Author's Note: I apologize for the slow updates recently. Life is a troublesome thing, sometimes. Rest assured, I'm still working on these fics, and I will finish them even if I die trying. To be completely honest, I doubt I'll ever stop writing for this fandom! Thank you all for being patient.

This was too familiar a setting. Matthew was in front of him, Ludwig was beside him, and Gilbert was staring at his hands and wondering what to say. But something was different. It was not storming, for one thing. But that was not it… there was something else, something that kept Gilbert's pulse slow, something that kept the proverbial bomb that ticked whenever his brother was around from being set off.

"Thank you for coming back, Ludwig," said Matthew finally. He and Ludwig exchange a short, weighted look that made Gilbert curious. Ludwig was the first to look away.

"Not a problem." Ludwig cleared his throat, his eyes fixed firmly on his shoes.

"It's been a while since we've done this." Matthew folded his hands against the desk and threw Ludwig another knowing look. Gilbert got the odd and strangely annoying feeling that he was missing something, here. "And I have a feeling things have changed a bit since then."

That, Gilbert understood perfectly well. He thought back to Christmas Eve, back to what very well could have been the best moment of his life, and was immediately caught between equally powerful urges to either blush or grin triumphantly.

Ludwig nodded. "I would be inclined to agree."

Matthew nodded back, and finally dropped his firm-as-steel stare. "So, I understand it's been quite awhile since you two have gotten together?"

"That's right," said Ludwig, no emotion on his face. "I tried to come before Christmas, but Gilbert was not thrilled about seeing me."

Now, it was Gilbert's turn to nod like some kind of robot. A small part of him felt the need to retaliate, to push the blame, but it was too slight of an urge to even acknowledge. What was the point, really?

"Any reason why that was, Gil?"

"Yeah." Gilbert shrugged. "It's just… it's been so long since I've even seen the guy, and then he just kind of, I don't know, fell out of the sky. It took me off guard."

Ludwig said nothing, and Matthew was the one to fill the silence. "So, it was a heat of the moment reaction?"

"Kinda." Gilbert looked towards the ground, growing uncomfortable, and for a slip second went for his sleeve. The jolt of shock was enough to bring his eyes forward again. "It's been months; literally months. It pissed me off that it took him so long."

"Was that it?" Ludwig sounded genuinely shocked. "Why did you not tell me that?"

"I dunno," Gilbert muttered, because he honestly didn't know.

"It can be difficult to convey those types of thoughts," Matthew cut in. "Ludwig, is there a reason you waited so long to visit?"

"Because," Ludwig let out a heavy, drawn out sigh, his shoulders loosening like a wall tumbling down as he turned to Gilbert, "I was positive you did not want me anywhere near you."

"Was that it?" Gilbert felt a sense of déjà-vu, but ignored it. It was well covered by the surprise, anyway. "Why didn't you just say that?"

Ludwig looked equally as perplexed. "I'm not sure."

Matthew let out a short, mirthless giggle. "You two really aren't all that different, you know." Before the words even set it properly, he added, "Gilbert, is that true? Did you not want to see him?"

Of course I didn't want to see him, was Gilbert's immediate, unconscious thought. But his next, the one to first make sense in his head and then eventually pass his lips, was, "No… No, I wanted to see him. I've been wanting to." Then, in a breath, "For awhile."

Ludwig's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?"

Gilbert only had the will to nod.

"Well, I would assume he would want to see you, Ludwig. You are his little brother." Gilbert figured he should be upset about Matthew speaking for him, but he wasn't. Nothing he said was untrue.

"Oh." Ludwig brought a large hand to his chin to scratch an invisible goatee. He looked down again, in that moment resembling the statue titled The Thinker. "I thought… I was under the impression you hated me."

"I never hated you, Ludwig. I only hate that you treat me like a fucking leper." It took Gilbert a second to register that the voice that spoke was his own, and even longer to realize he had not yet stopped. "I could never hate my baby brother." A breath. "Never."

"I never meant to make you feel that way." Ludwig blinked a few times, too rapidly. "I'm… sorry, Gilbert."

Gilbert had an immediate urge to scratch again, only for the purpose of pulling himself out of what had to be a dream. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard those words from his brother… if he ever had. "You must still think I'm insane though, right? That I'm making this all up?" It was nothing more than a decompression of building astonishment.

