How Francis had so quickly dominated Europe was a question that frequently ran through Ivan's head.
With the Battle of Friedland just behind him, and the conference at Tilsit still fresh in his mind, the question only caused a surge of anger through his aching bones.
It was cold, dammit, and his limbs and pride were already hurt enough as it was. He didn't need the shouts of laughter and victory from the various concerts and parades to make his ears hurt as well.
Ivan blew a gruff breath of air and continued his steps through the snow. He'd much rather give his body a rest in the physical warmth he had beside his Tsar and his new ..friend (it was odd how Ivan loved that word until now). However, his mental state would gladly trade every drop of warmth in his body in exchange for some time away from the smug Frenchman who stood before Europe in prideful metals and rich land holdings.
He shook his head clear of Francis' smug smile and focused on where he was going.
"Why aren't you inside?" a struggling voice met his ears. Ivan ducked under the dead limbs of a tree to see Gilbert there, lying on his side. He was in horrible shape, battle wrecked and obviously suffering from having to flee both Berlin and Köngisberg, not to mention the fact that Ivan was forced to give about half of Gilbert's land to satisfy Napoleon and his Polish wench of a woman.
"I'd rather be out here, freezing with you, than inside, kissing Francis' robed ass in the warmth." He sat by the Prussian in the snow, pulling him up. Gilbert hissed in pain and Ivan gave a small apology, moving him in a more gentle manner until the Prussian was warmly tucked at his side. Ivan wrapped his wool cape around the both of them and leaned back against the large tree.
"You had to kiss him, didn't you? I saw it," Gilbert rasped. Ivan sighed, rubbing his hand gently on the Prussian's upper arm in both an attempt to warm and comfort him.
"I didn't like it. Alexander wanted me to marry France, but thankfully it was decided to not have us wed."
"I would have stabbed Francis through his pretty little heart if he forced you to marry him," Gilbert growled.
"I know you would have," Ivan simply said, knowing full and well that Gilbert could barely fight even Lovino at this point. The Prussian's pride was crushed, and Ivan didn't want to make that any worse by reminding him of him barely being able to walk. "Besides, if I ever marry someone, it'll be you." He nuzzled his nose into Gilbert's hair, happy to just breathe in his scent.
"That's for damn sure."
They sat in silence for a while after that, just resting against each other and basking in the fact that they were both still alive and together. After Ivan had heard word of the Prussians fleeing Köngisberg, he was genuinely fearful of Gilbert's death, and he was more than happy to find his white head of hair in Tilsit a couple days ago. And, even though they were both bleeding and broken, they had each other, and that's all Ivan could care for at that moment. He could care less about Europe being taken over or his loss of the Ionion Islands, he just wanted to see Gilbert again.
"Where's Armin?" he asked, suddenly remembering Prussia's dying younger brother.
"Somewhere safe."
"Is he-"
"Still dying."
Ivan's chest pulled at Gilbert's laconic tone. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. It's Roderich's."
The Russian man closed his eyes, feeling as if the world had finally snapped and gone mad. Everything felt hopeless; lost. Ivan didn't know what had purpose anymore and what didn't.
"I love you," he whispered, finding small tears stinging his eyes. Was that because of the cold, or the pain?
"I love you, too." Gilbert spoke barely audible. His voice was almost completely gone, so Ivan tapped a finger to his chapped lips.
"If it hurts to talk, don't."
"Everything hurts anyways. And I want to talk to you," he said. "You've done so much for me, I owe you my life."
"Hey, no." Ivan shifted enough to look down at his shivering lover. He raised Gilbert's chin to look into his eyes, needing the Prussian to see how serious he was. "We don't do that to each other. We don't owe each other for protecting each other, just the same as how we don't apologize for needless wars with each other. It's all politics."
Gilbert sighed, his breath billowing in a white frost against Ivan's chin. "Okay." He didn't sound convinced.
"Say 'okay' and mean it to me, Gilbert."
