Chapter 34

Forced Attrition

Ludwig was unsuccessful in convincing Ivan to undergo treatment, however hard he cried and blubbered. When Ivan didn't fold, Ludwig turned his efforts to Kiku, and oh, god, how it hurt to see proud Ludwig fall to his knees for the second time in as many hours, grabbing handfuls of Kiku's coat and moaning, "Please."

Ludwig would have done anything to save Ivan, but the law was strict and bent for no man, however hard they cried.

Kiku stared down at Ludwig, blinking quickly, and Alfred could see how red his eyes were. Kiku was as unshakeable as Toris, stony and composed, but everyone had a limit to how much heartache they could stomach at once.

Everyone, perhaps, except Gilbert, for he never batted an eye when he came in. Alfred heard footsteps and looked over his shoulder, and there Gilbert was, materialized out of darkness as usual and appearing without a warning. Toris was beside him, and no doubt they came now because they knew Ludwig well enough to know that Ludwig was attempting damage control.

Gilbert grimaced when he saw Ludwig on his knees, disgusted perhaps, and he quickly turned his pinkish eyes to Alfred instead. Toris stared away at Ludwig, Toris, who was less hard than Gilbert and more outwardly able to express his sentiments for Ludwig. Although Toris was blank as ever, Alfred thought, perhaps, that he saw Toris' brow twitch.

Not regret, no, but maybe a little pity for Ludwig, unlike the disdain Gilbert felt.

At the intrusion, Kiku reached down, grabbed Ludwig's arms, and pulled him to his feet.

Gilbert held Alfred's gaze, and then whispered, far too quietly for anyone but Alfred and Toris to hear, "Report."

Report?

Report—Alfred didn't work for Gilbert anymore, as far as he was concerned. A paycheck may have been going into Alfred's account every two weeks, but Alfred no longer saw Gilbert as his boss. Saw Gilbert as a nuisance, one that Alfred wished would go away forever.

Alfred had nothing to say, and purposefully turned his eyes away from Gilbert and back to Ludwig.

Before Gilbert could fly off the handle, Kiku inadvertently reported to Gilbert in Alfred's stead, when he said to Ludwig, softly, "I'm sorry, Ludwig. I am. But I can't. He's lucid—all decisions now are his own. We can't force him. He's refused treatment, and that's it. There's nothing I can do. This is the end of the road. I can't help him anymore. We have to release him tonight, as he's requested."

Ludwig hung his head, and dissolved into tears.

Gilbert lifted his chin, posture perfect, crossed his arms over his chest, and oh god, Alfred never wanted to punch anyone more than he did Gilbert in that second when Gilbert suddenly smirked.

Smirked. That unfathomable asshole. Toris was bad enough, but Gilbert always managed to take it a step further.

The nerve.

Kiku rested his hand on sniveling Ludwig's shoulder, as it was obvious on his face how much he just wanted to help, but was powerless to do so. Kiku couldn't help anymore, and all he could do was offer that last bit of comfort and then walk on.

Ludwig stood alone in the middle of the hall, as the three men who always decided his fate stood a ways behind him in a half-circle. No one came up to Ludwig then as he cried, because none of them had anything good to say.

Gilbert was triumphant, Toris was distant, and Alfred was heartsick.

That time, Ludwig gathered himself up rather quickly, because clearly he wasn't ready to give up, but he did freeze up a little in shock when he turned to the side and saw Gilbert and Toris there. A long, awful stare between the brothers. Toris took a step forward, hand in the air right behind Gilbert's back, ready to snatch him at any second.

Ludwig slumped suddenly, no fight left at all in him, and instead of running to his brother for a hug as he once had, Ludwig just sent Gilbert a mournful look before moving on. Ludwig took a step towards Ivan's door, and Gilbert's smirk instantly faded, he looked appalled, as if he truly hadn't expected that.

Really?

Gilbert of all people should have known better.

When Ludwig grabbed the handle to Ivan's room, Gilbert lunged forward and grabbed Ludwig's arm, very harshly, and yanked him back until they were face to face.

Ludwig looked so tired, so exhausted, as if he could have fallen over right there, but still he lifted his head and held Gilbert's gaze.

A low, very stern statement from Gilbert.

"He's made his choice. Let him go."

Let him go.

As if it were just that easy. As if Gilbert really truly expected Ludwig to just let Ivan give up, just like that, because to Gilbert it was far easier for Ivan to die and exit stage entirely. With Ivan gone, everything that had been thrown off course from Gilbert's master plan would steadily fall back into place. If Ivan died, Gilbert would once more have complete control over Ludwig.