A pause. Then, after a sigh, a shake of the head, and a skipped beat of the heart, Ludwig whispered. "No, I do not."

"Ludwig and I have been talking," interrupted Matthew suddenly. "I think we're all on the same page now."

Gilbert blinked, unable to understand, to believe. "Really?" He was met with two nods. His eyes stung, and he looked away. He could barely force out, "Thanks," even if he wasn't sure whom the word was meant for. A weight the size of an empire lifted from his chest.

"I'm sorry, Gilbert." Ludwig's strong, firm voice sounded weak. "I am very sorry."

Gilbert could hardly believe it… not only had Ludwig apologized, he had done it twice. He was not sure whether he wanted to laugh at the absurdity or burst out in tears over the relief.

And Gilbert could think of nothing to do but return it. "I'm sorry, too."

Matthew did not say anything, but his audible, trembling sigh spoke volumes.

"Well," said Ludwig, still with an unfamiliar voice. He stood. "I think I'm due for surgery soon."

Gilbert was not entirely sure if he believed him, but either way, he didn't blame him. Ludwig could only handle so much of this heart-to-heart jazz at one time. Gilbert knew that, because Ludwig was, and always would be, his brother. He could hardly believe it… they were finally brothers again.

"Have fun cutting some poor sap up." Gilbert grinned, and Ludwig nodded. But when he made a move for the door, something in Gilbert snapped, and he stumbled to his feet. "Wait. Hold up."

Slowly, Ludwig turned back. "Yes?"

Gilbert took a bold step forward and, nearly laughing, threw his arms around his brother. It was a strange feeling – when had Ludwig gotten so damn big, anyway – but a much needed one. Even in this hospital, Gilbert felt at home for the first time in months. "I love you, you little shit," he said against Ludwig's broad, familiar shoulder.

So slowly and carefully that it almost seemed painful, Ludwig raised his arms and placed them around Gilbert. "I… love you, too." It was as if he was just now remembering how to say it. Then, as if to make up for something, "Always, Gilbert."

"Yeah, yeah." Gilbert spoke the words dismissively, but his voice caught in the middle, and it didn't end up very convincing. He didn't care. After another surreal, cleansing couple of seconds, he patted Ludwig three times on the back and stepped away. "Go do your job, kid."

"I'll be seeing you." Leaving that in his midst, Ludwig headed out into the hall and back to his own department.

Gilbert waited until the door was fully closed to explode. He turned to Matthew; grin shining bright, and practically shouted in his face, "Did you see that?"

"Yes." The word cracked, and Gilbert watched in partial awe as Matthew took off his glasses to dab at his eyes with his flannel sleeve. "Yes, I saw. That was… amazing, Gil."

"Oh, don't cry, you big nerd." Gilbert walked over to Matthew's desk and covered his hand with his, chuckling even as his chest swelled. "I'd have thought you'd be smiling."

"Oh, I'm very happy. Just…" Matthew sniffed, and then repeated, "I'm very happy. That's why I'm crying."

"Oh." Gilbert was not quite sure what to say to that – all this therapy, and he still wasn't good with all this emotional crap – yet he could not help but think that what Matthew was saying was valid. "Yeah, I'm pretty happy too, I guess."

"You should be." Matthew absently ran his hand from Gilbert's hand to his forearm, and his skin burned at the touch. "You've really been doing well, Gil."

"Yeah?" Gilbert grinned, pride bubbling in his chest that he did not dare to let show in his nonchalant expression. "I would hope so. I've been here for like, what, fifty years?"

"Close. It's been about six months," said Matthew with a light, heart-stopping laugh. "But…" He reached up and ruffled Gilbert's hair. "I think that's about all the time you'll need."

It took all Gilbert had not to let his jaw drop like a cartoon character as the implication sunk in like a boulder to the ocean. "You're telling me I can get out soon?" With each word, he further adopted the tone of an excited toddler.

"I think so." Matthew sounded almost as excited. "You might not be integrated, and you may never be, but I can tell The King is losing power. It won't be long before he can't control you any longer."

"Oh." It was as if someone had just explained to Gilbert that he would soon gain the ability to fly. Vision blurred from vertigo, he cupped the back of his neck and let out a long, slow breath. "Oh, shit. Wow."