The albino's tired eyes just stared at him. "I do mean it, Ivan, I just hate how this all went down."
That puzzled Ivan. "What do you mean?"
"Thirty-three days," Gilbert basically growled in frustration. Ivan was slightly taken at the sudden hostility in his voice. "It took Francis thirty-three days to take over my entire country! I surrendered within thirty-three days, Ivan! Do you know how weak that is?"
"You continued to fight him," Ivan tried.
"And where did that get me? Or you? We continued to fight, but you lost almost half of your entire army to help me, in my country that was already doomed from the start."
"You were pretty badass in Danzig-"
"A battle that he still won and took my prized port city."
"We almost beat him in Eylau."
"And yet, we didn't."
"We came closer than anyone else had!"
Gilbert shook his head. "That doesn't change what we- what I still lost and forced you to help me with."
"You did not force me to do anything, Gilbert! What has gotten into you?"
"Everything!" Gilbert cried. "Everything has gotten into me! I lost my family, I barely saved my brother from Roderich, who's dying alone in a house I had to move him to because I wasn't strong enough to fight off Francis! Francis, who was barely still alive hardly a decade ago! And then you had to come save me and get pulled down with me and you almost just had to marry Francis, all because I couldn't stop him in Jena!"
Ivan stared at him, taken aback by his sudden outburst.
"And you think this entire war is all your fault? Gilbert, I was already getting my ass handed to me by Napoleon in Austerlitz, in Oülmtz, even. Roderich got his ass handed to him, so did Spain and everyone else Francis has fought." Gilbert huffed, looking down at the snow below him. Ivan firmly but gently gripped his chin, pulling his gaze back up to meet his. "I will not let you close yourself away from me. We don't do that to each other. This war is not your fault. Say it."
Gilbert's eyes glanced between his, asking if he really had to say it out loud. Ivan's own gaze was firm. A couple moments passed before the Prussian gave in.
"The war isn't my fault."
"And you are not weak." Gilbert narrowed his eyes at him. Ivan simply continued. "You've fought harder than anyone else."
"Not true."
"Oh, yeah? Who else has fought as hard as you have?"
"You, Ivan," he said. Ivan blinked. Then, he sighed.
"Fine. Say you and I are the best, strongest team."
Gilbert gave a small laugh, bringing a joyful flutter to Ivan's chest.
"You and I are the best, strongest, most stubborn and kick-ass team in the world," Gilbert chuckled. Ivan smiled and kissed Gilbert's cold, pink nose.
"That's more like it. And those are very true words, you know."
A small spark of the Prussian's signature mischievousness appeared in his eyes and he gave a smirk.
"You at my side is all I need, Vanechka. You know you're my strength."
"And you're mine, Liebling." Gilbert chuckled at his German.
"Your German is laughable."
"Your Russian is just as such, моя зайка."
Gilbert closed his eyes and scrunched his nose at his lover. Ivan just smiled and leaned down to kiss his lover's lips. They were cracked and cold, but it was all Gilbert, and that kiss was enough to ward off the winter air that bit at his body.
Ivan noticed the slight quiver in Gilbert's lips and pulled the cloak closer around them. He gently hugged the Prussian's small body closer to his, careful of his wounds, and broke the kiss to breathe.
"We'll get through this," Ivan whispered, keeping his lips close to brush against Gilbert's. "Like we always do. As long as we're here for each other."
Gilbert nodded and rested his forehead to Ivan's. Then, he shifted to press his head against Ivan's chest. The Russian, in turn, rested his head on the Prussian's. He grabbed his hand and held it while keeping his other arm wrapped securely around Gilbert's battered body.
Tomorrow, they would go their separate ways again: Ivan back to his capital to discuss the new friendship with the French aristocrats, and Gilbert back to who knows where to take care of his brother and hide from French occupants.
But tonight, Ivan just wanted to hold Gilbert close. And he knew all Gilbert wanted was to be held against the Russian's chest, safe and in love.
And, god, Ivan really didn't want to part ways just yet.