A/N : I'm sorry. I should finish other stuff, I know. But this was eating my brain alive.

Warnings! : AU. Human characters. Set in present day NYC. Domestic abuse, mentions of character death, a too-close look at terminal illnesses, some drug use. AmeGer, RusGer, some side PruLiet ('cause you know me), mentions of fem!Canada, some cameos here and there from the Ita bros and others. Only one pairing can triumph in the end, but I cannot say which one.

You guys know me well enough to know that I like my 'villains' to be rather ambiguous and sometimes sympathetic, and this is no different. This isn't a good vs. evil story, so never fear my dear RusGer fans. It's really just an observation of some normal-ish people finding themselves in situations beyond their control and the conflicting ways they deal with it. As always, thanks for hanging in here with me in this most unusual year from hell.

I can't say this is a happy story, but I can't exactly say it's a sad one. It's just... I dunno. People doing dumb people things.

NOT TOMORROW

Chapter 1

Between the Moons

Being a bodyguard could either be miserable or interesting, depending entirely on the client who he at any given moment happened to be protecting.

Most times, Alfred found it leaned towards the miserable side of the scale.

Honest to god, Alfred had never really liked himself much, and in these past ten years or so his self-worth had hit rock bottom. He hated the majority of his clients, because they were shitty people and that made Alfred feel like one, too.

Money was money in the end, but some money seemed far more well-earned.

Alfred was just a country boy, a Southerner, that had wound his way up north over the years and ended up in the craziest city in the world. New York was a far cry from home, and Alfred hated it as much as he hated himself. Lived in a neighborhood as shifty and shitty as his clientele, and there he probably belonged.

Alfred wasn't very afraid to say that he hated himself, if only to himself.

Useless.

He had grown up wanting to be a grand hero in some sense or another, and had become rather the opposite. Had let himself and his mother down, had let his sister down, had let his entire community down, and it was probably all in Alfred's head because no one else had ever said it aloud but it was very pressing all the same.

He had fled, and landed himself in this awful life.

Stuck in this rut.

Thirty and living paycheck to paycheck, and those paychecks came from men he hated. Hated every single person he protected, because they were scum. Hated them all, and was reliant upon them for money. This hadn't been what he had had in mind when he had ended up in this profession. He had thought he would have been more of a savior, a protector, and instead he was really just a creep guarding another creep from creepier creeps. Nothing honorable at all. The same cycle.

Wanted to go home, desperately so, but just couldn't bring himself to face everyone after what had happened there. Homesick, so homesick, and couldn't do a damn thing about it. His 'home' now was this New York slum. He missed the sandy beach, the dunes and the coast and the humid air, missed the people and the different pace of life in the South. Missed the smell of the air. He hated it here, and was stuck.

Alfred looked in the mirror, and hated what he saw there, too. Other people may have seen a handsome young man, blond and blue-eyed, broad and strong, in the prime of his life, virile and masculine and ready to take on the world. Just a Southern man, alright, with that square jaw and broad cheeks and that slight accent, a simple man, perhaps, but a good one.

But Alfred just saw a scared, helpless idiot that had gotten lost in the tide, a man who had failed to protect the one thing that he had ever been charged with protecting. Someone who pretended to be cocky and arrogant because they were scared and alone and so overwhelmed. Defeated. Just drifting along now in the water.

He hated himself, and started hating the world for it.

Homesick.

And then one day in the middle of fall he got a phone call, completely out of the blue, requesting an 'audience' with him for potential retention of his services. Alfred had immediately gone, because if there was one thing he had learned very early on, it was that the guys who 'requested an audience' paid a hell of a lot more than the guys who wanted to 'meet up'.

The guy that wanted to retain Alfred's services, as it turned out, was Gilbert Beilschmidt, and Alfred had balked.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was the President and CEO of an extremely powerful and influential aerospace company. They produced weapons for many countries, research machines for NASA, designed ever more creative exploration devices, dabbled in a little of everything. In some sense, one could say that Gilbert owned a bit of the world, and the fact that he had ever thought to call a guy like Alfred was utterly astounding.

Alfred had leapt on the opportunity, scared to death but so excited.

He cleaned himself up for once, standing in front of the mirror and combing his dark blond hair, brushing it out of his eyes and to the side, shining his glasses and pressing his shirt, cleaning his shoes.

