lower and hoarser with his increasing conviction, "Losers just give up. Heroes fight 'til the end."
Arthur couldn't hide his own eager stare at the words, "Yes. I've always believed in that. Always try everything you can before you just lie down and take whatever's happening to you. If something's good and worthwhile, you should never leave it for dead, never give it up without a fight."
"Yeah," Alfred agreed uncomfortably, "I guess I think the same," he squinted out across the wood, spotting Vash lying in wait behind one tree, "I've got an idea, if you want to try it."
"I can't think how to break the stalemate myself. Ludwig's idea didn't help much."
Alfred nodded, "Okay then. Remember that movie we watched?" again the American seemed awkward as he said, "When you came over to mine last, I mean."
"Which one? Surely not that horror flick "the Cottage". This weekend is about diplomacy."
"No. The other one. Hot Fuzz."
Arthur's eyes widened with understanding.
10.53am
The Swiss man frowned as he saw Arthur and Alfred fling themselves through the space between two separate clumps of trees, each firing two paintball guns as they went.
Still, surprised as he was, Vash easily moved out of the way of their shots and with two well placed shots of his own took out both men, hitting each squarely in the chest. He heard their near-simultaneous yells as they fell to the floor.
"Aw, damn it."
"Ow. Bugger."
Vash huffed out a breath and slung his paintball gun back over his shoulder. Turning to look behind him, he called out.
"Little sister, it's safe now."
The blonde girl clambered out from behind a log, dusting down her pristine camouflage and looking mildly embarrassed as she studied her brother.
"You really didn't have to, Vash."
The Swiss man gave another huff in reply.
10.55am
"Eh, I think we're lost," the Italian finally said as he gazed up to find himself in a clearing with a strange bench hewn and crafted from twisted tree branches which also canopied the seat. Ludwig too came to his senses and out of a silent reverie.
"We've been walking the wrong way," Feliciano felt the unspoken implication that it was his own fault for leading the way, "The house is back there."
"Yeah, I see it," still, the Italian sat down on the bench and let out a weary breath, giving a muscle in his calf a rub. After some hesitation, the German joined him, his breath misting before him and, Feliciano noted fondly, his cheeks and nose red from the cold.
"You could have just asked me to give it you back, you know."
The German instantly turned to face him, eyes wide.
"You know what I'm talking about," Feliciano said, almost smiling wryly from the discomfort he felt, "I know what Gilbert was doing last night. I'm not stupid; well, not that stupid."
"You're not stupid," Ludwig disagreed earnestly, "But Arthur is."
"Huh?"
The German went on, leaning against the bench with Feliciano soon following suit, finding the twisted and unshaped surface uncomfortable where it prodded between his shoulder blades.
"It was Arthur's idea that I should find a way to take your necklace and pretend to help you find it. He said it would make me look heroic," the man tailed off somewhat uneasily, clearly wishing to avoid mentioning why heroics were necessary to begin with. A thoughtful look seemed to pass across his face which prompted Feliciano to speak up.
"Yeah, I don't think you two are together now," the Italian said quietly, "I'm sorry I threw my underwear at you, and that phone."
"It's okay. It was understandable. Again, Arthur's an idiot, he has no idea about confidentiality."
"He was the "correspondent" though, wasn't he?"
"Yeah," Ludwig agreed before asking, "Why don't you think we're together, though?"
"Because he's really upset about Alfred," the other man said, shrugging and feeling his mood dip as he recalled the night before, "I've never seen him like that. He was... obviously upset. Arthur usually keeps stuff in, like," he shot a sidelong look at his lover, "Well, kind of like you."
Ludwig spoke up, looking out at the river that ran before the field they were sat in, parts of it threatening to freeze, the waters a murky grey-green, "He was my correspondent because I was writing to him for-" he paused, "For dating advice, basically. Because I am also an idiot."
"Arthur?" Feliciano clamped his mouth tight for a moment as though a bubble of laughter was liable to violently burst forth from him, "You asked him? What about Francis?"
"Like you said, me and Arthur are alike in some respects, I suppose," the German said simply, "Can you see me benefitting from any romantic advice given by Francis?"
Feliciano saw that Ludwig was puzzled at his own pensive expression, sitting forward as he was, frowning intently at nothing.
"Then," Feliciano shook his head, "Why are we fighting?"
"I don't know. I really don't."
The Italian winced at the note of pain in Ludwig's tone, and also, at the suggestion held within it that whilst they had resolved that particular issue, they were not yet capable of being happy once again. He turned to face Ludwig fully, uncomfortable at having to do so but enjoying being able to openly study his lover for the first time in weeks, "I'm really sorry."
"No," the German said with sudden vehemence, "No, it is not your fault."
"It is though," the Italian suddenly took the man's gloved hand and held it between both of his own in a kind of supplication, "I didn't understand you. It's my fault."
"How do you mean?"
Turning awkward once more, Feliciano continued, looking at their held hands as he did so, "You just questioned everything. You asked me how I liked my food, where I'd like to go out at night, what should you wear, when I'd like to go home, how I felt. Did I want sex? How?" he stopped as he felt the man considering pulling away, squeezing Ludwig's hand a little tighter, "And... Well, the truth is, I started to think that maybe you just wanted to end things."
