Chapter 10

One's Weaker Self

One of Alfred's stronger points in life had always been his overactive imagination, and many times that was far more of a curse.

Like now.

Because it was pretty damn terrible to see that younger, brighter Ludwig up in his head, to see the movie that Ludwig sold him, and then to open his eyes, look over, and see Ludwig now, downtrodden and sad and defeated, clinging to thin hope despite the world and all odds being against him.

Didn't match up, because Ludwig wasn't being honest.

Ludwig, who had fallen in love and refused to see the fault in Ivan.

A very great deal had been left out of this story. Ludwig had conveniently neglected to mention anything that would have been explained all of those violence markers Alfred had spotted in the house. Ludwig admitted to verbal abuse, slaps, but that was all. Hadn't mentioned the beatings that Alfred knew damn well had occurred, not one time, and hadn't explained what had brought about the pending divorce.

Hadn't explained why Gilbert had hired Alfred.

Hadn't explained why, when Ludwig had first spied Alfred following him, he had begged him not to tell Ivan that he had seen him.

What had happened between Ludwig leaving the hospital and Gilbert hiring Alfred? So many gaps. This was only half of the story, the more acceptable half, and Alfred knew he was being had a bit.

How could Ludwig ever hope for anyone to understand when he glossed things over so much and omitted so many details?

Ludwig tried so hard to make Ivan seem less abusive than he was.

It didn't work with Alfred, as little as it had with Gilbert and Toris. Ludwig could try and try all night, but Alfred wasn't swayed.

Ludwig met his eyes then, and breathed, almost desperately, "Well? Can you understand? Something is wrong with him. It's not his fault. Right? How could he have changed so much, unless something was wrong? He just needs help, but no one will listen to me. Do you understand?"

Oh...

Wanted to, he really did, and maybe in some way he did understand a little. He really did understand that Ludwig wanted so badly to cling to some sense of normalcy, to hold on to that love he had, to pretend that something really was just wrong and that it wasn't Ivan's fault, and yet...

What Ludwig saw wasn't what Alfred saw.

Alfred saw an ambitious man that had started off alright and then had started caving in to the stress of marriage and work, worsened by the death of his mother, and then solidified by drugs. Ivan had spiraled downward, had become depressed and failed to handle it, had become violent and dangerous, and Ludwig couldn't see that, yeah, it was Ivan's fault. It was, because Ivan hadn't taken the proper steps to address his issues, and had turned to drugs instead. Ivan had taken the wrong path, and there was no one to blame but himself. Ludwig could pretend all he wanted, but that didn't change the fact that every decision Ivan made was his own. No one had forced Ivan's fist into the air and demanded that he beat the one person that trusted him all the way.

It was Ivan's fault.

At last, Alfred gave a helpless raise of his shoulders, and said, uselessly, "I'm sorry. I understand... I understand Gilbert. I understand Toris. I can understand why it's easier to let go and just try to keep you safe. It sounds like— It does just feel like...you're trying to protect him, when he doesn't deserve it. I don't... I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

Ludwig's brow crinkled, he lowered his head, and Alfred could see how disappointed and upset he was that, once more, someone just couldn't understand him.

That another person refused to see the Ivan that he saw.

Alfred was sorry about it, really, but he had seen this more times than he would like, and Ludwig was biased. Too close to the fire to see the danger. Ludwig was in love, and made excuses that other people wouldn't accept. Ludwig was in denial, at the end of the day, and Alfred hated being the one in that moment trying to bring him back to reality. Hated it, but he wasn't going to lie, wasn't going to fold, and wasn't going to tell Ludwig what he wanted to hear, because it wasn't right.

Ludwig was a victim who refused to acknowledge that he was a victim, who denied it so fervently, and Alfred didn't know what to say to him. Ludwig wanted to be in control, and wasn't this time, and there wasn't anything he could do about it anymore.

Ivan was a lost cause, and the sooner Ludwig realized it the better.

Control for Ludwig had been lost long ago, and that hereditary fanaticism for order and routine meant nothing now, not when Ludwig was faced with a man he had no power over.

Ludwig's movie wasn't similar to Alfred's. Ludwig's was the kinder remake, less gritty than the original, easier to stomach.