He looked nice, and hoped he would make the right impression, because he couldn't afford to miss out on this paycheck—literally. Was scraping by, and even his slum apartment was just too expensive for him to afford. He was in debt, he was destitute, and he was run down.

Needed this money.

So he went where he was told, a skyscraper near the Battery, and followed the instructions into the shining building and into the elevator.

It wasn't too often men like him were hired by tremendously important people, not at all, so Alfred took it and ran because the ego trip was even better than the pay. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, it was a little surreal, a little crazy, and Alfred was jittery and terrified, puffing out like a peacock in order to hide the fact that he felt more like a confused chicken.

The door to Gilbert's office seemed daunting, made more so by the two suits guarding it. Two stocky, hairy men that had to be Italian for sure, Mafioso lookin' creeps, and Alfred had stared them down as they eyed him disdainfully. They must have been expecting him, though, because they opened the door and let him pass after checking his identification.

Gilbert sat there in front of the huge glass windows at his desk, and Alfred had been struck by the sight of him. So pale, the whitest thing Alfred had ever seen, an albino in real life, pale blond hair lit up white in the sun. Standing beside of him, hand on the desk and brow high, was another man with dark hair, unknown to Alfred.

Gilbert sure was intimidating, his extremely expensive suit rather lustrous in the light. Looked like some sort of spectacular lunar villain, if he were honest, and Alfred cracked a nervous smile at that.

Gilbert wasn't smiling, as he curled his lip and looked Alfred up and down with as much scrutiny as the guards outside, and Alfred came to a halt a polite distance in front of the desk. A very long, very intense stare, and when there was only silence, Alfred finally said, lowly, "You called?"

The brunet glanced down at Gilbert, but Gilbert was ever silent, big hands clasped before him as he tried to burn Alfred alive with his eyes alone. The judging from Gilbert's unique and unnerving eyes was quite grating, and Alfred was already irritated, agitated, glancing around the office and waiting.

This place was huge, and so empty. Black floor and black desk. Marble and granite, white flecks reflecting in the obsidian.

Oh yeah, this guy was some kinda super villain alright.

Those red-tinted eyes gleaming away like that.

Gilbert spoke then, but not to Alfred, instead leaning towards the man standing beside of him and hissing away. The brunet and Gilbert spoke lowly back and forth, and Alfred could only catch a few words here and there.

"—sure about this?"

"Well—looked good."

"—this is—my little brother!"

Alfred waited as patiently as was possible for him, shifting his weight and eyeing the exorbitant office, and finally, Gilbert looked back at Alfred and spoke to him at last.

"You are not what I expected."

The accent was very thick, very rough and gruff, and Alfred almost hadn't understood. Gilbert was a German, after all, as much as his company, and his English wasn't stellar. Perhaps the man beside of him was an emergency translator.

Not what Gilbert had expected, eh? Ha—maybe Alfred cleaning up before coming had worked against him.

To appear more in control than he felt, Alfred lifted his chin and offered, "Sorry. I polished up because I thought you wouldn't want anyone raggedy walking behind you."

A sneer, and Gilbert was quick to scoff, "It's not me you'll be protecting." Alfred glanced over at the brunet beside of Gilbert, expecting perhaps that it was he who Alfred would potentially be guarding, but Gilbert merely muttered, lowly, "It will be my little brother."

Alfred looked back and forth between Gilbert and the brunet, and said, casually, "Don't see much resemblance."

Stony, cranky Gilbert was very much not amused, but the brunet gave a laugh and came forward briefly, to hold something out. Alfred took it, and saw that it was a photograph of a pale, young, blond man. In that man, he could perhaps see a bit of a resemblance, if only at a glance.

Gilbert's little brother, huh? What kind of trouble had the kid gotten himself into? Alfred hadn't really know there was a second Beilschmidt. Must have been behind the scenes, not the face of his brother's company.

Power corrupts, or so they said. The kid probably had some bad habit that had gotten him mixed up with the wrong crowd. Drugs, gambling, whatever. Saw it every day. Had been here a thousand times already.

"Does he work here, too?" Alfred asked, curiously, as the brunet seemed to be hovering over Gilbert, perhaps to keep tempers in check.