Alfred's brow was steadily lowering.

Ludwig stared at Gilbert, stared and stared, eyes so red and puffy, everything in him so close to collapse, and yet still Ludwig was standing.

It wasn't right.

None of this was right.

...so why was he still just going along with it?

Ludwig held strong yet, chin high and looking somehow betrayed, offended, appalled, although it shouldn't have surprised him much.

He spoke at last, voice as hard and cold as Gilbert's.

"I won't just let him die. Never. How could you say that?"

Gilbert lowered his voice, narrowed his eyes, and was quite frightening when he hissed, "Easily! Think of this as justice, then. You wouldn't press charges as I wanted, so here we are. This is fitting. Let him die. You're not going to be with him again, never. I swear that to you, to the end of this Earth. Let him go. It's his choice, not yours."

Toris, ever watchful, was silent.

Ludwig's bleary eyes flitted over Gilbert's face, lips parted in disbelief, and then he scoffed, "Since when has what he's wanted ever meant anything to you?"

Since right now, obviously.

Alfred opened his mouth, feeling furious and as appalled as Ludwig looked, and yet he lost his voice, in the end. Didn't say a damn thing, because...

Shit.

Because Alfred wasn't really a great guy, wasn't perfect by a long shot, was selfish by nature, and if Ivan really did just die then all of this would be over and done with and Alfred would have no competition. Ludwig would be his, and there were no hard decisions to be made. Gilbert was the villain at that very second to Ludwig, Toris too, but not Alfred, and that suited Alfred quite well.

There was a reason Alfred hated looking in the mirror.

Gilbert gave Ludwig a shake, a silent threat, face full of warning.

Ludwig just looked around at the three of them in turn, as if in a daze, and Alfred could see the steady clenching of his jaw, the racing of his pulse, the flaring of his nostrils, the crinkling of his brow.

Anger.

Ludwig's pale eyes fell then to Gilbert's hand, still gripping his arm in a vice. A long, hard stare, and then Ludwig scoffed again. Alfred was astounded when Ludwig suddenly wrenched free from Gilbert with one mighty yank, because to be quite frank he was astonished that exhausted Ludwig was able to summon up that much energy from thin air.

Gilbert, for his part, seemed quite shocked at the disobedience.

Alfred was, too, but hell, Ludwig had already slapped Toris so this really seemed the next logical step.

Ludwig had bowed to Alfred when Alfred had pressed him, but that had been different because it was only Ludwig's happiness on the line, not Ivan's life. Things had changed now, it was coming truly down to the wire, and Ludwig stood once more on the edge of a skyscraper window. This time, though, it was Ivan who would slip and fall, and Ludwig would have gone to hell and back to keep Ivan safe.

Always had.

Alfred had always known that when it came down to it, Ivan came first, before all else.

Gilbert grabbed Ludwig's arm again, ever harder, no doubt bruising his little brother, and this time Ludwig lashed out and shoved Gilbert back with his free arm, as he had shoved Toris prior.

Gilbert was the aghast one then, as Ludwig brazenly defied him for all to see.

Toris rushed suddenly forward and grabbed the back of Gilbert's collar preemptively, because no one knew Gilbert better than Toris. Toris knew it was only a matter of time before Gilbert went utterly berserk, and Gilbert was by no means above physical violence to get what he wanted.

But that time...

Gilbert just stood there, and stared at Ludwig in complete and total disbelief. Looked confused, even, as if he simply couldn't comprehend what was actually happening. His eyes were wide under his low brow, his mouth was open, hands lax at his sides. Alfred had never seen Gilbert like that, and maybe no one else had, either.

Ludwig raised himself to his full height, splayed out, squared his shoulders, and said to Gilbert, in a much louder voice, "Get out of here. Don't come back. Leave him alone. You've done enough to him. Leave us alone. You've interfered too much with my life. Keep your empire, Gilbert. Keep your company, your name, your line, anything you want. Keep it. I didn't want it. I never did. Get out. I don't care how long he has left. I'll be there with him, until the end. You can't stop me."

It was Toris then whose mouth fell open.

A quick blink from Gilbert, who had clearly heard the words but struggled to comprehend them. Gilbert's senses had been knocked out entirely by Ludwig's audacity.

Alfred woulda been awed by Ludwig if he hadn't felt so sick.

Gilbert finally managed to form words, in his stupor, but they were in German, and his voice was oddly soft. As if, somehow, Gilbert was attempting to negotiate with Ludwig. Gilbert murmured away in that gentle voice, and Ludwig murmured right back. Gilbert was a businessman at the end of the day, and must have realized that the risk in this very second was not worth the reward.

