Chapter 6
Glass Scream
As promised, Alfred went home the next morning, after delivering Ludwig safely to work.
It was certainly eye-opening if nothing else, Alfred supposed, to go back into the slum after seeing Gilbert's manor. It was funny, how different people could be, and Alfred climbed rickety stairwell after rickety stairwell, down stained hallways and shifty characters, glimpsing roaches skittering here and there, unlocking his apartment and slinking in. Felt ashamed, almost, being here after spending days in Ludwig's home.
Even Ludwig's normal, modest home seemed like a palace when compared to Alfred's tiny, crumbling apartment.
He showered, gathered up clothes and stuffed them in his bag, took up every bullet he owned, a pocketknife, anything that might be useful. An extra pair of boots. He didn't have nice clothes, though, nothing fancy, nothing that would have ever impressed Ludwig.
Alfred looked around at the dim lighting and cobwebs in the corners, the grim atmosphere, and wondered if Ludwig felt this way when he looked at Alfred.
Must have seen Alfred as little more than gutter water.
Oh well. Perhaps they were even now, because Ludwig would surely never have the audacity to insult Alfred about anything now that Alfred knew all about Ludwig's situation.
They were even.
He cleared perishable items out of his fridge, gave one final look around, and then headed out. Now, just had to worry about leaving with a bag and alerting the neighbors to his absence. Wouldn't be surprised at all if he came back in weeks or months and found it ransacked and stripped bare.
For all it mattered. As if he had much, anyway.
Alfred trudged wearily back into Ludwig's office towards the evening, when the sun was low, and Ludwig lifted his head when Alfred came inside. Looked disappointed. As if, perhaps, Ludwig had just hoped Alfred would go home and not come back.
Alfred set the bag on the floor, to let Ludwig know he was staying.
Ludwig sighed through his nose, lowered his eyes, and didn't say a word.
Later on at the house, as Ludwig made dinner, Alfred crept quietly up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. Small but efficient. Light colors. A white dresser and blue curtains. Brown carpet. Navy sheets and blankets. Pleasing and friendly on the eyes. But, just like the rest of the house, it didn't exactly seem entirely unused.
Smelled a little like Ludwig in here.
Alfred, as always, could only form his own conclusions and assume that Ludwig had used this room as a hideout or escape when his husband had been violent.
Left a bad taste in his mouth, that thought, as he put his clothes away in the dresser.
Awful images up in his head, as his imagination ran wild.
Screaming in the middle of the night. Glass shattering. A bleeding Ludwig running in a panic up the stairs, tripping and stumbling, someone chasing after. Bloody handprints on the carpet. Ludwig making it just in time and shutting the door, twisting the lock, and sitting down against it, legs braced to help hold it shut as someone on the other side rammed into it. Ludwig closing his eyes in terror as he pushed back against that banging door, crying out desperate apologies as the door fell and rose with every blow. Awful minutes of panic, and then silence, and then maybe, just maybe, Ludwig would open the door because the voice on the other side had softened and said, 'I'm sorry'.
Couldn't stand it.
Wished Ludwig had just lied to him. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and Alfred sure as hell would have taken it.
When he finished placing his things and walked back out, Alfred studied the door, the wall, the carpet, the staircase. He knew well enough by now what to look for, and was extremely disappointed by what he saw.
Made him sick.
Little things that had such sinister explanations.
The little scrapes on the wallpaper on the upstairs hallway, in neat little rows; fingernail marks, no doubt caused by those instances when Ludwig had tried to flee and wasn't quick enough and had snatched out for anything to gain traction.
Little lighter patches on the brown carpet; bleach stains, when nothing else had worked to get the blood out.
Frayed, splintered spots on that guest bedroom door; from where, indeed, someone had rammed into it several times.
Bent wooden rods on the staircase railing, varnish worn off in spots; where Ludwig had run upstairs and Ivan had grabbed at his leg through the railing, trying to halt him and drag him down, damaging the railing in the process.
Nothing, and yet everything.
Such small, minuscule details were often the only clues in situations like this, where someone remained utterly silent and secretive, because they had so much to lose. Gilbert put so much pressure on Ludwig, expected so much, was ever in control, and Ludwig couldn't bring himself to admit to Gilbert that he had been weak. That he had risked so much of Gilbert's reputation.
Ludwig, ever quiet.
The wallpaper and carpet said more than Ludwig ever would.