Gilbert seemed a bit rowdy, impulsive, brash, and Alfred was, too, so the man was wise to moderate perhaps.

"Yes," the brunet answered, when Gilbert was silent, apparently finding Alfred most displeasing.

What a jerk of a boss this man would make. Fitting, Alfred supposed, given how much he consistently and fervently hated every single one of his clients. Very fitting.

This powerful, rich, egotistical jerkoff. Great.

The guy in the picture looked pretty young, though, just a kid after all, and Alfred asked, offhandedly, "How old is he?"

"Twenty-five," the brunet supplied, as Gilbert stared Alfred into filth.

Older than he had thought, or it was an old photo.

Alfred stared back at forty-something Gilbert, and didn't know why he said, "That's some age difference."

Nerves, probably.

Snappily, Gilbert spat, "We have the same father. Different mothers. Not that that's any of your business."

The brunet's heavily-lashed eyes flitted back and forth airily between Gilbert and Alfred, a rather bemused expression on his face, perhaps finding this altercation entertaining.

Agitation was growing, Alfred was anxious and annoyed, and so he handed the photo back to the brunet, met Gilbert's burning gaze, and said, testily, "It is my damn business if you want me to protect him. What's your problem? You gonna hire me or not, asshole?"

Gilbert leapt upright from his seat, slammed a fist on his desk, and barked, in a very deep, frightening voice, "Mind your mouth! How dare you speak to me like that!"

Gilbert owned the world and clearly he knew it, because he sure as hell acted that way, expecting everyone around him to grovel and concede to his whim. Alfred wouldn't, no matter how badly he needed the money. His ego and arrogance and pride would one day be his downfall. Alfred didn't like himself, nah, but he hated other people more.

Alfred held his hands out at his sides, brazenly, and shot back, "I don't work for you yet, you prick! I'll talk to you however I want!"

Gilbert's pale face flushed red with anger, he opened his mouth, but was cut short when the mystery brunet stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. A glance, a pursing of Gilbert's lips, and suddenly Gilbert sat back down, as the brunet came forward, arms crossing and brow high.

"You've got an attitude, for sure," came the deep mutter, with a less prominent and yet different accent, and Alfred scoffed.

"What did you expect? You wanted a pushover? There aren't a lot of those in my line of work."

The brunet snorted, looked him up and down, analyzing him, and after an eternity, he turned back to Gilbert and called, somewhat warmly, "I like him, Gilbert. I think it's a good decision. You know I'm a better judge of character than you."

Gilbert cursed under his breath, ran a hand over the bridge of his nose, and seemed in contemplation.

Alfred's heart was hammering as he awaited the final verdict.

Please, please, really needed this money—

A sigh, a scoff, a noise of irritation, and Gilbert lowered his hand, opened his eyes, and said, begrudgingly, "Alright. Alright. You're hired." Alfred had no time to inwardly celebrate, because Gilbert suddenly locked his gaze, and hissed, in the honest to god most dangerous whisper Alfred had ever heard, "But I swear— If anything happens to him, you are not getting fired. You are getting annihilated. I swear to you. I'll take you out myself. No one will ever even know you existed. This is my little brother. He means everything to me. You protect him with your life, because if he loses his, you lose yours. Got it?"

A chill, an involuntary shiver, just at the sincerity with which the oath had been spoken, but Alfred was rather fearless and confident and merely nodded his head.

That was that, apparently, and Gilbert waved him forward and they began doing business.

...sort of.

Details were very vague, and after a half hour or so of briefing, Alfred was still a bit in the dark. He was protecting Gilbert's younger brother, Ludwig, and that was about all he knew, with only that photo given to him to guide him in the right direction. Gilbert, for being so concerned, was being incredibly secretive, and when Alfred had asked for a more thorough explanation, Gilbert had merely grumbled, irritably, 'You'll have to ask Ludwig for more details. Just keep him safe.'

Well. Alright, then.

Alfred didn't argue, didn't complain, because he was on retainer now and it was the best paycheck he had had in all his time doing this, so he just took Ludwig's photo from Gilbert's hand and marched right on out to track him down.

This kid was a literal payday. Alfred was damn sure gonna keep him safe, come hell or high water.

