A/N : Potentially uncomfortable chapter.

Chapter 4

Reminiscent Echoes

Felt like he had been sitting at that table for years, in that unending, unnerving quiet.

Ludwig wouldn't speak.

At Ludwig's unbreakable silence, Alfred prodded, "So. Tell me what I'm doing here. And be honest. I'm puttin' myself out there—I need to know everything. Everything. The truth helps me do my job a hell of a lot better. Alright? You said a name earlier. Ivan? Who's that? Is that the guy from today?"

Hard to converse with Ludwig on a normal day, and now Ludwig just looked like he wanted to sink under the table and die. Hated it for him, yeah, but Alfred really did need to know. Didn't want to make him upset, but this was a little important. Needless to say.

At last, a hesitant nod from Ludwig, who was still avoiding his gaze.

It was clear that Ludwig had verbally shut down, so Alfred was forced to lead the conversation by trying, "Is there anyone else I need to know about?"

Ludwig shook his head, brow low and lips pursed and face ever collapsing.

As if all of that haughtiness had been knocked right out of Ludwig. As if Alfred not knowing had been extremely unnerving to Ludwig, because now he had to actually talk about it. Ludwig seemed somehow humiliated, as if he were scared of Alfred actually knowing the story.

Couldn't place that look, but damn, was it killing him, it really was.

So sad.

"Ivan got a last name?"

At last, forced to speak, Ludwig murmured, lowly, "Braginsky."

Had Ludwig lowered his head any farther, it would have bumped into that empty glass he was nearly melting.

When he was offered nothing else, Alfred tried, "Got a picture or something?"

Had seen Ivan already, yeah, memorized him fairly well, but this was standard protocol when only one culprit was involved and they were known.

Again, a nod, and Alfred was a bit perplexed when Ludwig, instead of reaching for his phone, pulled out his wallet instead. A reach inside, and Ludwig had pulled out a small stack of little photos, two or three, staring down at them a bit blankly before reluctantly handing them across the table to Alfred.

Everything about Ludwig then was so muted. As if Ludwig had just checked completely out of the building and was running on autopilot.

Alfred took the offered pictures, flipped them over, and at the top sat a rather professional looking photo of the huge man he had squared off against earlier in the evening, only...

Didn't recognize him at all, at first. Looked entirely unalike, and Alfred thought that perhaps Ludwig had handed him the wrong photo in his daze, but a closer study made it clear that it was the same guy. That nose, that jaw, those grey eyes. Same man, after all.

How could someone look so completely different and yet similar?

Something about those eyes. In the photo, the man looked so different, if only because he looked so much calmer, kinder. Looked like a nice guy, actually, and it was a little strange. His hair was neatly clipped, combed. His clothes were perfect. Smiling crookedly, canines a little poked out. That very Slavic nose. Cleanly shaved. His eyes were alert, clear, gentler. Looked like any other businessman in the city, if only bigger and broader. But, man! Not to be a dick but this surely was the most Russian-looking motherfucker Alfred had ever seen in his life, and didn't even know yet what this man actually was. Didn't say that aloud, for Ludwig's benefit, but good lord! Not particularly handsome, not anywhere near as easy on the eyes as Ludwig, but looked kind enough. One of those men that relied more on personality and their own confidence. One of those acquired tastes, Alfred supposed. Strange.

Looked like a good guy here, for it all, and Alfred was confused, as usual these days.

Tilting his head, Alfred uttered aloud, "This is him? He looks so different here."

A low whisper.

"That was before he...lost his mind."

Yeah, the guy had seemed out of his mind for sure, had been high or crazed, drunk, whatever, and for that he had looked very different than this normal, unremarkable man in the picture.

Alfred glanced up at Ludwig, who was staring away at the tabletop, and Alfred couldn't help but scoff then and wonder, "You keep a picture of the guy who's threatening you? That's different."

Hadn't had that happen before.

Silence.

Ludwig looked so distant. Lost, almost.

Alfred turned his eyes back down to this Ivan fellow, observing him and taking him in some more, and asked, curiously, "So what's the deal with him? You guys business partner or something? Deal go south? I've seen that a lot before—"

Alfred trailed off then in utter shock, and actually exhaled something close to a gasp, because he had shuffled the photo behind the stack to look at the next one, and was absolutely floored.

A wedding photo.

Two men; one was clearly Ivan, although he looked so unfamiliar, and the other was Ludwig.

Holy shit—

They were married?