Alfred's movie was quite different, but more comprehensible :

Ivan had seen Ludwig the first time, someone young and pretty and vulnerable, and had honed in on him because Ivan could sense that Ludwig would have been easy to manipulate. As men like him always did, Ivan was gentle and charming at first. An absolute prince, a gentleman, adoring and caring. Showering Ludwig with attention and affection and gifts, everything Ludwig had never received from Gilbert. Gilbert kicking Ludwig out only gave Ivan more power over him, more control, and Ivan had known that Ludwig had no choice but to stay, because there was nowhere else for him to go. Ivan would have been elated that Gilbert and Toris had thrust Ludwig out, because then he naturally no longer needed to isolate Ludwig from them. They had done it on their own, and Ivan was triumphant. The time was right, and Ivan had proposed so quickly because Ludwig was in an emotionally unsound state. He saw the window of opportunity, and leapt through it. Ludwig, so distraught and lost from Gilbert's rejection, of course would have accepted Ivan's proposal, because the ground beneath him was so shaky. Ludwig sought stability, routine, safety, and Ivan offered it to him with a ring.

The first step into the trap.

Maybe Ivan had been loving for a while, to keep Ludwig happy and there.

It became less and less necessary every year to dote upon Ludwig, because Ivan had already snared him, had already married him, had already locked him down, and Ludwig had no recourse. Ludwig had chosen Ivan over the world, and lied in that bed he had made.

Perhaps the death of Ivan's mother had indeed been the catalyst for a shift, but if that was the case, then it was only a convenient excuse. Those sentiments had always been there in Ivan, just beneath the surface. It would have eventually come out, one way or another, and the death of someone close had just been a good reason for Ivan to finally let his latent personality come to the top.

Ludwig was his; Ivan showed his true colors.

It started as it always did, with verbal abuse. Then slaps, here and there, but at first Ivan would always apologize after. Showing up with flowers, gifts, love letters, whatever. Anything to make Ludwig forget, to keep him still. Conditioning Ludwig to take more and more.

And then one night, out of nowhere, instead of slapping Ludwig, Ivan had punched him.

Ludwig, as always, didn't say a word.

From that one punch, it collapsed, everything fell apart, and Ivan knew he could do as he pleased because Ludwig needed him. Ludwig couldn't leave him, because Ludwig would lose everything, there were so many reputations to think about. Ivan had complete control over Ludwig, and Ludwig didn't make a move to leave because that was what Ludwig was most comfortable with at the end of the day.

Gilbert had controlled Ludwig his entire life, and for Ludwig it was merely a shift into different hands. Familiar.

Some nights, dinner just didn't go well. The path of violence was so easy to see, because it was marked; something happened, something set Ivan off, and Ivan punched Ludwig. When he fell, Ivan might have kicked him there against the cabinets, causing that dent. When Ludwig managed to get traction and try to run, Ivan grabbed at him, and Ludwig reached out to snatch the archway, clawing the paint. Ludwig wouldn't hit Ivan back, but somehow wriggled away, as Ivan ripped out a good bit of hair. Ludwig, dripping blood, scaled the stairs; Ivan, lagging behind, grabbed Ludwig's pant-leg through the railing. A struggle, a tug of war, but Ludwig won and managed to get inside the second bedroom. Ivan, furious and out of control, rammed the door.

Some nights, Ludwig opened it. Some nights he didn't. Some nights Ludwig didn't make it to the bedroom, and was caught before he could escape.

But still, the next day, as Ludwig winced as he walked and was covered neck to ankle with bruises, Ivan would kiss his cheek, tell him he loved him, and that he was sorry.

'It won't happen again.'

'That was the last time.'

'I didn't mean to, baby, I swear.'

'You made me do it.'

Ludwig, not knowing anything outside of controlling men, submitted, as he always had to Gilbert, and nodded his head. Ludwig believed Ivan, and even when Ludwig was in too much pain to really move, he would still smile at Ivan over the table, confident that it was just a bad day and that tomorrow would be better.

Tomorrow would be different.

