Chapter 40

GDR took a deep breath as the car pulled up to the same hotel he always stayed at in Berlin. He shook his head, opening the door. It'd been years since his last trip to Berlin, almost seven years. He didn't look up at the city as he walked up to the front door of the hotel.

"May I help you, sir?" A bright eyed young boy asked him.

GDR didn't look at the child, "Ja, the luggage is in the car," he nodded back, never turning.

"Of course, sir!"

GDR walked into the hotel, walking to the desk. None of the staff was the same, and he was grateful for it.

"You're in room 244, sir," the girl at the front desk chimed.

His heart sunk. It was his usual room, the one he'd stayed at every single time before. He took the keys without asking for a different room.

He walked up the stairs slowly, the boy catching up to carry his luggage behind him. Gil couldn't help but notice the child's blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He looked away. He couldn't look at him.

"Just leave the luggage here by the door," GDR said simply, still not ever turning to the boy.

"Of course, sir," The boy replied, pausing after setting down the luggage.

Gil pulled a 20 mark note from his pocket and slipped it into the boy's hand without looking.

"Sir… this is… I think you've given me the wrong note, I…"

"Nein habe ich nicht. (No I didn't)" Gil turned to the boy just once. "Now go."

The boy stared up at Gil for a moment before running down the stairs.

GDR sighed, shaking his head. He picked up his own luggage and brought it into his room. He glanced at the bed for a moment, then threw his luggage onto the table beside the window, pressing his hands on it, leaning over it with another deep sigh. He shook his head, annoyed at his own weakness. He looked back at the bed. He took off the jacket of his uniform and hung it on the rack near the door. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. He let himself fall onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes. He remembered everything. Every single moment of desperate passion when he'd used her as his drug. Every kiss, every move, every word she said, her skin against his, her nails digging into his back, his hands tangled in her hair, the way she'd fallen asleep on his chest like they were really lovers… but they hadn't been lovers. They used each other, that was all. She got information and protection from him, and from her he took desperate distraction, but neither of them had actually loved each other, not that night. He opened his eyes, turning to the space next to him on the bed. Had he loved her? Actually loved her? He couldn't remember. He didn't want to remember it, any of it. He couldn't force the memories away. He wanted to be free of her. She couldn't haunt him. He wanted to forget her. He just wanted to forget her. He rolled onto his side crawling further up the bed to rest against the pillow. He closed his eyes, falling asleep.

He woke a few hours later to a knock on the door. He groaned, sitting up, running his hand through his hair. "What?" He called.

"There's a message for you, sir, from the general." The same boy as before said, his voice muffled by the door.

GDR sighed, "All right." He stood slowly, and opened the door, taking the note without looking at the boy. "Danke," he said as he closed the door again. He opened the note, which simply informed him of the first meeting time. It was scheduled for several hours later.

GDR turned on the radio and sat on the bed again for a moment before turning to the closet again. He listened to the news, most of it boring, while he changed into his uniform. He adjusted it without a mirror for as long as he could, wanting to spend as little time in front of it as possible. He didn't look at his own face, just at the uniform, once he was in front of the mirror. He sighed deeply, turning off the radio before walking out of the room.

…

GDR set the empty glass from his fourth drink on the bar counter, motioning for another. He wasn't even close to drunk, barely even tipsy. He wanted to be drunk. The band was playing behind him, rock, his new favorite. Austria could keep the classical piano. The place was packed. It was almost more of a club than a bar, unofficially. He glanced around the room, waiting for the fifth drink to be set in front of him. His eyes met a pretty blond's. She was slender, with a short skirt and legs for days. He smirked. She was distracting and that was all he needed. He smiled as she stood, walking up to the bar and sitting beside him.

"The music is good tonight, huh?" She smiled, her red lipstick tempting.

He nodded, "So it is." He forced himself to keep his eyes on her face, "You're not from Berlin, where are you from?" he asked casually.

"Oh! You caught me. And here I was trying to blend in…" her voice was like butter, "I'm from the South East. I'm only in Berlin for a little while… I wanted to see the city," She smiled, lifting her drink to her lips.

GDR smirked, "Oh really?" he looked her over.

"Ja, you're from the north I think?"

He nodded, "Ja…" he smiled again, noticing her eyes traveling down, then back up to his face, "Like what you see?"