Hadn't seen that coming, not in a million years, not in the way Ludwig had looked so frightened of Ivan, not in the way Ivan had tried to shake the life out of Ludwig. Had never once imagined they were married. No wonder Gilbert had been so vague, why Ludwig looked so humiliated now, why Ludwig was so angry and volatile and cold. Why Ludwig was so upset with Gilbert, why Ludwig didn't want Alfred there. It had to have been an extremely touchy topic for all of them, one no one wanted to even think about uttering.

Gilbert hadn't wanted to say, 'Protect my little brother from his own husband.'

Alfred couldn't blame him.

Oh, that wedding ring that had gleamed on Ivan's finger—

Didn't know what to say then, he really didn't, so Alfred just stared silently away at the picture in his hand, taking it in as a whole. A beautiful photo, really. One of those snapped without anyone knowing. The best kind; unplanned. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, as Ivan held Ludwig by the waist and kissed his cheek, as Ludwig beamed away, caught in a second of laughter, and far in the background Alfred could see the top of Gilbert's head, and that brunet from the office.

The look on Ludwig's face here...

Beautiful.

Ivan looked a far cry from what Alfred had seen on the street that evening. Looked younger here, looked so much happier, looked gentler, looked caring and loving. Looked like a very normal man, basking in the glow of his wedding. Lit up and bright. Didn't look at all dangerous there, size aside. No hint whatsoever of what was to come. Ivan wasn't a handsome guy, really, but in that moment, in that photo, with that smile, he was as beautiful as everything else.

Ludwig was always stunning from what Alfred had seen, but his eyes were glued then to that photo because Ludwig was downright gorgeous in that moment, frozen in time. Had never seen a prettier smile that the one Ludwig was sending Ivan, but that could very well have been because Alfred had only seen this icy Ludwig, this haughty one, this unpleasant one, this scared one, and so to see him smile like that was astounding.

They looked so happy.

Kinda sad, really, to look at that picture and then up at Ludwig, who was far more lackluster now and was still staring down at the table. Ludwig certainly wasn't smiling anymore, and neither was Ivan.

How had all of this come to pass? Where had everything gone wrong?

Ivan wore his ring yet; Ludwig did not.

Needed to know, even if it hurt Ludwig to talk about it, so Alfred gripped the photos in his hands, flipping through them in turn, and finally gathered the courage to pry, carefully, "I'm guessing it wasn't an amicable divorce."

To put it lightly.

Ludwig looked up at last, met Alfred's eyes, and said, a bit stiffly, "We're not divorced. He refuses to sign the papers. That's why..."

Ludwig trailed off, seemingly quite mortified, and Alfred waited quietly for him to come around.

Took a while, but Ludwig finally finished, "That's why Gilbert hired you."

Alfred sat up straight, brow low and face stern, and said, "What? All this because of a divorce? He's coming after you...because you left him?"

Maybe jealousy and hate were good reasons, but Alfred was far more accustomed to dealing with money and power struggles. He guarded drug dealers, frauds, thieves, mafiosos, the worst kind of men, and so to suddenly be guarding a man from his husband over a divorce?—that seemed absurd.

Ludwig gave a short, humorless laugh, and rumbled, "My husband is quite traditional, I'm afraid. Divorce simply is not an option. He takes 'until death do us part' very literally. When I first presented him with the divorce papers, he went quite ballistic. He said that he would never sign them, never, that the only way we would ever divorce is if one of us were to die."

Well, hell. Ominous.

Alfred asked, curiously, "And then what happened?"

The pause then was unbearable, and Alfred almost squirmed as Ludwig appeared close to just shutting down entirely.

Took well over a full minute of silence before Alfred received an answer.

It wasn't one he wanted.

Ludwig stared holes through the table, and finally supplied, "I don't remember. I woke up in the hospital three days later on a respirator. You can imagine how humiliating that was. Gilbert's reputation has always been my first priority."

Sarcasm on full display on that last sentence, but that didn't matter to Alfred, not then.

Just like that, a bolt of fury rose up, anger, wrath, and he felt his face flush red and his nostrils flare, felt himself swallow, and he couldn't help but curse, gruffly, "Dammit! Wish I'd'a known earlier! I'd've beaten the hell outta him, I swear it."

Ludwig jumped a bit when Alfred suddenly slammed his fist down onto the table in a fit of rage.