As Toris had always said, Gilbert loved Ludwig. Ludwig telling him to leave must have been jarring.

Toris interjected from time to time, as Ludwig shook his head and didn't back down, and Alfred wished just that once that he knew what they were saying, because that was the one time that it was Ludwig who had the upper hand and Gilbert who was running a maze.

Ludwig's voice hardened and he pointed at the elevator down the hall, saying, in the coldest tone Alfred had ever heard him use, "Geh."

Go. Get out. Didn't need to speak German to understand that one.

A rush of Gilbert's pulse in his pale neck, a flaring of his nostrils as the reality slowly began to sink in.

Without really meaning to, Alfred took a step forward.

Maybe it was because Alfred had come forward that Gilbert suddenly spoke again in English, in his shock and daze.

A low, thundering, nearly confused rumble.

"I raised you. And you— How can you— I— I could have left you in an orphanage."

Gilbert had never once stammered like that. Had never lost his voice, had never stumbled over words, because everything Gilbert did was always so perfectly calculated. Ludwig truly did mean more to Gilbert than anything else, and losing Ludwig permanently was too much for Gilbert to wrap his head around.

Ludwig's red eyes ran over Gilbert's face in an odd sort of almost annoyed affection, and then he snorted, weakly, and cracked a half-smile. Ludwig's voice was equally deep and resonating when he replied, "For the first time, Gilbert, I wish you had."

Oh— How that must have hurt Gilbert.

One final utterance from Ludwig, much softer.

"For everything until now, thank you. Both of you. I'll always be grateful, and I'll always— You'll always be my parents. But I can't do this anymore. Goodbye, Gilbert."

Ludwig said goodbye to Gilbert with as much finality as Ivan had used with Ludwig.

The end of all roads.

It must have been absolutely devastating, however cold and hard and icy Gilbert was, for Alfred thought he spied a sudden reddening of Gilbert's pigment-less eyes. A clench of Gilbert's fists. An inhale, involuntary.

And that was all Alfred saw, for Gilbert very abruptly spun on his heel and stalked off down the hall as Ludwig had commanded. Alfred had no doubt, though, that Gilbert left then not because of Ludwig's command but more because he was on the verge of actually breaking down, and of course no one could be allowed to see that. Gilbert could cry, but only for the two men who he actually mustered human emotion for. Not in some public place, and not because of words. Couldn't be.

Ludwig rejected Gilbert for Ivan, for the second time.

Toris lingered for a moment, eyes locked onto Ludwig's, and there must have been nothing that either of them could truly say, for Toris just exhaled and followed Gilbert without a word.

Alfred and Ludwig were alone, and Ludwig, riled up and scared and lost and everything else, turned his wrath to Alfred.

"Well?" Ludwig spat, with a slight stomp of his foot, "Aren't you going, too? Go on! Get out."

Dumbfounded and numb, Alfred just shook his head.

He had promised he would stay, and that was what he would do.

Ludwig came forward, until they were within arms reach, and he stated, with absolutely no room for argument, "Stay out of the way. I'm not stupid, you know? I know what they want you to do. This is my choice, not yours. I love you, Alfred, but I won't let you kill him. I won't. If I have to throw you away to save him, I will. I swear it. If I have to ruin you as Gilbert has me, I will. Understand?"

Ridiculous as it was, Alfred honed in on that declaration of love, felt a little boost of hope and confidence, and he immediately nodded.

Ludwig seemed satisfied, wiped quickly at his eyes and nose, and then went back into Ivan's room, Alfred silently slinking behind.

Ivan was still sitting there, blanket yet over his shoulders, staring out of the window at the blue sky. He didn't look up when Ludwig came over, eyes following the distant clouds instead. A man who had already accepted death, and was coming to terms with it.

Didn't Ivan remember how stubborn Ludwig was?

Must have forgotten that, too, to ever think Ludwig would just let him go like that.

Ludwig sat down beside of Ivan, turned his eyes to the sky as well, and in that moment to Alfred they seemed like two little kids, who had run away from home and found each other in a field. Lost and scared and leaning on each other.

It was Ivan, surprisingly, who broke the silence first.

"I'm going home tonight. You must know."

Ludwig blinked rapidly, followed a puffy cloud with his eyes, and asked, "Where's home?"

A hesitation.

"Don't remember the name. Some flat on Coney Island. I remember the way, but not the name."

Ivan had stayed somewhere all this time, and Ludwig had suspected that it may have been on Coney with a cousin. Close enough. Ivan had had just enough lucidity to find his way back and forth from Ludwig's house to his new one, but could only remember the path from muscle memory.