"I could ask the same of you…" she smirked.

"I haven't been to the southern part of the country before… perhaps you could tell me about it somewhere more… private?" He smirked.

"Where did you have in mind?"

"You're the lady, where would you like?"

She smirked, glancing him over again less than subtly, "There's a lounge in the back. Not everyone knows about it, but I do, and now you do."

GDR nodded, "Perfect."

She smiled, stepping off the high bar chair and motioning for him to follow her.

GDR let her lead him around the corner to the back. He smiled at her again as she opened the door to the lounge room. It was more than obvious what it was designed for. She looked up at him, smiling. She turned her back to him, setting her drink down on the table beside the velvet couch. She inhaled sharply as she felt his gun press into her back.

"Turn around."

She listened.

"Who are you?"

"What do you mean, sir? I'm just a girl from the south up visiting Berlin…"

"No, you're not. Don't lie. I don't like liars." he motioned for her to sit on the couch, sitting opposite her on a chair, never lowering his gun from aiming at her chest. "Now, you're pretty good, I won't lie either. Definitely attractive, you have that technique down, I'm sure. I've had girls go for me pretty quickly before… but no one moves that fast, and you missed your accent. You're American. No! Don't lie. You're American."

She sighed deeply, "Yes, I'm American."

"What's your name?"

"Anne," she said, the tempting chocolate still in her voice.

"Who sent you?"

"Alfred Jones."

GDR rolled his eyes, "So that means you know?"

"Know what?" She cooed.

"I said 'don't lie'!" he snapped, moving the gun to her head.

"Ok, ok! Yeah, I know…" her voice changed to a simple sound as she raised her hands slightly. She kept her eyes fixed on the gun.

"What do you know?"

"I know that Alfred Jones is America himself, as a country… and that he's been working with your brother, who's very worried about you…"

"I don't have a brother," GDR shook his head, ignoring the sting of pain the words caused.

"Well, Ludwig still does…" She said, looking straight into his dark red eyes.

"How long have you been a spy for America?"

"A few years…"

"Then you know too much. I'm sorry." He sighed, lowering the gun to her chest and fired.

Anne gasped for breath, grabbing at her chest, blood seeping from her red lips. She looked at GDR, terrified.

He sighed, sitting next to her on the couch, "I'm so sorry… I wish I could keep you alive. At least I won't ruin your pretty face…" he touched her cheek gently and let the barrel of his gun press against her chest. He put a bullet in her chest, catching her body as it fell into his arms. He stood, laying her down on the couch gently.

"I really am sorry," he sighed, standing and looking down at his shirt, which had blood all over it. He growled in frustration, holstering his gun. He walked out of the lounge into the main area of the club. He turned to the bartender.

"It turns out one of your guests was an American spy. Be glad I was there to stop her!" he snapped authoritatively.

The bartender jumped, terrified, "Are… are you going to shut us down…?"

"Nein. Not right now, anyway."

"Y-you'll never… never pay for a drink in here again sir!"

"Danke, that's very nice of you," GDR smiled, patting the bartender's shoulders with his less bloody hand. He sat back at the bar, then glanced back at his shirt. He couldn't stay, not like that. He sighed, annoyed. "I'll be back," he nodded, standing and walking out of the door. He glanced around the street, walking towards his hotel, which was only a few blocks away. He hadn't bothered to have someone take him in the car. He sighed. The evening wasn't going as he'd planned. His plan had been getting drunk out of his mind and bringing at least one girl back to his hotel room.

GDR felt his hands starting to shake. He needed the drugs too, not just a clean shirt.

…

GDR opened his hotel room door, his shirt sticking to him, the dried blood annoying and crusty. He froze the moment he stepped into his room.

A young man with dark hair and dark eyes stood in his room, looking completely casual apart from the gun on his hip.

"Y… Cort…" Gil stared, his shaking hands only becoming more obvious. Not now… bad timing… really bad timing!

The young man looked up, tears of rage in his eyes, "Was it here?" he asked, his voice thick with tears.

"W… what do you…?" Gil looked away from Cort's eyes.

"LOOK AT ME!" Cort stood, raising his gun to Gil's face.

Gil obeyed.

"Who's blood is that?"