That guy, that fuckin' guy—

Wished he would have known. Would have torn that Ivan guy apart on the spot. Couldn't stand guys like that, couldn't stand to be around one and not do anything, and would never in his life have let Ivan walk away unscathed had he known. Woulda shot him right there, would never have let him just leave like that.

Wished he had known.

Alfred glanced up then, saw Ludwig's somewhat alarmed expression, and finally bit down on his anger enough to say, quickly, "Sorry. I just— I got a real special place in my heart for wife-beaters." Ludwig shot him a painfully dirty look, and Alfred was even quicker to amend, "You know what I mean."

And Ludwig did, because he was very quiet after that.

For the best, really, because all Alfred could hear then was the blood pounding in his ears from the anger.

Those awful memories that rushed up—couldn't stand them.

Alfred scoffed after a minute of fury, looked up at Ludwig, and said, crassly and rudely, "So what's his problem, huh? He can't get it up unless he's beatin' someone smaller than he is? Huh? Tryin' to prove he's a man?"

Alfred didn't why he said that, he was just so angry, and he didn't know what he really expected, but he sure as hell knew that what he did not expect was for Ludwig to pull back his fist and punch Alfred in the face from across the table.

Christ—

Instinctively, he clenched his own fist, ready to retaliate, but stopped himself short at the last second, because, goddammit! He couldn't ever hit Ludwig, ever, not now, not knowin' that.

Shit.

Alfred barked, as he held his nose, "What's your fuckin' problem?"

"You!" Ludwig shot back, face red with anger now more than alcohol and hands on the table, shoulders high and tense. "How dare you! Who do you think you are? You don't know him!"

Astounded and stupefied, Alfred sat back in his chair, and needless to say dinner was very much over.

Good thing his glasses were still off on that end table, or else Ludwig's big fist woulda cracked the damn things. Ludwig was a big guy, too, and punched accordingly.

Shocked and stunned, Alfred just stared at furious Ludwig from across the table, and it was staggering to him that Ludwig was defending that man. That Ludwig had actually punched Alfred for insulting the man that had put Ludwig in the hospital. Ludwig wouldn't lift a hand to defend himself from bodily harm from his damn husband, but had punched Alfred for opening his mouth and insulting that same husband. So Ludwig did have the heart to raise his fist, after all, but not against the only person he truly needed to.

Bizarre.

But Ludwig, as everyone had said, was a pretty good guy after all, because he suddenly crumpled up a paper towel and threw it at Alfred's face, and Alfred accepted it as blood leaked down from his nose.

Wanted out of here.

Wanted to go home, that bastard, didn't anyone understand how much Alfred didn't wanna be here? Didn't wanna be anywhere, but sure as hell didn't want to be here, not knowing now why. Couldn't stand it. Didn't want to be in this situation.

Wanted to resign.

They stared at each other across the table, Alfred holding the paper to his nose as Ludwig's anger seemed to fade. Alfred was livid, really was, but couldn't take that anger out on Ludwig like he normally would have, not now, and so instead Alfred tried to regain control of the situation.

He clipped his voice and appeared stern and unbothered when he asked, "How long ago was this?"

Ludwig was staring very fervently at the plate beneath him, refusing eye contact again suddenly, though likely not from guilt.

"Five months ago."

At last, Alfred asked what he found to be the most pertinent question of the day.

"So why am I being hired to protect you? Why isn't he in jail instead?"

A damn good question, one he expected a damn good answer to. More likely than not, that terrifying man just had good connections and had avoided prosecution.

...right?

Silence.

If Ludwig had stared at that plate any harder it would have combusted.

Ignored him so hard, in fact, that Alfred finally had to demand, firmly, "Answer the question."

Ludwig glanced up quickly through his lashes, glare very potent, but all the same finally conceded, "Because I refused to press charges."

That anger blazed back up, and Ludwig could no doubt see it, as Alfred cursed again and tried not to punch the table.

Dumb son of a bitch.

The last thing Alfred had wanted to hear and yet everything he had deep down expected. Far too common a theme, come to think, with the battered. Never wanted to press charges, for whatever reason. Until it was too late. Ludwig may have been smart, but was dumb as a damn rock.

Before Alfred could fly off the handle, Ludwig added, very drolly, "Gilbert was furious with me as well. Wouldn't speak to me for weeks. Think what you want. I don't care."

Anger dulled into a throb.

Exhaustion.

Wanted to go to sleep, because he didn't wanna talk about this anymore.

Still, Alfred grumbled, tiredly, "You just let him go."

