Chapter 14
Running the Gauntlet

December.

Ludwig's good mood had faded a bit as the holidays crept up. Alfred tried to be patient and keep his hopes up, despite his ego and arrogance reminding him that Ludwig should have been happy to be spending Christmas with Alfred instead of Ivan.

Ludwig stared out of the window a lot, and Alfred waited for the obligatory decorating.

It didn't come.

Ludwig just hung up an advent calendar, and that was all.

Every other house on the street was decked out, every building in the city was covered in disgusting Christmas commercialism, and Alfred was kinda disappointed that Ludwig wasn't exactly turning his home into a gaudy ornament.

Over breakfast one morning, Alfred asked, "Aren't you going to put up a tree? Didn't you guys, like, invent Christmas trees or something?"

Ludwig looked up over his coffee, and made a deep noise of thought.

Alfred tried to imagine a younger Ludwig helping Gilbert decorate a Christmas tree. Dear god, wondered what the hell Christmases were like in Gilbert's house. Could barely imagine anyone actually smiling like normal people. All he managed to conjure up was a weird little thought of Ludwig coming downstairs mechanically, face blank, to be hugged mechanically by Toris, face blank, and then to sit down beside Gilbert on the couch, who reached out mechanically and put an arm over Ludwig's shoulder, face blank. A buncha creepy robots.

No thanks.

To be fair, it would have been better than people screaming and throwing things and getting high and then hearing police sirens.

In the end, Ludwig murmured, simply, "I don't feel like it this year."

Alfred didn't need Ludwig to finish the sentence.

'Not without Ivan.'

As it often did, Alfred's mind started wandering.

When he delivered Ludwig safely to work, Alfred made a little detour, and went looking around the city. It was a little stupid, probably, perhaps a bit childish, but Alfred still bought a crappy little fake tree and carted the box back to Ludwig's house. He went back out and bought all the decorations he needed and wanted, and he stuck them in a pile in the corner.

Ludwig would be his helper, and god willing maybe the bastard would give him a mistletoe kiss or something. He had bought some.

When he collected Ludwig later and they walked back inside, Ludwig's eyes immediately fell upon the huge pile of boxes and baubles, and his mouth fell open.

Alfred nudged him along, and said, "We're gonna set it all up together. You and me. Let's call it bonding time."

Ludwig scoffed, and then grumbled, "You're going to be cleaning all of it up."

Sure.

Alfred was a little pushy, but Ludwig changed clothes and came back into the living room all the same, and they hunkered down together to put up the ridiculous little tree. It was horrible, it really was, and as Ludwig played with the branches, Alfred looked down at the box and griped, "What a lie! Doesn't look a damn thing like the picture."

Ludwig snorted a little, and chided, "Lie in your bed."

Alfred laughed, shook his head, and tried to spruce up the, er, spruce. It was ugly as hell, but Ludwig was smiling by the time they threw the garland and ornaments on, so that was worth it. When the star was put on the top, Ludwig began looping the lights, and Alfred glanced very eagerly back at the mistletoe, still on the pile of decorations. He was gathering his nerve, and looked frequently at Ludwig. Really wanted to kiss him, did he ever, and was hoping he would get lucky.

But then...

When the tree was finished, Alfred flipped the living room lights off and lit the tree up, and he expected Ludwig to smile.

He didn't.

Ludwig swallowed, his jaw clamped and his lips pursed, and when he started blinking very quickly, Alfred's mood was yet again killed. Just the longing on Ludwig's face as he stared away at that ugly little tree. Beyond disheartening.

Ivan and Ludwig had decorated their own tree, perhaps, in this marital home.

Alfred stared at Ludwig for a while, and then went to the left-over decorations and began moving them up into his bedroom for storage.

The mistletoe was left very much unused.

It was kinda hard to hit on someone who looked like their heart was actually breaking.

In the morning, Ludwig eyed the tree up and down, and Alfred crept up behind him, meaning to ask him what he wanted for Christmas, if only to make conversation. Didn't gather the nerve to ask when Ludwig suddenly sighed, and that was probably for the best, given that when Alfred came out of the shower later, it was to see Ivan's shoes beneath the tree and not by the door.

Meh.

Guess he already knew what Ludwig wanted.

What Ludwig wanted, however, meant nothing to anyone else, and that was made most apparent to Alfred on the very last day that the company was open before it would go on the two-week holiday break. That day, Alfred was called once more up to Gilbert's office before he could leave the building, and Alfred rolled his eyes and stomped up.

Still hadn't thought of a damn good thing to get Ludwig for Christmas.

Just couldn't think of anything.

The guards leered at Alfred as usual, he waved them off, and once more was standing before Gilbert.