"Some American spy," he tried to sound casual, trying to brush it away.

Cort fired a shot into Gil's leg, bringing the man to his knees with a gasp of pain.

Gil looked up at Cort, shocked.

"Was it here?" Cort asked again.

"What do you mean?" Gil repeated, looking up at the young man.

"Was it here that you gave her her death sentence?"

Gil looked down, sighing deeply.

"I SAID LOOK AT ME!" Cort used the gun to lift Gil's chin.

Gil didn't take the gun. It would have been easy, but he didn't take it. "Ja. It is."

Cort fired again, into Gil's chest this time.

Gil choked, trying to swallow back blood.

"Your brother told me everything about you!" Cort's voice was a terrible mixture of anger and pain, his face expressing the same.

Gil couldn't look at him.

"Your brother told me everything about you and the whole 'countries are people' thing. That you can't die, that you're hundreds of years old…"

"Cort…" Gil tried to speak, blood filling his lungs. It wasn't going to kill him, but it hurt like hell.

"No! I'm not listening to you! Not after what you've done!" Tears streamed down Cort's cheeks, "I hate you! I hate you!" He pushed his hair back with both hands, the gun still in his right, "Do you know what happened to us!?"

Gil shook his head, "You got across…"

"My mother died just two years after we crossed the wall. And Gisela is God knows where… and Adelaide is DEAD!" His voice shook with anger, "But you already knew that since YOU KILLED HER!"

Gil nodded, looking up into Cort's face again, trying to steady his own voice, trying to ignore the pain, "Cort there was no way she was going to live… I was trying to protect you and the rest of your family… I'm not justifying anything, but I…"

Cort fired into Gil's chest again, watching the country double over in pain, clutching his bleeding chest, trying to hold back the blood that insisted on rising into his throat. "Don't," he snapped, "I want to see it. I want to see you bleed…"

Gil spit blood from his mouth, letting it drip down his face. He looked up at Cort, who's face held fear almost as much as anger, "Cort… put down the gun…"

"Did you love her?" Cort tried to hold back tears, "Tell me did you love her?"

"Yes."

Cort fired again, this time into Gil's stomach.

Gil fell back, turning to the side, coughing blood onto the carpet of the room. He turned back to Cort, forcing himself to sit back up, kneeling.

Cort knelt in front of him, pressing the side of his head against Gil's, holding the gun to his temple so the bullet would kill them both.

"Cort, don't!" Gil pushed the gun away, letting the shot fire into the wall. He grabbed the gun away from Cort and threw it to the side, wrapping his arms around Cort, who's whole body shook with sobs.

"My sister, Gil… you…"

"I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…." Gil gripped Cort's jacket, holding him tightly.

Cort brought his shaking arms around Gil's back, sobbing against his shoulder. "I hate you…" he whispered into the bloody fabric of Gil's shirt.

"I deserve it… I'm so sorry…" Gil shook his head, his heart racing, his skin crawling with cold hands. He felt dizzy, lightheaded from loss of blood. He tried to ignore it. He couldn't ignore it. "Cort…"

"I want her back, Gil…" Cort sobbed, his voice barely intelligible through the tears.

Me too… Gil didn't say the words out loud. He didn't want Cort to shoot him again. He was dangerously close to death as it was. He glanced back at his suitcase. He needed the drugs. "Cort…I…" He coughed again, blood pouring from his mouth.

"Gil?" Cort pulled away from the hug, scared, "Gil…?" He looked down at the wounds he'd inflicted. He pushed his hair back again, shaking, "Gil!?"

Gil looked up at him, his head spinning, "I'm so sorry…"

Cort stared at him, shocked, angry, and scared. He didn't want Gil to die again. He'd already watched him die once, and he would never get the image out of his mind. He caught Gil as he fell. He could feel the white-haired country's heart pounding in his chest. He looked around the room for a phone. Finally, he just screamed for help, picking up Gil and moving him to the bed. He ran to the door and opened it, screaming into the hallway, "PLEASE WE NEED HELP! NOW!" No one. He looked back at Gil. What had he done?

A/N: So Gil is... different... more violent, more unpredictable... and Cort is justifiably angry, but also doesn't want Gil to die again... So many emotions... GDR barely feels anymore... until Cort shows up...

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