Things had gotten worse when Ivan had started popping pills. The violence heightened. Anger was exacerbated. The beatings became more frequent. When Ludwig fell, Ivan pinned him down, knees on either side of him, and choked him until he lost consciousness.

In the morning, Ludwig came to in the pale light of dawn there on the cold kitchen floor. Ivan, off to work, picked him up and put him on the sofa, kissed his forehead, and whispered a goodbye. Ludwig, barely lucid and perhaps concussed, dressed with shaking hands, made sure every bruise was hidden, and then went to work, hidden away in his office.

A wilting wallflower that nobody paid attention to.

How had it all ended?

Perhaps Ludwig, ever so stringent, just couldn't keep hiding the bruises, and so instead he called out of work when one night had just gone too far and he was simply unable to move at all. That was what eventually would have caught Gilbert's attention, and only that, Ludwig missing work. Inexcusable.

Gilbert must have been furious, offended, that Ludwig would have the gall to miss a day of work, and had likely taken it personally.

Perhaps Gilbert had left that office to come find his brother and forcibly drag him into work, because Gilbert's entire life revolved around that company and therefore he expected Ludwig's to, as well. But when Gilbert unlocked the door and came inside, what he saw there wasn't what he had expected.

The house in disarray. Blood stains on the carpet. Glass in the kitchen, from a plate or a cup that had been thrown. Handprints on the floor, perhaps, as Ludwig had sliced his palms on the shards. Those fingernail marks on the wallpaper. The dented cabinet door.

Had Ludwig's voice been hoarse when he had called out of work, from Ivan's hands around his throat?

Gilbert must have looked around at the house, him or Toris, whichever, and must have been shocked. Astounded. Dumbfounded into stillness. Could just imagine Gilbert looking around that house and wondering if perhaps it had been burglarized. Must have looked that way, even if the door had been locked. How Toris would have looked, that condescending expression changing into a wide-eyed look of panic.

Alfred hoped they had been hurt, for more than just their reputations.

Alfred could only see Gilbert walking into that chaotic scene, following the drops of blood up the staircase and into the guest bedroom, where perhaps Ludwig had huddled under the blankets for a while to gather his strength and find temporary sanctuary. Alfred could envision the look on Gilbert's face, when he pulled back the sheet to see his little brother there, bruised and bloodied, trying to hide away. Hoped it had been devastated, but Alfred imagined that Gilbert had looked rather more disappointed. Maybe he had scoffed, derisively, and shook his head, rolled his eyes.

Or maybe it had been Toris that had come, sent out by an angry Gilbert to collect his disobedient little brother. Maybe Toris had followed the stains into the kitchen, and found Ludwig unconscious there. Toris knelt down in a fright, shaking Ludwig, and Ludwig, thinking it was Ivan in his daze, just huddled up, hid his face, and whispered, 'I'm sorry.'

Gilbert and Toris. What had they said? What had they thought? So hard to read them, to understand them, and couldn't ever imagine the humiliation Ludwig must have felt, when they sat him down and forced him to tell them the truth.

Ludwig had stayed silent, had tried hard, but couldn't keep up the act under the constant supervision of his hawkish brother. Gilbert had noticed oddities, and so here now they were, with a pending divorce and a bodyguard.

Ivan, having lost Ludwig to Gilbert, became unhinged and far more dangerous, falling apart and into insanity because men like that just couldn't stand losing.

A sad story, but a common one.

Ludwig just changed it up.

Two different stories. Two different points of view. Two minds and hearts that would never see eye to eye.

Alfred and Ludwig saw things very differently, and Alfred made no effort to hide that at all. When Ludwig could face the truth and say it aloud, then Alfred would take him more seriously. Until then, Ludwig was just another weak-willed man in love, and Alfred would consider him lesser, weaker, vulnerable.

They stared at each other, unable to connect.

Felt as if Ludwig stood on the other end of some great chasm.

Ludwig's face was stoic again when he looked up at Alfred, and he leaned back in his chair, brow high and eyes lidded, as he said, quite coolly, "Did you know that almost all white cats with blue eyes are deaf?"

What the...

Nervous and taken off guard, Alfred scoffed, shakily, and could only offer, "Guess I do now."