Gilbert analyzed Alfred, perhaps to see how things were going, and then asked, "Nothing to report?"

"No," Alfred easily answered, because it was true and Gilbert had no need to be angry. Gilbert judged his sincerity, seemed satisfied, and then beckoned him over.

When Gilbert sat down at his desk and Alfred was in front of him, there was a slight twinge of nervousness. Maybe if Ivan disappeared, didn't come around anymore, if Ivan just vanished, then maybe Gilbert would decide Alfred was no longer necessary. It was only inevitable, sooner or later, either when the papers were signed or Ivan was at last put in jail, but Alfred would have liked to delay it.

This time, at least, that was the farthest thing from Gilbert's mind.

Suddenly, Gilbert reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a box. Looked heavy, expensive, and Alfred was quite taken aback when Gilbert set it on the desk and pushed it forward and said, rather dangerously, "Merry Christmas."

Alfred shuddered a little.

Alfred wasn't a rocket scientist like these guys, nah, but he wasn't a complete imbecile either, and he knew that any gift from a man like Gilbert was going to be something Alfred probably didn't want.

He glanced up at Gilbert, whose eerie eyes had dropped down into pale blue again with the heavy clouds rolling in. Gilbert was nearly smiling, very nearly, and that was absolutely terrifying.

Alfred inhaled, and opened the box.

A gun.

Figured. But not just any gun, naturally, but a damn beast of a handgun. A .50 caliber. Enough firepower to stop a goddamn charging bull. Alfred glanced at the bullets resting there beside of the ridiculously overpowered weapon, and felt a twist of his stomach. Hollow-point. Good lord, these bullets coming from this cannon of a gun would have annihilated the target. The destruction to a human would have been unfathomable. Total.

Alfred glanced at Gilbert again, anxiously, and Gilbert lifted his brow, drawling, "What? I prefer efficiency. Rather than waste time with all six bullets in your gun and risk injury to Ludwig, I would have you shoot the bastard one time and be done with it. Once and for all."

Six bullets...

Gilbert did have a point, hated to say. Ivan was huge, powerful, and it would take all of those bullets to stop him, to take him down, and in those precious seconds something could have gone very wrong. Hated conceding points to Gilbert, but this time it was necessary.

So Alfred loaded the gun without a word, put it back in the box, and tucked it under his arm.

Was he supposed to say 'thanks'?

He didn't, and left Gilbert's office without another word, feeling uneasy and conflicted.

He knew what the right thing was, knew what it could all possibly come down to, and knew that, should it have come to it, of course he needed to pull the trigger. He had wanted to, had desired to, had thought about it endlessly at first, but now...

Honest to god, he didn't know if he could bring himself to shoot Ivan now, because it would break Ludwig's heart. Gilbert may have wanted Ivan dead, but Ludwig didn't, and Alfred was already to the point where he would have done anything to keep Ludwig happy, even if that meant not shooting.

It would be an absolute last option, an act of desperation and necessity, when there was positively on other choice. If it came down to the wire, to Ludwig's life or Ivan's, then Alfred would shoot. Until then, he would aim only to scare, and if he did need to ever shoot the bastard, god forbid, he'd aim at his leg. (Ivan just wouldn't be walking anytime soon after that.)

Ludwig was perking up; didn't want that to stop. Sure as hell couldn't flirt with Ludwig right after murdering his estranged husband. Kinda awkward.

Alfred was stopped by the guards, as usual, and Feliciano was quick to ask, "Everything alright?"

Why were they always so curious? Nosy bastards.

Alfred just said, "Yeah. Smooth sailing."

Hardly.

Lovino eyed the box under Alfred's arm, likely had an idea of what it was, and suddenly uttered, gruffly, "Don't forget to call us if something happens. I get bored standing here every goddamn day."

At that Alfred snorted, and tried to cheer himself up a little. No point in fretting over it, after all. Whatever happened would happen whether Alfred made himself sick over it or not. If it came to the wire, that was that, but tossing and turning every night wouldn't avert a crisis.

Feliciano studied Alfred, intensely, looked him up and down, and suddenly sneered a little. He lowered his voice, leaned in, and said, very quietly, "Say, Mr. Hero— Ludovico is kinda cute, isn't he?"

Lovino rolled his eyes.

Alfred's brow shot up, he scoffed, and then he ran a hand through his own hair, trying so hard to appear unfazed.

Mr. Hero? Ludwig had to have said something to them, because Ludwig had thrown that word out a few times, playfully. Wonder what Ludwig said about Alfred behind his back. Was he making a memorable impression on blondie? Better have, as hard as he had been working.

And well...

"Yeah!" Alfred said, as casually as possible. "So what?"