Ludwig's look shifted, in a manner Alfred couldn't place, but he looked up and met Alfred's gaze when he said, in more of a whisper, "He's my husband. I could never... How could I? I could never have ruined his life like that. His reputation. Ivan is brilliant—he would have languished in incarceration. That's no place for a man like him. What was I supposed to do?"

Alfred verily disagreed. Prison seemed perfect.

Ludwig stared away at him as Alfred foundered. Alfred didn't know what to say, and so sat still.

What could you ever say to someone like Ludwig?

Someone like...

At last, Alfred asked, because he was curious if nothing else, "Why did you want a divorce? Was he— I mean, you know, was he...hitting you, before that?"

Maybe that wasn't his business, wasn't pertinent information exactly, but he wanted to know. Needed to know, really did. Was already going crazy.

Ludwig was quiet for a long time, before finally replying, sternly, "I realize that the first thing a victim says is that it wasn't like that, but it wasn't like that. Ivan isn't— He's a good man."

Sure.

So, really, what Ludwig had said was 'yes', because he hadn't said 'no'.

Shit.

Well, if nothing else, nothing, he supposed that this was the kind of job he would rather have. This exact situation was why he had become a bodyguard in the first place. Sure as hell had never wanted to protect thugs and criminals, hell no. Had wanted this, just this; had wanted to protect people like Ludwig, who had never done anything wrong to anyone. Wanted to protect innocent people. Good people.

Vulnerable people.

Wanted to protect someone weaker than he was, be it physically or mentally or emotionally, someone who could admire him for it, someone who would be grateful, someone who could look at Alfred and see something good, something worthwhile.

Alfred wanted to keep someone safe who deserved it, because somehow he had always thought that maybe that would make up for it all.

A dream.

Certainly fed his ego, at any rate, fed his need to be a hero, fed his desire to be needed and wanted, made him feel useful. Every wannabe knight, after all, needed a damsel in distress, and Ludwig was suddenly his. It was that very second, in fact, hearing Ludwig foolishly say that Ivan was a 'good man', that Alfred deemed Ludwig extremely vulnerable, extremely weak, extremely irrational, and practically labeled him as utterly defenseless, whether it was true or not.

How hard Ludwig could punch made no difference when Ludwig suddenly seemed so meek in Alfred's eyes.

It was just instinct, he supposed.

It became clear very quickly that Ludwig knew exactly what Alfred was feeling, and he was not appreciative of it in the slightest.

An awful, heavy silence, before Ludwig abruptly stood up and jerkily began collecting dishes from the table, his anger very apparent, and Alfred stayed still and quiet so as not to set him off again. Ludwig was a bit volatile when it came to the subject of his 'husband', and Alfred sometimes had enough sense to know when to shut the hell up.

Didn't need to say anything that time, because as Ludwig filled the sink with water and began washing the dishes, he spat over his shoulder to Alfred, "You think differently of me now, don't you? I can see it. You no longer take me seriously."

Alfred opened his mouth to deny it, and stopped short because it was true.

Had seen Ludwig as a strong, handsome, brilliant man these past three days, bitchy and condescending, yeah, but no one Alfred really worried about beyond the basics.

Not now, though—had flipped on its head, his sentiments for Ludwig, and maybe not in the way Ludwig wanted.

Alfred felt concern and protectiveness suddenly, because in some way he did actually think differently of Ludwig. Thought less of him, perhaps, and it wasn't intentional but there all the same. Ludwig had said his husband was a good guy—what the hell else was Alfred supposed to think of him but weak, however he looked physically?

At Alfred's silence, Ludwig turned back to the sink and muttered, under his breath, "This is why I never told anyone. Everyone's reputation is at stake."

Alfred turned away, and stared at the wall.

Reputations? Yeah—Ludwig wasn't a woman. It was different for men, it really was. So much harder to admit something like that, and risk losing a sense of their masculinity. To risk being taken less seriously, as had just happened.

Ludwig could take care of himself, was big and strong and very virile, but none of that mattered anymore the second someone found out that he had been beaten up by his significant other. Everything changed. The world embraced a battered woman and called her brave, a survivor, strong. The world laughed at a battered man, berated them, mocked them, and Ludwig stayed silent and refused to press charges.

Yesterday, Ludwig had been just another man to Alfred. Tomorrow, Ludwig would be a victim, someone Alfred needed to defend.

Ludwig hated it, because it wasn't really all that fair, however true it may have been at the basest level.