Before Gilbert could even regain his composure, Matthew had his hands by his ears, his thumbs on his cheeks bones, and his lips on his mouth. Gilbert felt a rush of adrenaline as he sunk into the kiss – this was stolen, forbidden. It was perfect. Matthew pulled away, looked him in the eye, and whispered. "It won't be long," he said, the tears still visible. "Just hang in there."

.

When Matthew told Gilbert about coconsciousness sometime late fall, he had envisioned something theatrical – finding himself in a dark room somewhere in the recesses of his mind, staring The King dead in the face, maybe even fighting him, as if it was at all possible to punch a piece of himself in the face… something fit for movie screens, definitely.

When it actually happened, it did not end up being nearly as dramatic.

In fact, Gilbert was surprised he could even tell what was happening. It felt like a normal day. He had gotten up far earlier than he would like and showered, as always, choked down a god-awful breakfast, like always, and was sitting in his room with a book he had already read twice. That was when he was hit with the sudden, sickening feeling that he was not alone.

Gilbert sat up and looked around. His door was closed, and he looked to be alone, but he felt eyes on him, and he wondered whom they could belong to. Maybe it was Ivan again. He had showed up a few days ago in an attempt to bury the hatchet, shockingly, but Gilbert would not be surprised if he showed up to throw one last punch before he checked out and rode off into the sunset with Yao.

But Gilbert knew he wasn't there. There was no one in his room, but he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Then he heard the voice.

Hey, Gilly. Surprised to see me?

Gilbert froze. The voice was close to being in his head, but it was tangible, almost as if The King was sitting behind him. If anything, it was like he was in the background. So this is what it was like… to be completely honest, Gilbert was a little disappointed. How anticlimactic. "I can't see you," he muttered, careful to keep his voice down. Being caught talking to himself in his room would hardly help his chances of getting out of here.

Yeah, well, that makes two of us. I can't see you either. Thank God.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. His alternate personality was not only talking to him, but insulting him. Maybe he did belong here. "What do you want?"

Jesus, so testy. Are you on your period or something?

Gilbert scowled – at what, the wall? This was getting way too weird. "I don't have to take that from you. You don't even exist."

Wow, really? You're starting to sound like your brother.

It would have been an insult a week ago. But now, Gilbert just smirked, crossing his arms with a bit too much pride than the situation realistically allowed for. "Luddy and I made up, mind you."

A pause. Shit, really?

"Yes, really." Gilbert remembered the conversation and smiled. "Matthew was really happy about it, too."

Oh yeah, that. There was something really, really weird about hearing a disembodied voice in the back of his mind groan. You guys are like, together, right?

The King sounded… defeated. Gilbert could hardly believe it. Even though he could not be seen, he did his best to mask his shock with an arrogant grin. "Yep."

That's disgusting.

"Get used to it."

Whatever. There was a loud, almost fatigued sigh, and a long pause. It was as though The King had finally run out of things to say. But of course, that could not be true for long. When are you planning to tell him what got you here to begin with, buddy?

Gilbert's grin fell. All these months, and he had managed to forget his entrance… including the fact that he still had no idea what lead up to it. Tension building, he snapped, "How am I supposed to know? That was all your fault!"

Yeah, not entirely.

No, not this. Gilbert was not about to fall for this again. The King had lost most of his physical reign, and now he was trying to play mind games – something he was repulsively good at. "What the hell are you talking about?"

You called me out, asshole. Remember? You were at that bar, some guy pissed you off, and you let me take over. You wanted me to.

"No way," said Gilbert immediately, shaking his head as if that would make a difference. "I would never do that."

Well, you did. I knocked him out because it was your bidding, Gilbert. You should be thanking me. Bow to your King!

This was not the whole story. It couldn't be. Gilbert would not sick The King on someone just because he was irritated with him. That would be ridiculous, cruel… insane. It would make him someone deserving of being here… forever. "I don't believe you!" he shouted, even as his nerves screamed louder. "Why the hell would I do that?"

Because, Gil. There was laughter, and it echoed in Gilbert's mind, rung in his ears, pounded into his skull. You're a monster.

Then, with what felt like a blast of winter wind, his weighted presence was gone.

.

What should have been a joyous countdown turned into more of a death march. Since the day Gilbert experienced coconsciousness, he was forced to consider, and then reconsider, if they should be letting him out at all. Though he probably should, he doesn't dare tell Matthew. Now that things were looking up, he had no intention to spend it all spiraling down to hell over something he probably should have known all along.