The table was set for dinner when dreary Alfred finally walked into the kitchen, and he couldn't help but look around there, too, even as Ludwig sat right there in front of him.
White tile floor, cream wallpaper with a floral design. Glossy, expensive counters. Alfred saw the scraped paint on the archway that divided the kitchen from the living room; just another route of battle, another handle for a scrambling Ludwig.
Wondered how many nights Ludwig had spent unconscious on this linoleum floor. Ludwig cleaning Gilbert's mansion, scrubbing and mopping—how many times had Ludwig been on hands and knees here, scrubbing his own blood out of this grout?
His stomach hurt.
The knives that rested in the wooden block on the counter; Ludwig was so lucky to be alive. One wrong move, one bad night, and Alfred woulda never had this job because Gilbert would have come looking for his little brother only to find him lying in a pool of blood with a knife in his chest.
Alfred turned his eyes once more to stoic, distant Ludwig.
It was almost winter, cold now, yeah, and Ludwig naturally had been covered from head to toe since Alfred had first come into contact with him. Ludwig wore long-sleeves, high collars, but for god's sake, hadn't anyone noticed the bruises? Had no one glimpsed a single one, when a sleeve had rolled up too high or a collar had lowered?
Had someone noticed, perhaps, and just ignored it?
Ludwig was a man.
The wallflower, after all. Ludwig didn't stand out to the general public, and no one ever noticed him long enough to realize something was wrong. So hard to see past Ludwig's mask.
Ludwig sat there now before Alfred in a sweater with a high collar, and Alfred wondered how long it had been since Ludwig had changed his style of dress. How long it had taken for his wardrobe to undergo an overhaul.
Knew that they had at least been together for five years, Ludwig and Ivan, from Ludwig's prior words, but surely it had been longer. How long had Ludwig hidden this?
Wondered if, after every bad instance, Ivan had shown up with some gift, something to make Ludwig forget, something to placate him, like that car.
Had that been an anniversary gift as Ludwig had claimed, or just another 'I'm sorry'?
Ludwig glanced at Alfred from time to time, as Alfred stared relentlessly at him, and after a while, Ludwig said, in a barely a whisper, "Thank you for not telling Gilbert yesterday."
Alfred didn't say anything, because he was starting to think that maybe he should have.
The more he saw, the less he wished he had.
Alfred had no doubt at all that he would see more of Ivan, and he worried a little about it because he wasn't sure that he would be able to keep himself from squeezing the trigger if Ivan ended up once more in his sights.
Would it be worth it, spending the rest of his life in jail?
He wasn't sure, and that said so much about how much he was willing to risk.
Ludwig didn't say anything else, and took his pill.
Alfred checked the doors and windows three times before heading upstairs.
Alfred had nightmares that night of someone scrambling in terror up the stairs, locking themselves in this room, and hiding under the covers. But not Ludwig.
Thursday morning came.
At the first pink light of dawn, Alfred rolled out of bed, trudged to the shower, and blasted the cold water in an effort to wake himself up. Wasn't used to guarding someone with Ludwig's schedule, and Ludwig just woke up too damn early.
Sure enough, when Alfred stepped out, shivering, he could hear Ludwig pattering about down below. He dressed quickly and bounded down the stairs, although Ludwig seemed to have lost the great desire to leave Alfred behind.
Ludwig was sitting at the kitchen table when Alfred descended, in a sweater that was far too big and coffee in hand, staring out at the pink sky.
Looked sad. Heavy bags under his eyes.
Alfred sat down in front of him, and it took a long while before Ludwig turned his head and sent Alfred a mournful look-over. It was clear enough to Alfred, in that expression, that Alfred wasn't who Ludwig wanted to see coming in to join him.
Ludwig missed someone.
It was so hard to reconcile handsome Ludwig sitting there at dawn like this, in a vulnerable moment of comfort, with the image Alfred had in his head of a bloodied Ludwig crying behind a closed door. Couldn't put the two together at all. Maybe no one could, and that was why all of this had happened.
When Alfred followed Ludwig onto the subway shortly after, Alfred looked around, really looked, and couldn't see what was so different about Ludwig from any other man there on that train.
Why Ludwig seemed to stand out so much to Alfred when no one else noticed him.
Couldn't see Ludwig as just any other man, having seen those little details in the house.