Had walked it a million times, no doubt, just to follow Ludwig's light about.

Ludwig swallowed, and then took a deep breath to steady himself, and whispered, "So, then. You really mean to follow through. After all that work. After so much risk."

Ivan's turned to swallow.

"Yeah. I do."

Ludwig turned his head at last to look at Ivan, and Ivan very ardently refused to meet Ludwig's gaze.

Ludwig's mournful voice.

"Gilbert was here. He told me to let you go. That it was your choice." A furrow of Ivan's brow. "The doctor says it's your choice, too. The law says it's your choice. They say I can't do anything about it." A break of Ludwig's voice as it began to quiver and thicken, as tears came up once more.

Alfred turned his eyes as well to the blue sky, to find some sort of solace.

"I told Gilbert to leave. I reminded him that I had chosen you before him once, and I'll do it again, every single time. The doctor. The law. Gilbert, Toris, whoever, I don't care—" A short break, as Ludwig tried to maintain composure so hard that a high-pitched whine came out of his throat. "I don't care. They say it's your choice, but it's not just your choice. It's mine, too, you know? We've always done everything together. Every decision we made was together. I gave up everything for you once. Now— Won't you even try?"

Ludwig hung his head and dissolved into more tears that Alfred was surprised he still had. Shoulda been dry by now, poor thing.

Ivan's eyes squinted, yet he refused to look over, and it was a long while before he whispered, "How can I? After what I did?"

Ludwig shook his head, desperately, and managed to moan, "You can't just give up!"

At last, Ivan turned his head. But he didn't look at bawling Ludwig, instead turning his eyes very briefly over to Alfred. Their gazes locked, a surge of electricity, and Alfred didn't know what Ivan was trying to say to him, because he still didn't know Ivan like that.

Ivan must have realized, for he looked quickly away.

The only sound then was Ludwig's tired crying.

Outside, the clouds slowly started rolling in from the distance. The sun was obscured.

Finally, Ivan whispered, "Sorry. I just..." A sharp inhale, as Ivan's face finally collapsed, and he hung his head as he breathed, miserably, "I don't want to. I don't want to do any of this. Why bother? What's the point?"

There was no point, maybe, except perhaps to give Ludwig a little comfort.

Ludwig deserved that, at least that.

An awful whine, as Ludwig implored, "Don't do this. Not now. I didn't do anything to help you until it was too late, and I— I couldn't live with myself, if I let you just give up."

In turn, Ivan murmured, "And how can I live with myself if I do pull through? I'm not afraid of dying. Dying is easy. What scares me is if...I live, and I have to spend every day thinking about what I did. Alone. You won't be there. That's what scares me. I don't want to do this, because I don't want to... If you're not with me, if I can't see you, then what's the point? You were all I had. I don't want to wake up if you're not there beside of me."

Shit.

Alfred closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried to steady himself, but it never really seemed to work.

Ludwig twisted at the waist, wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck, and his voice was deep and rumbling when he pleaded, "Please, Ivan. Please. You don't mean that. I'll always be there, always, so you can't give up. You promised. Don't you know what I've done for us to be here right now?"

Ludwig had moved heaven and earth for Ivan, had jumped through every possible hoop, had moved mountains and oceans alike, had defied every person around him to save Ivan. Had risked his very life for Ivan, several times. Ludwig had stood in front of Alfred's gun, for Ivan.

And now Ivan was just letting that slip through his fingers, because Ivan was tired.

Ivan just stared at Ludwig, looking so forlorn. No will to fight there at all upon his face.

What Ivan whispered then broke Alfred's heart completely.

"Baby, I think it would be best for everyone if I just went quietly."

Alfred couldn't remember ever seeing Ludwig cry quite as hard as he did then, as he sobbed pitifully into Ivan's neck, "How can you say that? How could you ever leave me behind? You promised—"

No words for that, none at all, standing there and watching Ivan sentence himself with death. To see Ivan lucid and fully aware, at long last, and for that deciding to let go. Ludwig said it was his choice, too, and it should have been, but no matter how stubborn Ludwig was, this time the final decision was Ivan's, and Ivan's only.

Ivan chose to let go.

Oh, that awful wailing.

Alfred removed his glasses, tucked them in his pocket, and started blinking quickly, because he could feel the stinging in his eyes and he would be goddamned if he cried in front of Ivan. He was falling apart lately, it seemed. Every day it was harder and harder to maintain his composure. It was long overdue for a good locked-in-the-bathroom crying session for Alfred.