On his way out of the office, one of the guards snatched out and grabbed Alfred by the arm. Alfred was ready to pitch a fit, but was denied the chance when the guard merely smiled at him, and asked, with yet another heavy accent, "You the guy that's gonna be protecting Ludovico?"

"Who?" Alfred asked, dumbly.

"Ludovico. The little brother."

Oh. Yeah.

Alfred just grunted, "Guess so."

The two guards shared a look, the other appearing far less friendly than his counterpart, and the one grabbing Alfred's arm just gave him a pat on the back and said, firmly, "Keep a good eye on him. He's my friend. He's a really good guy."

Without thinking, Alfred griped, "So the apple fell far from the tree, huh?"

A look of confusion, as the idiom clearly went over that Italian head, and Alfred just shook him off and made to leave.

He called, as he went, "He's in good hands."

If only not to lose this job before he really had it.

He fled into the elevator, and just glimpsed the guard smiling as the doors closed.

Honestly, Alfred wasn't at all interested in Ludwig as a person, not at all. He was only a paycheck, and that was that. The kid coulda been a saint, but it made no difference in the end to Alfred.

As he trotted back out into the street, he held the photo up and examined it, and had been a bit pleasantly surprised to see that the younger brother was extremely easy on his eyes. That always made work a little more bearable. At a glance, at least, the kid was certainly attractive. Could see a little of Gilbert there, in the nose and cheeks, but in the photo at least Ludwig looked far more approachable than Gilbert. Much more handsome. Prettier, one could say perhaps.

Cute kid, alright.

Hell—maybe this job would include benefits if he were lucky. He may not have cared about Ludwig, no, but he was only a man.

Getting way ahead of himself. As usual.

He was lonely, what could he say?

Probably should have actually settled in first, though, so Alfred just went to the area in which Gilbert had informed him Ludwig could be found, near the library, and he roamed the streets for a few minutes, scanning the crowds and eyeing faces.

Didn't take him too long to find Ludwig, if only because he certainly stood out quite a bit.

Tall and so pale, Ludwig was certainly a bit eye-catching, given his obvious air of dignity and poise (a bit more elegant than his pompous brother), chiseled bone structure, platinum hair, pretty eyes—ah, yes, very eye-catching indeed, and Alfred was on him in a second, weaving through the crowds and slinking up behind Ludwig without a sound.

Just followed him then, for a while, choosing to delay introductions.

Anyway, Ludwig seemed quite intent, was walking very briskly and very quickly, and Alfred was having difficulty keeping up because, well...Ludwig's legs were criminal. Really. Incredibly long, those legs, and Alfred didn't even really care then that he was all but jogging, because the show he was getting in the form of those legs well made up for it. Was glad that Ludwig's coat was short enough not to hide the goods, sleeves rolled up and appearing far less glamorous in his manner of dress than his brother.

But those legs!

Good lord. Talk about gams.

Erhm—! Still, business was business, and Alfred eventually managed to remove his eyes from Ludwig's posterior long enough to scope out the surroundings for threats. Kinda hard when he didn't know who, exactly, he needed to look out for. Gilbert had been so vague, hadn't explained a damn thing, so Alfred just looked around blindly, and tried his best.

But Ludwig, appearing quite paranoid and anxious, had noticed Alfred following him somehow, and quickened his already furious pace. He darted into a side street when Alfred sped up, and when Alfred lunged quickly after his charge, he found their roles suddenly reversed.

Pale hands snatched out and clenched him by the collar, and in a second Alfred had been pinned up against the brick wall, but only because Alfred had let him. Couldn't raise a hand against his client, after all. Very counterproductive.

Stunned more by that handsome face than the actual maneuver, Alfred just stared at Ludwig, who seemed somehow terrified and furious.

A low hiss.

"Stop following me! Go away! Leave me alone."

Ludwig's accent wasn't as thick as Gilbert's, because Ludwig had come across the sea at a much younger age than Gilbert had. Much easier to understand, much smoother on the ears, much less harsh. Ludwig's voice was as deep as his brother's, but far warmer, lacking that gruff, guttural edge that Gilbert's had. A nice voice for a nice face.

It was then, close up and held in Ludwig's grip, that Alfred could get a true, good look at Ludwig, in the flesh.