Ah, fuck it all, was sick of thinking about it.

He tried to shut his mind down.

There was only silence after that for a while, as Alfred let Ludwig breathe, and he merely hung in the corner and watched as Ludwig tidied up the kitchen. Hated seeing Ludwig's slumped shoulders and pursed lips. Hadn't meant to upset him, no, but it had been necessary.

Kinda wished he didn't know, though.

Those damn shoes by the door. Knew whose they were now. Shoulda thrown the damn things out. Why did Ludwig keep them?

Ivan. A violent man sent over the edge because his punching bag wanted a divorce. That was what it came down to, in the end, even if Ludwig vehemently denied it and tried to change the narrative.

Ludwig finished up and walked by him in close proximity, and without thinking too much Alfred reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Ludwig fell still, but stared straight ahead and refused to look his way.

Alfred was quick to ask, "Does he have a key?"

Should have been obvious that no, in fact, my murderous husband no longer has a key, but with someone like Ludwig who could ever say?

A long silence yet again, and then Ludwig grumbled, "I had the locks changed."

Well. At least there was that. Something.

No doubt, though, that it was Gilbert that had had the locks changed, and Ludwig's averted eyes all but said it.

Ludwig wouldn't fault Ivan for anything, and Alfred found that infuriating.

Pushed it down, though, and let Ludwig go because Ludwig was shifting around and looking like he wanted to punch Alfred again. Ludwig skittered away immediately, and Alfred started crashing as anger utterly spent him. The feeling of being a knight was hard to hold onto when Ludwig couldn't stand to look at him and clearly didn't want to be pitied.

Ludwig didn't exactly make it easy.

Hated leaving it like that, hated the way the night had gone, so Alfred tried to soften his voice, failed quite miserably, and whispered, "Hey. I can't say I'm too happy that you didn't press charges, but at least you got out. You did the right thing, alright? You left before it was too late."

Oh, that horrible glare Ludwig sent him, and Alfred realized how condescending he must have sounded.

What else was he supposed to say? What did Ludwig really expect?

Dammit. Really needed people skills.

Without a word, Ludwig stalked back into the kitchen, and, as Alfred watched, Ludwig suddenly pulled a prescription bottle down from a cabinet, tapped a pill into his hand, and put it back. Because it may have had an impact on his job, Alfred came forward, and asked, immediately, "What is that?"

Ludwig tried to murder him once more with his eyes, failed, and griped, "None of your business."

Wrong answer!

"It is my business, because you're my business. My job is to protect you, from whoever and whatever. So. What is that?"

Ludwig meant to walk away, but Alfred grabbed him by the wrist not so gently, yanked him still, and let Ludwig know with his grip alone that he wasn't playing around.

He was about sick of Ludwig's attitude and evasiveness.

Unable to free himself from Alfred's grasp, Ludwig finally cursed and muttered, "Sleeping pills. There. Happy? I take them to sleep."

"You just drank an entire bottle of wine," Alfred hissed, giving Ludwig a shake, but Ludwig just laughed, very dryly.

"Not the first time. I'm not dead yet."

Alfred scoffed, and let Ludwig go, making sure to chide, maybe callously, "You have a guy that can crawl in through your window any day and murder you, and you knock yourself out with sleeping pills and wine. Smart. Real smart. Yeah, you're brilliant, alright. I see more and more every minute why I was hired."

Ludwig sneered at him for the thousandth time, stomped to his bedroom, and spat over his shoulder, "Forgive me for wanting to forget that for a few hours."

The door slammed, and Alfred felt a twinge of regret. Gone as quickly as it came, replaced with more frustration.

One of the worst nights in Alfred's memory.

But the strangest part of the entire encounter came when Ludwig, perhaps feeling regret, too, suddenly called from behind that door, "Goodnight!"

His voice was thin, strained, angry and muffled, but the pleasantry was there all the same.

How ridiculous.

Alfred plopped down on the couch, snorted to no one, and clasped his hands between his knees. Ludwig was some piece of work, for sure. Just couldn't understand him at all, couldn't figure him out.

Wanted to protect him suddenly all the same, and not entirely for the paycheck.

He lied down on Ludwig's couch, staring at the window, and drifted in and out of sleep as Ludwig drugged himself into oblivion behind that closed door.

That night, for the first time in years, Alfred had nightmares. Her screams were always echoing in his ears, and once more, Alfred seemed in a position that felt hopeless.

Couldn't go home.

Wished he had never answered that phone call.