He wasn't the only one affected by that terrible sound.

Ivan uttered, weakly, "Please stop crying. Please. I hate it."

Ludwig couldn't stop, and Ivan's will was clearly foundering.

Again, Ivan murmured, "Please stop."

Alfred remembered a sick Ivan's words, back inside that cold police station.

'You know I never mean to make you cry.'

His chest was so heavy.

Ludwig clung helplessly to Ivan, as he had for years, and finally, Ivan broke down.

At last, under Ludwig's awful crying, Ivan folded, caved in, and whispered, weakly, "Alright. Alright. I'll... I'll do it, alright? I'll do it, anything you want. Just— Please stop crying. Please. Please. I can't stand it."

Ludwig had just given up his entire world for Ivan, and maybe Ivan felt that, even if he didn't want to live, he owed it to Ludwig.

He was right.

Ludwig, relinquishing everything he had, everything, on the smallest chance that Ivan would get lucky and make it another year. Five months, five years, ten, fifty, it didn't matter to Ludwig—Ludwig would have rejected Gilbert then, would have had the exact same response, if doing so had given Ivan even one more day.

Because Ludwig loved Ivan.

Ivan owed Ludwig at least a good fight.

Having gotten what he wanted, Ludwig's crying steadily calmed down, but he didn't release Ivan for a good while, and Alfred felt suddenly so damn bad for Ivan, because he rested his chin on Ludwig's shoulder and looked so spent. Entirely exhausted. Ivan had nothing at all left to give, but forced himself onward for Ludwig.

Hours later, Ludwig pulled back, Ivan was half-asleep, and Ludwig took Ivan's face in his hands. A long stare between them, Ludwig tried to smile, and it was Ludwig that time who kissed Ivan's forehead.

Ivan's eyes squinted in a momentary collapse, but he didn't cry then, and bid Ludwig a rather put-together farewell.

Ludwig's mood improved considerably, despite having cast Gilbert and Toris aside. Ivan was giving Ludwig what he wanted, and that was all that mattered.

In the elevator, Ludwig reached out, remarkably, and grabbed Alfred's hand.

Oh—

Alfred clenched it in a second, and wanted to be elated but instead just felt sad.

They went home, and there was no speaking.

Ludwig had corralled Ivan, but only barely, and it was clear that Ivan intended only to do the absolute bare minimum to satisfy Ludwig, and that was all. Had no real fight in him, and wouldn't make it far like that. Alfred knew it; Ludwig may not have, because when it came to Ivan Ludwig saw only what he wanted to see.

Ludwig would make Ivan fight, whether he wanted to or not, and his fantasy castle was steadily being rebuilt, just like that. Ludwig really was stubborn, resilient, proud, and when Ivan was there Ludwig always had been at his very best.

That night, Ludwig went into the downstairs bedroom, curled up beside of Alfred, and threw an arm over his chest.

Alfred pulled him in with no hesitation, and tried not to contemplate the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Ludwig was interacting with Alfred again so suddenly because Ludwig had once again cast Gilbert and Toris aside. Ivan was sick, and there was no other fallback for Ludwig. Ludwig had attached himself instinctively to Alfred once before when Ivan had been gone, and might have been doing so again because now Gilbert was gone.

Once again, a vulnerable Ludwig was latching.

Once again, Alfred took what he could get.

He slept well that night, with Ludwig warm against him.

No nightmares.

The next day, Ludwig didn't bother combing his hair or shaving. Just threw on a sweater and wrinkled pants and got in the car.

A strange day. Shoulda been cheerier, since Ivan had folded, but it was odd. Melancholy. Something just still felt so amiss, so wrong, everything was wrong, and when they walked into Ivan's room, Kiku was there, staring down at Ivan in a rather blank manner.

Kiku glanced up through his lashes, saw Ludwig, straightened up, and very strangely left the room without a word.

Odd, alright.

Ivan was quiet.

Ludwig sat down next to him, grabbed his hand, and asked, in Kiku's wake, "Are they starting today? Early?"

Ivan gave a deep, "Hm," and nothing more.

And then, out of nowhere, Ivan turned his head, ran his eyes over Ludwig's face, before lifting them up and locking them right onto Alfred's. Stared right into Alfred, and Alfred could only stare back.

Two men who were enemies and yet one and the same.

It really was an odd day, though, because Ivan did something outrageous.

Ivan reached out, took Ludwig's hand within both of his huge ones, and whispered, "Will you let me talk to him alone for a little while?"

Him—Alfred.

What the—?