Ludwig stared Alfred down, and carried on, "The gene that causes the white coat conflicts with the one that creates blue eyes. I always thought that was interesting. My father planned everything out so well, every last detail, and yet he couldn't control the gene he passed to Gilbert and I. Gilbert is unbreakable. Strong. Unafraid. He's everything I ever wanted to be, but I'm not. I tried, I did, but— Gilbert is able to look at someone and know instantly if he can control them or not, but I can't do that. However hard I try, I could never quite live up to him. So, I tried hard to keep charge of my own home life. I didn't want Gilbert to know that I was helpless to control Ivan. Power is everything to us, be it at work or home. Losing control of Ivan was unforgivable to Gilbert. I remember often that Gilbert is only half of me. I can never be like him. My genes...they're not quite the same. Not as strong. Perhaps my mother was weak. I wasn't an ideal mixture."

Ludwig was just rambling a bit by then, and Alfred let him because it wasn't as if Alfred had anything better to say at all.

Liked Ludwig's voice, too, kinda, and so let him speak unimpeded.

Another shift of Ludwig's voice, and he lowered his eyes to the table.

"I didn't care about any of that when I met Ivan. Whatever was weak in me didn't matter. Losing control of Ivan meant nothing to me, because, really, I never had control to begin with. I never have, my entire life. I just wanted him to stay. He's the only person that ever spoke to me as if I was good enough. Ivan didn't expect a thing from me, he said, except that I love him. I can't explain how that felt."

Ludwig fell still, and Alfred ran a tired hand through his hair.

Had he been braver, closer to Ludwig than he was, had he managed to befriend Ludwig just a little more, Alfred would have offered, 'I don't expect anything of you, either."

Inappropriate at the moment.

The clock ticked. The sun had set.

There was one thing left, then, that Alfred just didn't understand.

One more question.

Alfred finally asked, "I don't understand—if you really think something's wrong with him, if you really think it's not his fault, if you really love him so much still, then why are you even filing for divorce at all? I don't understand."

Really didn't.

Ludwig protected Ivan so much, loved him so much, shielded him from Gilbert so fervently, and so Alfred didn't understand how Ludwig had been convinced to ever file those papers.

Thought that maybe Ludwig's face darkened a bit, that he looked a little irritated, and Alfred thought for a moment that Ludwig was aggravated with him.

He wasn't.

When Ludwig spoke up, his voice was low and rumbling, dangerous, when he uttered, "It's not my petition. Gilbert forced my hand. I'm nothing without him, nothing, so, essentially, Gilbert owns me. He can make me do whatever he wants, because he knows that without him I'm helpless. This is the first time he's ever used that against me like this. His mother disowned him, and he was very prepared to do the same with me, he said. That was my newest ultimatum : divorce, or being erased. That company is all I know. Losing it, losing my job, my position, my future, my stability, my income, everything— He gave me no choice, so I had to file the papers. He told me if I didn't, I'd be on the street. I have no one else, because Ivan was...gone. I didn't know what else to do."

Ludwig trailed off, and turned aside.

Alfred stared at Ludwig, had so many questions, so many things he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to know, but in the end he only asked, perhaps insensitively, "If Gilbert can force you to do anything, then why didn't you press charges when it made him so mad that you didn't?"

Ludwig met Alfred's eyes, face set and jaw squared, and even then, even months later, Alfred could clearly see the defiance there on Ludwig's face.

"Because, for the first time in my life, I set my foot down and said 'no'. I disobeyed a direct order, and for it, Gilbert was furious. I thought... Gilbert has such a bad temper, and I honestly don't know what he's capable of when he's angry. I thought he was going to put me right back in the hospital, the way he looked at me. I really did, he was so angry. But Toris got in between us, and I just— I couldn't do it. I couldn't. Even if Gilbert had never forgiven me, I just couldn't have done it. The divorce was enough of a blow. I would go no farther."

What Ludwig said next seemed to settle the matter in his mind, and Alfred wasn't sure if Ludwig was saying it to Alfred or to an absent Gilbert :

"I'd rather be on the street than ever see Ivan in prison."

And that seemed to be that, to Ludwig.