Gilbert was a slave to his own cognitive dissonance. But thankfully, three days after The King made his appearance, two of the loudest distractions he could have asked for flew through the front door.

"Gilbert, mi puta!" cried Antonio, almost laughing, as the waltzed into the lobby like he owned the place. Francis practically skipped along beside him. "How the hell are you?"

"Shit, finally!" Gilbert called back as he crossed the room. "It's been awhile."

Francis nodded. "Ah, yes, our apologies."

There was no explanation, and honestly, Gilbert could not say he expected one. Francis and Antonio had visited a handful of times over the month, but it was never comfortable. There was always an air of something there, something that let the three of them know that things were not the same and could not be the same in this place, and forcing them to pretend was pointless.

Gilbert shrugged. "Whatever."

Silence was practically unheard of between them, but now it was inescapable. The questions were etched on Francis and Antonio's faces – when are you getting out? Are you ever going to leave? – But of course they didn't ask them aloud. They were too decent for that. Gilbert had the answers, and he should be thrilled about them, but after the other day… Gilbert pushed it away. Today, he had more good news than bad.

Gilbert put on his best, brightest, most enthusiastic grin."Gott, do I have a lot to tell you two!"

Antonio titled his head. "Yeah?"

Francis beamed. "Oh, do tell!"

"Ah, well…" Gilbert wondered where he should start. He settled on what he knew would both lighten the mood, and grab these idiots' attention more efficiently than anything else. "You guys remember Matthew?"

They both nodded, and Gilbert simply raised his eyebrows and smirked.

Francis's jaw actually dropped, and he gasped with the same dramatic, overblown shock that Gilbert had not realized he missed so much. "You cannot be serious."

Antonio threw his arms up and cheered. "I knew it! Francis, you owe me fifty dollars!"

"You guys were placing bets?"

Gilbert went completely ignored. "Toni, darling, your bet was that Gilbert would have his lovely therapist in bed by New Years." Francis then quirked an eyebrow, and looked pressingly at Gilbert.

Gilbert glared. "Looks like you're still broke, Antonio."

Antonio dropped his arms and stuck out his bottom lip. "Oh, mierda."

"Anyway," said Francis loudly, "Gilbert, are you saying you and Matthew are an item? How did this happen? Oh, don't you dare leave out a single detail!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, calm down," he said, though he could feel his own brand of girlish excitement building within him. "There was always a little something there. We finally got together when… Hell, I don't know." If Gilbert were to explain every prolonged glance, every lingering touch, every deep conversation, every step in this trial and error whirlwind of a relationship, they would be here all month. He said, "I guess Matthew couldn't resist my awesome charms anymore."

Francis clapped a hand to his chest. "Mon Dieu, how marvelous! Oh, Toni, our little Gil is growing up. Remember when he swore off romance forever?" He wiped away a tear that Gilbert was entirely sure was imaginary. "How terrible that was!"

Gilbert gave him a light punch on the arm. "Haven't changed a bit over the months, have you, Franny?"

Antonio laughed. The sound filled the entire room, and Gilbert was almost shocked by it. It had been so long since he heard that laugh. "No, he hasn't. And without you I've been his only caretaker."

"Yeah, speaking of that…" Gilbert internally resigned. Now was as good a time as ever, he supposed. "This place is getting kinda old. I think my little vacation will be ending soon."

Antonio stared at him, as if waiting for something. A moment passed, his eyes widened, and he said, "You're serious."

"Yeah." Then, it finally set in – Gilbert would be leaving soon. After all these months, someone was finally opening the cage door. "Finally," he breathed.

After a brief, waited moment of silence, Francis and Antonio immediately launched into an excited, disconnected flurry of congratulations, party plans, questions they left no time to answer, and god knows what else. Gilbert couldn't really understand any of it.

"Guys," he said after about a minute, and then, louder, "GUYS!"

"I apologize, this is just so exciting!" Francis nearly shouted. "Do you have an official date yet?"

"No, just… just chill out, okay? There's one little problem." Gilbert exhaled heavily, flipped a hand up, and said it. "The bar. I know what happened now."

The level of excitement dipped so fast and so hard that Gilbert physically felt it. Antonio and Francis shared a brief, shell-shocked look they probably hoped he wouldn't notice, and then looked back to Gilbert with robotic kindness. Antonio broke the tense silence. "How do you remember, Gil?"