Ludwig glanced over at certain men from time to time, Slavic men, and Alfred wondered if Ludwig was trying to pick out similarities to Ivan, trying to see something familiar, trying to find something to cling to for just one second in time. Something that Ludwig found comforting.
Hated it.
Alfred delivered Ludwig to his office, safe and sound, and then ducked out and headed to his gym, because he needed to get out some of this latent stress. Staying strong was just a part of the job, after all, and he killed a few hours there, because damn if Ivan wasn't a huge fuckin' guy.
Needed to be on his game.
When Alfred came back in the evening to wait for Ludwig to wrap up, Ludwig glanced up as always, and seemed ever melancholy at the sight of Alfred.
Sorry about it.
When they stepped onto the crowded train, Ludwig glanced frequently at two men conversing lowly in some Slavic language, and Alfred murmured, to distract him, "I need to have a key to your house. You know that."
Ludwig tore his eyes away from those men, met Alfred's gaze, and there was a spark there for just a second, just a little glimpse of fire, as if Ludwig had found the desire to be in control again and be defiant, to tell Alfred where he could shove it.
But it died, extinguished, burnt out just like the rest of Ludwig, and after a second Ludwig turned his pale eyes back to those men, and finally whispered, "Alright."
Alfred felt like a shitty guy, for whatever reason.
That night, after dinner, Ludwig sat down at the piano by the window and stared down at it. Alfred waited expectantly, hoping Ludwig would play something, but he never did. Just stared and stared, longingly, and then stood up and took his pill as usual.
Instead of going into his new bedroom, Alfred threw himself down on the couch after checking the locks. Made him feel better, being on the same level as Ludwig, having him closer.
Just in case.
As Alfred lied on his side in the dark, he glimpsed, via moonlight, little patches of wall in the living room that had been painted the same color as the wallpaper, and he had no doubt whatsoever that those were areas where Ivan, in a fit, had punched right through the drywall. Ludwig had patched them up, hid them, as he hid everything else.
Could barely sleep, but surprisingly there were no nightmares that night.
Come dawn, Ludwig was sitting there again with coffee, and this time he was holding something in his hand. When Alfred joined him, he saw that it was the wedding photo Ludwig carried in his wallet.
A glance up at Alfred, and he could see how bleary and shiny Ludwig's eyes were.
Felt remarkably horrible when Ludwig whispered, huskily, "You know, I had always held hope that it would go back to the way it was. You here... I can't pretend when you're here. Seeing you reminds me that Gilbert won't let it happen. Ivan won't come back. It won't ever be the way it was."
Alfred stayed silent, and stared down into his coffee.
Wished he had had the courage to ask, 'Why would you want it to be?'
Didn't understand Ludwig.
Ludwig tucked the photo away, stood up, and carried on, as Alfred ever watched.
Alfred's eyes always fell to the markers he had pinpointed, and he tried very hard not to envision the scenarios in which they had been made.
One of the cabinet doors was a little crooked, a little dented.
Ludwig dressed differently that day, far more glossily, and gave effort to shave and comb his hair despite how lackluster he usually appeared.
It was Friday, and something different happened.
There was a board meeting, or something, and Ludwig had made his way down the hall, Alfred in tow as usual, and this time it was on a different floor and through a different door. Those two guards were there, though, so that must have meant that Gilbert was inside.
Why Ludwig had cleaned up, no doubt.
Ludwig walked in, and Alfred tried to follow, and was shocked and offended when the two Italians thrust their arms out and refused to let him pass. Before Alfred could cause a scene, Ludwig turned around, cut off from Alfred by those arms, met his eyes, and said, stiffly, "You can't come in. Sorry."
With that, Ludwig turned and the door shut, and the guards shoved him back a pace.
Alfred sneered at them, they sneered right back, and the shorter, darker one hissed, "You know better! You can't go into a board meeting. Wait out here."
Alfred was pissed off about it, yeah, if only because he was impatient by nature. He didn't even need to stay, he hadn't stayed the past two days, didn't need to remain in this building all day when he knew Ludwig was safe inside, but he suddenly wanted to. Couldn't explain it, really. Maybe Ludwig being with Gilbert just made Alfred anxious, and he decided right then and there that he wasn't going anywhere, wasn't leaving, because he didn't trust Gilbert any more than Ivan.
An awful, tense silence, and then the taller guard uttered, somewhat playfully but also derisively, "Can't be without him for even a minute, huh?"