But that wasn't that with Alfred, and Alfred felt as irritated as Ludwig looked. It was the boldest Alfred had yet been, as he abruptly reached across the table, took Ludwig's chin in his hand, not gently, forced his gaze, and asked, once and for all, "Why did Gilbert make you divorce him? Tell me. You keep lying for him. What did Gilbert see?"

Ludwig's wide eyes, beneath his low brow. Alfred could feel his pulse hammering.

Just wanted Ludwig to admit that Ivan had beaten him to within an inch of his life, just wanted him to finally fuckin' say it and get it over with, wanted him to admit it so that maybe Ludwig could start letting go of this delusion he had.

But Ludwig didn't cave to Alfred, although his posture had certainly slumped at the aggressive grab. Submitting without submitting. Ready to accept Alfred's anger, but not yet ready to bend to Alfred's will.

A man who was used to being hit, but not used to speaking his feelings.

"Tell me," Alfred pressed. "What did Gilbert see, huh? If it's not Ivan's fault, then why won't you tell me?"

Ludwig held Alfred's gaze as long as he could, before he finally lowered his eyes, and muttered, stubbornly, "You wouldn't understand."

Alfred's brow twitched in a rush of anger, but he let Ludwig go all the same, and replied, "You're right. I wouldn't."

And that was all.

Ludwig stood up, gathered the dishes, and when he went for his pill, Alfred could see his hands shaking.

As usual, the night hadn't gone like Alfred had hoped.

The love Ludwig had for Ivan was terrifying, but at the same time...

Hell, it was kinda beautiful, entrancing to Alfred, because no one had ever loved him like that, and maybe in some corner of his mind he drifted so strongly to Ludwig because he wanted a little bit of that strange sentiment. No one had ever loved Alfred like that, and Ludwig's fierce loyalty was drawing Alfred in like a moth.

That smile Ludwig had shown, for just a moment.

If Alfred could ever get it through Ludwig's thick skull that Ivan was the dragon and not the prince, then maybe one day Ludwig might have actually been able to smile at Alfred.

Wanted to know what that felt like, what being loved like that was like, because he had never experienced it.

Ludwig was the perfect storm for Alfred, someone he admired and pitied, someone he found attractive physically and vulnerable mentally, someone that could have actually needed Alfred's sorry ass, someone that was seeing Alfred, speaking to him, treating him like a person and not a dumb country simpleton. Ludwig didn't want Alfred there but at the same time had shown Alfred more care and decency than anyone else in his life, sad as it was.

Ludwig had fallen for Ivan so ardently because Ivan was the first person that had ever been nice to him. Alfred realized that he could have easily fallen into that same trap, because Ludwig needed Alfred, even if he refused to admit it, and god, Alfred would have done anything to feel needed.

Maybe...

Ludwig went into his bedroom and shut the door and was gone, and Alfred sat there for a long while, and then shook his head and ambled over to the couch, collapsing down and burying his face in the cushion.

Felt a bit overwhelmed.

This job may have been a bit too much, because Ludwig was likeable. A bit too likeable, in fact. Far too likeable. It was easy to see that Ludwig was someone that Alfred could have very easily come to care for, and in so many ways he already had.

In a way, that was terrifying.

That was rule number one, naturally :

Never fall in love.

Never get attached, never get emotional, never get invested, never get in over your head. Always keep an emotional shield between yourself and the client, as much as a physical one. Never get to know them.

Alfred had never broken it, and didn't plan on starting now. Really. He didn't. Daydreaming was nice, but it was only that. Alfred knew better.

Still...

Hours later, when he couldn't sleep, Alfred crept over to Ludwig's bedroom door, pushed it gently open, and peered inside, to make sure that Ludwig was safe and sound there in bed.

Leaned in the frame and stared at him for a long time, as Ludwig slept away, breathing deeply and evenly. Beside of him, the bed was empty. Someone used to sleep there.

Someone.

The damsel was still far up in the tower, awaiting the prince. The knight would come instead, because the prince had fallen into shadow.

Alfred stood there and watched Ludwig sleep.

Ludwig needed him, and that was what Alfred needed.

Ludwig, pale in the moonlight.