Much sharper and sterner up close than he was in that photo. Looked older. Tired. Scared. Worn and a little frazzled. Up close, it was easier to see the dark circles hanging under Ludwig's pale eyes, the crease of exhaustion in his brow, the wan shade of his skin. Little freckles here and there. Pale stubble, glinting in the low light. That heavy veil of defeat that just seemed to hang over him. So pale, almost as pale as his albino brother. Pale as the moon, these brothers, so similar and yet so different.

Ludwig had nothing of the air of his elder brother.

Looked like a man whose last nerve had been absolutely frayed, and Alfred felt the first twinge of pity, if only because Ludwig seemed so scared in that moment despite being in the aggressive position. Had just lashed out from terror, and Alfred was quite unbothered.

Somehow, it was easy enough to look at Ludwig right off and see that he just didn't have the heart to cause harm. Was tall and broad, rather well built, lean muscle, somewhat intimidating at a glance, and yet it was written there on his face and in his eyes that Ludwig was utterly harmless. Vulnerable, in that sense, that intangible naivety. Just a kid, Gilbert's sheltered little brother, who was in trouble and was cracking under pressure.

To soothe jittery Ludwig, Alfred uttered, as calmly as was possible, "I was hired to follow you. Everything is alright."

The wrong thing to say, perhaps, as Ludwig's pupils dilated in what was clearly a burst of fear, and Alfred could see the hair on Ludwig's exposed forearms standing up in fright.

Perhaps he should have been more specific, and meant to correct himself, but Ludwig beat him to the chase, giving Alfred a desperate shake and pleading more than demanding, "Stop! Leave me alone! Go back to Ivan and tell him you never saw me, please, leave me alone—"

Ivan?

Ludwig seemed close to panic, and Alfred finally got a word in to say, more sternly, "I was hired by Gilbert. I'm here to keep you safe. Don't worry."

A crinkle of Ludwig's brow, a flash of confusion, and Alfred assumed that Ludwig was going to let him go, was going to welcome him, was going to be relieved. Happy.

He wasn't.

Ludwig just breathed, "I don't believe you."

Alfred smirked, despite it all, and grumbled, "Good boy."

Perhaps not so naïve.

Alfred didn't like himself much, but had confidence to spare, and spread his feet then in a posture of arrogance, perhaps in a subconscious effort to make Ludwig bow to him.

Kinda worked. Sort of.

Anyway, Ludwig let him go, but didn't resume his walk. Rather, Ludwig reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his phone, and made a call. From where he stood, Alfred recognized Gilbert's gruff voice on the other end. Couldn't understand, though, as Ludwig raised his voice at his half-brother in German, so he could only gather what he could from the flitting expressions and emotions on Ludwig's face.

Seemed so tired. Poor thing. Wished he knew what was going on.

Had to get Ludwig to sit down long enough to explain it to him.

Whatever was being said, Ludwig was clearly not happy, and neither was Gilbert, who was screaming; Alfred could clearly hear his booming voice all the way against the wall. In the end, this rather kind-looking man conceded to his domineering, belligerent sibling, and hung up the phone. A glance up at Alfred through pale lashes, and without another word Ludwig stalked back out into the street. It was clear that he was trying very hard to leave Alfred behind.

He failed, miserably, because Alfred was damn good at his job.

But when Ludwig reached what was apparently his home, a rather quaint looking brownstone on a quiet, unassuming street, a very far cry from the luxury Alfred expected, Ludwig escaped him and locked him out.

Eh.

Alfred placed himself there by the front door, planted his feet, and stayed put, keeping a vigil on Ludwig's door as he had been ordered to.

He caught flashes of movement in his peripheral vision from time to time, as Alfred spied Ludwig lifting the blinds to see if he was still there. Must have been disappointed, but Alfred wasn't going anywhere.

His livelihood depended on Ludwig's safety.

Ludwig never came back out, never spoke to him, and Alfred was unable to get the explanation he very much sought.

Oh well. Tomorrow was a new day. Plenty of time to get to know this kid and his unseen enemies.

Ludwig may have hated the sight of Alfred, but in the end that meant absolutely nothing, because Ludwig would never have found the sight of Alfred as distasteful as Alfred himself did.

Hated looking at himself.

The mirror was his worst enemy.