Ludwig's look was enough of a question to inspire Feliciano to go on with his explanation, "I thought it meant that you'd had enough but you were trying, I don't know, maybe trying to get me to realise things were over by making me want to leave you instead of just saying yourself."
"Oh," the German nodded slowly, mulling over the man's words, "But why the decorating? When you started it you seemed happy, but the longer it went on you became... angry about it."
"It's really stupid," Feliciano warned, letting go of Ludwig's hand at last to wrap his arms about himself with a shiver.
"Tell me, please? I really don't understand; I'm sorry."
"I know."
"And I love you."
"I know that, too," Feliciano smiled, feeling how the cold had made his lips dry, the skin cracking a little as he pulled the expression, "It's like this..." he peered out from under his lowered eyelids, through his lashes, "You don't need me," he held up a hand, wagging an admonishing finger, "Don't interrupt yet."
"Okay."
"Okay. You don't need me," he went on, "Because you're really - I guess it's because you're business-minded and clever and everyone likes you for that. You're really independent. You'd be fine without me. But me and my brother, we've always relied on other people and the only things I'm any good at are stuff like cooking and painting," he said noncommittally. His voice lowered as he added, "And, of course – and it's not your fault so don't apologise or I'll hit you – you don't remember when we were kids, so it's again like I need you more than you need me. I guess I thought that if I did all that decorating you'd sort of have to keep me around because, no offence but you're too heavy handed for that kind of stuff."
There was a silence as Ludwig considered Feliciano's words.
"But you don't realise," he spoke up at length, "That I wanted to be "business-minded and clever" because of you. I want to be as good as I can be because of you. I could just sit and drink beer and eat all day-"
"You mean like your brother?"
"If you tell him that, he'll seize your vital regions," The German warned, before pressing on, "But I do need you. I need you to," he contemplated, looking at the distant, misty outline of hills on the horizon, "To give me a purpose."
Feliciano wriggled uncomfortably but Ludwig went on doggedly, "And besides, you cook for me, you sing, you paint, you dress me, you take care of me when I'm ill-"
"Yeah, yeah," the Italian said with embarrassment.
"No," Ludwig almost seemed to turn almost angry or at least decisive and sincere as he overrode the other man, taking a firm hold of Feliciano's hands and looking at him through slightly narrowed eyes, "It's nothing to "yeah yeah". I mean it. I need you," Feliciano's eyebrows lifted a little at the surprise of seeing Ludwig, after a few uncertain twitches of his mouth, hitch a sly, teasing and indeed relieved looking smile onto his lips, although the expression in the German's eyes looked baffled by the development, "You're an idiot for thinking I didn't need you, you realise? I can't remember the last time I picked out an outfit in the morning for work or cooked my own breakfast."
"Hey," The Italian bridled a little, "You were angry with me too; you pulled away from me, too! And you just said I wasn't stupid."
"No, but you are an idiot," Ludwig insisted, his smile slipping and becoming crooked as he added, "And I guess I can be foolish as well."
"Why were you being weird with me?" At the man's puzzlement, Feliciano explained, "There were so many times when you looked at me as though we were fighting. You looked really defensive and insulted."
"I..." Ludwig mused, "I couldn't stop thinking about how vibrant and how lively and how beautiful you are and I wondered if you'd make some kind of mistake by agreeing to be with me," he added, with a wince, "You yawned mid-coitus on one occasion."
Feliciano scowled, "You got home late from work! And," he admitted, "I was annoyed at you for working so much, so I thought I'd try and get a rise out of you."
"Oh," Feeling a shiver run through the Italian, Ludwig began to chafe the man's hands with his own. He appeared to focus upon the action as he spoke, "I see. That would not have been very effective since I like to work when I'm feeling stressed."
Slipping his hands out from Ludwig's grasp, Feliciano leant forward, shaking his head despairingly as he planted a kiss on the German's chin, "You definitely are an idiot too."
"I'm your idiot," Ludwig told him, and the Italian moved up a little closer so that he could, when Ludwig bowed his head, press his lips against the other man's with a contented smile.
Feliciano pulled back enough to study how Ludwig seemed to be working a hand down the collar of his camouflage. The action was soon explained when one finger reappeared with the chain of a necklace hooked about it. Seeing Ludwig fumble with the clasp, the Italian reached out and undid the clip for him, holding it out to the German afterward. With an appreciative nod, Ludwig took the chain and gestured with a flick of one fingertip for Feliciano to lift his chin a little. The man smiled at the gloomy, swirling mess of the English winter sky overhead as he felt Ludwig fasten the necklace back about his own neck, stroking his hair free of the chain. Feliciano gave a pleasant shiver at the sensation of the slightly warm metal settling back against his skin afterwards and, with an even more peaceful expression on his face he tilted his head enough for his lover to place him a kiss on the pulse beating in his neck.
A/N"Hot Fuzz" As Arthur notes in another chapter, Hot Fuzz is a British action/comedy "buddy cop" movie. It's the perfect blend of American action (the film pays tribute to countless action movies and mentions several) and British humour. Another film by Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, "Shaun of the Dead" is a similar blend of American horror and British humour. I like to think that those movies are two of a very select few that Arthur and Alfred could watch together without too much griping from either of them.