Gilbert wondered how he could explain this. Oh, you know, I was just sitting in my room when my alternate personality decided to pop up and have a nice chat. Isn't that cool? He shook his head and said, "It's… a long story. That point is I remembered." Gilbert exhaled steadily through his nose, but it did nothing to steady his racing nerves. "I, I mean, he… beat some poor sap up. Pretty badly, I'm guessing."

"Oh, Gilbert." Francis sounded suddenly motherly. He lifted a hand, rested it on Gilbert's shoulder, and regarded him with an annoying amount of sympathy. "The broken leg… it was not even that bad!"

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Broken leg?"

Antonio nodded swiftly and rushed to cut in. "Yes, it was in… two places. At most! I'm sure they didn't even a problem getting the blood out of the carpet. Come on, Gil, you've done worse to yourself at a New Years party!"

"Antonio, you useless Spaniard, for once in your life, shush!"

Gilbert ignored his friends' incessant bickering. He jerked away from Francis's touch, his vision tunneling and his pulse in his ears. Broken bones, blood… and it was over what, a bar spat? And to think he called The King out on purpose, for something so petty… it was like Gilbert wanted him to control him; just so he could do Gilbert's own twisted bidding. Gott, he was going to be sick…

"Besides, Elizaveta is just fine!"

Gilbert looked up from the floor, heart is his throat. He could barely choke out, "Eliza? What the hell does this have to do with Eliza?"

Antonio narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you remembered."

Something in Gilbert snapped, and he exploded. "Well, I thought I did, but it's a lot worse than what I remember, apparently!" He threw his hands up and clutched his hair. "Did I have a problem with her that night, too? Is that why I called Fritz out? Or did I just feel like sicking him on everyone I looked at?"

"Gilbert, what-"

"And just how badly was she hurt?" Gilbert laughed, mirthless and broken. "All of this over some stupid little fight. Verdammt, I belong here!"

"What on earth are you going on about?" Francis looked incredulous. "Elizaveta was not hurt. If you hadn't stepped in, well… it may have been a different story."

Gilbert forced himself to take a breath. "What?"

Antonio turned to Francis. "Ooh… I don't think he remembers."

"Doesn't seem like it, does it?"

"I am right here!"

"Okay, okay." Antonio looked at Gilbert pointedly. "Gilbert, I don't know what you remember or what you have been lead to believe, but this is what really happened. The three of us went to a bar, yes? Just like every Friday night. But this time, we happened to spot Elizaveta and that Austrian fellow she's been seeing. His necktie was a little silly, I remember. Like something a grandpa would wear. And this taste in drinks, Dios Mio…"

Francis elbowed him. "On with it, Toni."

"Oh, yes. Well, after awhile, her fiancé went home – something about working early. Eliza decided to stay. I believe the barkeep was her friend. And, let me tell you, the gentleman a few seats away was very happy to see her alone."

"It was nothing too serious at first," interrupted Francis. "Our dear Eliza can certainly hold her own. A line was definitely crossed, however…" This time, Francis's long, deep breath did not look dramatized. "…When you saw him slip something into her glass."

"Oh." Gilbert's jaw nearly dropped in shocked understanding. The entire night was a senseless blur, but he kept getting strange, insistent feelings of déjà vu as they spoke, a sense that went hand in hand with losing time. Bits of memory began to surface over the muck of grey. "Oh, so he tried…"

"I'm afraid so." Francis clasped Gilbert's hand between both of his. "What happened next was ugly, but it was heroic, Gilbert. Whether your transition was voluntary or not does not matter."

Antonio smiled. "Smile, mi amigo! Looks like Fritz did something decent for once!"

So it wasn't over nothing. Thank god, it wasn't over nothing. Gilbert felt a huge, burning, stabbing weight lift from his shoulders, one he released with a heavy sigh. "Guess that bastard does have a heart," he mumbled, under his breath.

"What as that?" asked Antonio.

"Nothing… nothing." Gilbert shook his head, let the anxiety roll of his back, and grinned genuinely. "Now, let me tell the two of you about Mattie."

Drama forgotten, Francis and Antonio leant in eagerly, and Gilbert spoke with passion in his voice and ease in his heart until an orderly practically pushed his friends out the door.

To be continued...

Note: Puta = Bitch. Antonio, you jokester.