Alfred bristled up in surprise, anxiety, and Ludwig must have felt that way, too, from the shocked look on his face. A long, painful silence, and poor Ludwig suddenly looked petrified. It was his worst fear, for so long, having Alfred and Ivan come face to face.

Ludwig's eyes flitted down to Alfred's belt, quickly.

No need; Ludwig had come to bed last night, wasn't hiding away, so Alfred had unhooked the gun and set it aside again. Ivan had agreed to Ludwig's demands, so there was no way in hell Ludwig would ever go for the gun. Alfred hadn't brought it.

As if it mattered.

What it came down to in the end was that weak and sick Ivan was in absolutely no condition to be raising hell, to be fighting, screaming, arguing, and all of that seemed to have burnt out from him anyway. There would be no altercation, because if Ludwig had opened the window right then, the January wind woulda knocked Ivan right over.

Ludwig suddenly locked eyes with Alfred, hesitating, and Alfred nodded his head for encouragement.

"Very well," Ludwig murmured, and took his leave.

As Ludwig passed Alfred by, their eyes met again, and Alfred tried to say a hundred things without opening his mouth, tried to smile, tried to convey to Ludwig that Alfred loved him, too. To remind him that there was someone else that would have gone the world over for him.

Ludwig smiled back, thinly, and was gone.

Alfred hadn't really received the reciprocation he had hoped for, but hadn't really expected to. Why it had been a hope, after all.

Alfred turned his head back to Ivan, looked him up and down, and waited.

A long, heavy silence, as Ivan stared at the wall and seemed to be gathering his strength. He took his IV in one huge hand, used the other to push himself upright, staggered a little, took a deep breath, and then turned himself to Alfred.

For the first time, Alfred and Ivan came face to face, completely alone on all sides.

Just the two of them.

So different than any other occasion, because the circumstances had changed so drastically and so had Ivan's appearance. Ivan was as pale as Ludwig now, or just about, his collarbone slightly visible now as he lost more weight. Alfred suddenly felt a little embarrassed, being healthy and mostly put-together as he stared at that pitiful, haggard Ivan.

Guilt.

After eternity, Ivan finally spoke.

His voice was soft, rough, tired.

"I've invoked my right to medical privacy. The doctor isn't allowed to tell Ludwig anything anymore. So. I'm stopping everything. I'm not going to do the treatment."

Ice down his back, and not from the snow outside.

Dumbfounded and heart pounding, Alfred asked, "Why?"

What had changed? Yesterday, Ivan had conceded to Ludwig, had agreed to the treatment. Why had he changed his mind? Ludwig wouldn't accept this.

Ivan's eyes ran over Alfred, up and down, across his face, analyzing him as much as Gilbert and Toris ever had, perhaps because Ivan wanted to see who had taken his place.

Ivan swallowed, dropped his eyes momentarily, and then found his composure.

"Gilbert came to speak to me last night. With all of the necessary paperwork. I've let that man hate me for years, and it's never bothered me. But now I— Maybe he was right. So I signed everything."

"Signed what?" Alfred barely managed to ask, as he felt dizzy from the conflicting sentiments of anger and unease and sadness and everything else.

Gilbert. Some nerve he had, still coming by after Ludwig had given him a what for.

Gilbert and Toris were the most insidious sort of men, unable to accept total defeat as much as Ludwig. Gilbert was attempting to cling to Ludwig, and had no qualms about how vicious his actions needed to be in order to obtain that.

To Gilbert, the ends always justified the means.

Ivan held onto his IV for balance as he suddenly swayed, but he shook his head and lifted his chin, tried to look strong and determined despite how pale and shoddy he was, and merely offered, "Everything I have, naturally, will be left to Ludwig. I have life insurance. The house is signed over to Ludwig. The car. Everything I have is his. ...yours, I suppose. I— Gilbert has offered Ludwig a permanently secure position, regardless of what he does with the rest of his life. He's given me his word that he'll never disown Ludwig, never, come what may, as long as I stop treatment immediately."

A squint of Ivan's eyes, rapid blinking, a collapse, but once more, right at the brink, Ivan pulled it together and regained his stoicism.

Couldn't stand it.

Ivan's accent somehow made the words so much sadder to Alfred, because it reminded Alfred that this man was so far from home and dying all alone. No one wanted to die alone and in a strange place.

"So," Ivan carried on, betrayed suddenly by his quivering voice, "If I die, Ludwig will be secure for the rest of his life, even he doesn't do what Gilbert wants him to do. Gilbert has given me his word. I know— You may not know him well. He's a very harsh man, but he's honest. He would never break his own vow. So I'm stopping. I agreed. It's my final atonement, I think. I can't— I don't want to live without him, anyway, so what do I care? I did my best. He'll be secure. You two can..."