"The hell does that mean?" Alfred spat without thinking, because he was annoyed and angry, and the guard rolled his eyes.
It was probably best to make friends with these men, but to be quite frank Alfred hated every single person thus far that he had encountered in this little corporation.
...well, except for maybe Ludwig. Couldn't really hate Ludwig without having a guilty conscience.
Just to be an ass, Alfred pushed forward a bit, pretending that he was trying to go inside, and he didn't really know why he did that as much as he didn't know why he did any of the dumb shit he did. He was just a stubborn, hot-headed jerk, really, and acted the part.
Predictably, the guards shoved him back aggressively with curses, and before Alfred could raise some hell for no good reason except for that he was agitated by thinking constantly of Ludwig and those awful marks on the wallpaper, there was an interruption.
Another voice, right behind.
"Is there a problem?"
They all looked over to see a man standing beside them down the hall, and Alfred recognized the brunet that had essentially been the one to hire him. His hair was tied back, dressed as immaculately as Gilbert, face stern and eyes very cold as he assessed the situation from a short distance. Same age as Gilbert, and just as steely.
The last link in this weird family chain, the last man that Alfred needed to get a feel of. This man had been in that portrait in Gilbert's home, but Alfred didn't know yet who he was.
Looked like an asshole, though, just like the rest of the lot. Condescending and as chilly as Ludwig, but less terrifying than Gilbert.
As far as Alfred was concerned, this guy was just another man that had failed Ludwig.
The taller guard muttered, "Nah. No problem. He's just pitching a fit."
Alfred stepped back, lifting his chin and sending the creep his best sneer (which wasn't as good as Ludwig's, to be fair), and the brunet came forward a pace.
"About...?"
"He wants to go in," the shorter guard grunted.
The mystery man snorted.
"You would think he would have learned by now to avoid the wrath of Germans."
The guards both scoffed at the same time, and the friendlier one said, with no hint of humor, "Germans? Man, nobody's scared of Germans! Try growin' up with Italians."
Just as humorlessly, the darker-eyed guard added, "Our grandma would beat Gilbert senseless with her shoe. Wouldn't know his own name after."
The other held up his hand, as if clenching an imaginary shoe, and said, with a very thick, broken accent, "Vaffanculo! You shut up, fantasma! How dare you speak like that, stronzino!"
Pfft—Alfred would have no problem beating Gilbert with a shoe, either.
A pause, and then the long-haired brunet burst into laughter, as Alfred pouted off to the side, and the situation seemed rather diffused.
The guards fell back in place, and the man came up to Alfred. A look up and down, a leer, and the brunet crooned, "Feeling hurt about being kicked out, are we?"
Alfred scoffed, and griped, "What do I care? Why aren't you in there?"
The brunet lifted a thick brow, and merely supplied, "Because I don't wish to be."
Whatever.
Ludwig was in there alone with Gilbert and other awful, powerful men, was what it all came down to in the end, and Alfred didn't have enough faith in Ludwig, didn't think he could take care of himself, didn't think he had the nerve and resolve and ruthlessness needed.
A helpless seal being circled by sharks.
"Don't worry," the brunet suddenly said, as if knowing Alfred's mind. "He's quite safe in there, don't you think?"
Immediately, honestly, Alfred snipped, "No."
The brunet's eyes, a very pretty, mottled mix of blue and green, raked him once more.
"Oh? And what if I told you that Ludwig is the one leading this meeting today? Would that surprise you?"
From the way Alfred's head snapped over and his eyes widened, the answer was obvious.
Another long search of Alfred's face, and the brunet finally said, in a much lower voice, meant only for Alfred to hear, "I hired you to protect him from one person, not the entire world. He can handle himself outside of this situation, I assure you. He needs someone who can make the hard decision he can't when it comes to Ivan; he doesn't need a babysitter, and he doesn't need a hero. He only needs someone who can see Ivan for what he really is."
A douse of water on Alfred's ego, but, as with everything else, Alfred let it flow in one ear and out the other, because his opinion of Ludwig had already been formed.
Perhaps in an effort to lighten the tense mood, the brunet finally turned fully to Alfred, and stuck out his hand.
"I'm Toris."
Toris. Just another let down, Alfred was sure.
He readied himself for another man he needed to keep Ludwig safe from.
Was it too much to ask that Ludwig had someone out there he could rely upon?