Ivan trailed off, and just couldn't finish.

Couldn't finish saying 'you two can be together', because the thought of Ludwig being with someone else was just too much for him.

Instead, Ivan redirected, with a lower, "I'm telling you this so you'll be ready. He'll need you. Don't tell him. The doctor can't tell him now, so he won't realize until it's too late. It's the least I can do for him, after everything I've done. It's— It's all I can do. I don't know what else to do."

Ivan fell still, and spoke no more.

Alfred swallowed, clenched his jaw, brow low and feeling jittery from adrenaline, and it felt a bit as if the world around him had utterly collapsed.

Dammit all—he wanted Ludwig, did he ever, wanted to win, but he didn't want to win like this. Not like this. Wasn't a fair battle that way, it wasn't, and in the end the only true victor would have been Gilbert.

Alfred had so many things he wanted to say, so much, his head was a wreck, and yet all he asked then, for whatever unholy reason, was, "Did you sign the divorce papers?"

Why had he asked that? So fuckin' stupid—

As could be entirely expected, Ivan misunderstood.

A crinkle of anger in his brow, a tightening of his fist on the IV stand, but it faded quickly, and Ivan appeared once more to go into damage control. "You must understand," he began, in a very soft, pretty voice meant to soothe, "Divorce now wouldn't benefit Ludwig as much as my death. I know it's not— I know you don't want to wait, but it won't be long. A month, maybe, the doctor said. Can't you just wait a month for me to die? Then you'll have him, but also everything I had. You can take better care of him if I die married. Let him be a widower. Please."

Toris' awful words that day, so long ago.

'Or maybe Ludwig will be a widower. That would be the best outcome.'

What everyone had wanted all along, actually, for Ivan to die suddenly while still married.

Ivan kept his eyes locked onto Alfred's but kept his chin tucked low. Trying to look up at Alfred even though he stood taller, trying to appear docile, trying to be submissive just in that second in order to calm Alfred's temper and keep Ludwig's security.

That wasn't what Alfred had meant, but he didn't know what to say to make Ivan understand that, and so instead Alfred turned his eyes to the window and tried to gather up his thoughts.

His stomach hurt.

So long now Alfred had tiptoed around morality. Had done wrong things for what he felt was the right reason, and maybe that was how Gilbert felt last night when he had come inside this room. Doing the wrong thing morally, but in his own way Gilbert had been trying still to protect a man that he actually loved all the way.

Alfred had done so many things, awful things, dishonest things, had gone behind Ludwig's back time and time again, had conspired and plotted. This really should have been just another roll of the dice, shouldn't it, just another move in the game.

Somehow...

Too much. This wasn't right. None of it had been right from the very beginning, but this was the dark water where Alfred finally fell still and refused to take a step into the surf. Too far. Couldn't do it, because this was the one thing that truly would have haunted Alfred until the day he died. He couldn't let this happen. Would have eaten him alive everyday.

Ludwig had already rejected Gilbert, had disowned himself, and it wasn't fair for Gilbert to still be behind the curtain pulling strings.

So Alfred finally found his voice, his will, whatever little bit of true good he had within himself, and met Ivan's pale grey eyes.

When he spoke, all Alfred said was, "No. Do the chemo."

Ivan seemed shocked. Taken aback. His lips parted and he took a sharp breath, and he seemed entirely befuddled. Poor guy. Must have been a wreck up in his head, remembering all that shit. Ivan had assumed, no doubt, that Alfred would be as happy as Gilbert to be rid of him, because Ivan remembered now too all those confrontations, everything Alfred had seen.

Maybe in Ivan's head, then, he could vaguely recall paint and nooses.

Before Ivan could argue, could come up with more reasons, Alfred added, "I want him to choose me. I do. I'm gonna fight you, like hell, but— It ain't right, winning like that. So do the treatment. Get better. For him. And then I'll kick your ass, fair and square. I'm not gonna have anyone say he only stayed with me because you died. Got it?"

Ivan's eyes fell to the floor, closed, and Alfred felt a little pity for the man then just because he looked so damn tired. Maybe Ivan was ready for it all to be done and over with, but Ludwig wasn't, and Ivan owed Ludwig too much to just give up. If Ivan didn't have the will to fight, then that was fine, but Ludwig's will was strong, and so Ivan was just going to have to use that instead.

There was no choice.

Alfred was lying, though, even then at his best moment :

There would be no fight for Ludwig, because Ludwig had already made up his mind about where he would be and with whom. Until Ivan was dead, Ludwig would be by his side, and yes, in fact, Ludwig actually would just stay with Alfred in the end because Ivan had died.

That was how it was, and how it would continue to be.

But, hell, what was he supposed to say? Had to give the jerk some kinda motivation, however stupid. To pretend that there was still a chance for either of them to be happy.

Ivan shook his head just a little, opened his mouth, but Alfred held a hand up in the air to silence him, and he heard himself say, as thoughtlessly as ever, "He kicked my gun away when I was gonna shoot you. You owe him this. He doesn't want your money or house. He wants you. Always has. So do it."

A crumple of Ivan's face, as he hung his head to hide his squinting eyes.

Alfred waited, patiently, as Ivan gathered himself.

Felt rather numb by then. Everything around him so surreal. Wasn't even sure if this was really happening or if he was dreaming.

Before long Ivan composed himself, and he spoke once more. Ivan's tired eyes met Alfred's, one last time, and his whisper then was very dreary.

"Being sick... It's just like being drunk, isn't it? One's true self comes out. I wanted to kill the both of you, because I would rather have him die than love someone that wasn't me. And I don't— I can't figure out if that was me or the tumor. I'm not sure. And that's why I don't want to do this. I meant it when I said I think it would be best for everyone if I went quietly. I'm not sure that I know who I really am. Everything I did—maybe that was the real me, under it all. I have a bad temper. I always did, but I never let it get the better of me. One time... When we hadn't been together long, I got drunk. When I get drunk, I get angry. I almost hit him. I hit the wall instead, at the last second. But I promised him that I wouldn't ever be like that. So I stopped drinking. Because I knew that I couldn't control myself. So. Being sick, it's the same. I think that man was who I really am. I should just go. I know so many men like that. I didn't ever want to be one."

Alfred stared Ivan down, and didn't know what to say.

Everyone was a little crazy, in their own way, everyone had a dark side, and maybe being sick had given Ivan the chance to tap into his, but that didn't mean he was a bad person. And if it did, then so what? Everyone was a bad person at the base, everyone, even saints, and so no one could have ever really faulted Ivan for those thoughts, whether they had been his own or his sickness'.

Ivan was just a man in love, and Alfred knew how that felt on a normal day; couldn't imagine taking that potency and then sawing the safety off. Ivan's brain had been entirely released of all morality, and maybe everything he had done was everything Alfred was capable of had the circumstances been reversed.

After all, Alfred was his father sometimes.

They were the same man, at the end of the day.

At last, at long last, Alfred stood before Ivan then and met the real one.

In that moment, Alfred knew that he was finally meeting Ivan, and he couldn't stand it, because what he saw there reminded him far too much of himself. Standing before the mirror, really, as he and Ivan gazed at each other from opposite sides of the same glass. They weren't rivals in that moment, weren't nemeses, weren't really even competition; just two scared, lonely men who didn't know how to handle the environment and people around them and sometimes lashed out for it.

Ivan turned away from Alfred without another word, lied down, and covered himself with the blanket Ludwig had brought. Alfred composed himself and retrieved Ludwig, and Ivan actually managed to speak to him a little before using exhaustion as an excuse to get rid of them.

Alfred hadn't gotten a verbal confirmation, no, but was certain all the same that Ivan would uphold his promise to Ludwig and not Gilbert, and would go through with the treatment.

There was no other choice.

Ludwig didn't ask Alfred anything about the private conversation, and Alfred was pretty sure that it was because Ludwig just really didn't want to know. Ludwig had his fantasy world to tend to, after all, and didn't want to hear anything that may not have aligned with that.

Ludwig slept on Alfred's chest again that night, oblivious to how close Ivan had come to giving up, and Alfred held him there as his mind whirred.

Strange. He had wanted an easy way out of this mess for so long, and when he had finally been given one Alfred had kicked it aside. Something was wrong with him, for sure. He had climbed the mountain and then decided he wanted to turn around just before making the summit. Alfred should have let Ivan go, should have stayed silent, should have let Ivan make his own decision, but it was too late for that.

Alfred had made his bed, and it was time to lie in it.

He had missed his chance, and was somehow damn glad he had. He had meant it when he said he didn't wanna win like that. One day, Ludwig would have discovered the truth, as he always did, and Alfred would never be the prince in the story again. Cheating would never have won Ludwig over, and perhaps underneath it all Alfred longed yet for the opportunity to be Ludwig's hero.

One day, maybe, Ludwig would actually notice.

When Ivan was gone.