Because Ludwig was cute, to say the very least.

It was Feliciano then that rolled his eyes, grimacing, and he waved his hand irritably in the air. Lovino leaned in to his brother's side, raking Alfred up and down as much as Feliciano was, and then said, to Alfred and yet also to his brother, "Maybe he's not, ah, you know. Frocio."

Eh?
Feliciano lifted his chin, seemed kinda grumpy suddenly, and grumbled, "I dunno. He doesn't act it, does he. But neither does Gilbert."

They studied Alfred, as Alfred grew agitated under their eyes, and his mood was shifting yet again.

Act it?

Knew what they were talking about, what they were thinking, why they were studying him.

Made more certain when Lovino straightened back up, hardened his face, and said, as roughly as ever, "Whatever. Just keep an eye on the princess, huh? Whatever else you do is your business."

A surge of anger.

Feliciano and Lovino clearly liked Ludwig, had a big soft spot for him, worried about him and called him 'friend', seemed to be looking out for him, had good intentions, and yet...

Still, in some way, they were also demeaning him, in a very subtle and perhaps unintentional manner.

Just like Alfred had, the night he had found out.

No one was perfect, he knew that better than anyone, but it still annoyed Alfred that these two men called Ludwig friend and still thought less of him, even though Alfred was guilty of that, too. Being introspective was hard, and it was much easier to be annoyed with someone else than it was yourself.

Feliciano and Lovino, just like Alfred, had grown up in a different environment, a different culture, and maybe it was quite natural for them to classify Ludwig as less masculine than they were, despite Ludwig being taller than the both of them and just as broad as Lovino. The Italian men around here all had that same tough macho kind of air, false or not, and anyone who didn't fit that was deemed weaker. They held Gilbert in much higher regard, obviously, because Gilbert was, not to be crass about it, 'the man'. Ludwig wasn't, and therefore Ludwig was automatically thrust into the category of feminine, despite looking the farthest thing from. Feliciano had said that Gilbert 'didn't act that way'.

But Ludwig didn't either, if by 'act that way', they meant 'he's not flamboyant'.

Princess. Sure.

Humans were strange creatures, and so Alfred just tried to let it go.

Anyway, woulda been the biggest hypocrite on Earth had he opened his mouth and said 'Don't call him that', because Alfred had already declared Ludwig his damsel in distress. Same thing, the exact same thing, but hearing it from someone else was disconcerting.

Ludwig did nothing different from any other man, but the box was there all the same.

Alfred walked away then, and Feliciano called, as the elevator doors shut, "Hey! Whatever you do— We'll kick your ass if you ever make him cry."

...and there it was.

The doors shut, before Alfred could spit back a retort.

Damn.

Wondered how Ludwig must have felt, knowing that the people he cared about and that cared about him in turn thought him so weak. If he had known how they talked about him behind his back. Ludwig had already been so angry with Alfred, for saying much less.

Well! Well...

It wasn't an insult. Really. It wasn't like that. People were protective of Ludwig because they cared about him, that was all, and they didn't mean it to be disrespectful. It was just instinct, just a natural reaction. Men held open doors for women because they respected them, not because they thought them too dumb and weak to open a door for themselves. Same thing. Feliciano and Lovino and Gilbert and Toris (and Alfred) shielded Ludwig and protected him because they loved him, not because they were so certain he couldn't take care of himself. ...mostly. If Ludwig was dumb and weak, then it was only when it came to Ivan. In every other aspect, Ludwig was perfectly capable of handling himself.

Alfred was protective of Ludwig because he cared about him, and not because he found Ludwig pitiful.

Uneasy and aggravated, Alfred tried to make it back to Ludwig, to look at him and meet his eyes, because when he saw Ludwig nothing else really seemed to matter.

Didn't make it.

An obstacle stood in the hall, between Alfred and that coveted office door.

Toris.

Alfred sighed and rolled his eyes, wanting away from these creeps, and Toris snorted.

"Nice to see you, too."

Did Toris really count as Alfred's 'boss'? Did he have to be nice to Toris?

Because he didn't wanna be.

So Alfred just grunted, crankily, "What do you want?"

A lofty lift of Toris' brow, and Alfred swore that he had never in his life seen someone able to look so goddamn condescending. Never. Toris had truly perfected an art, no doubt about it, and his face was perfectly punchable. He and Gilbert were absolutely soul-mates.

"I just came to say 'Merry Christmas'," Toris drawled, as he looked Alfred over. His eyes rested briefly on the box under Alfred's arm, and his lips twitched. "And to give you my gift."

Oh, no, now what?

These guys.

But when Toris walked up to him, he didn't give Alfred a fuckin' bazooka or anything, and merely reached out and stuffed something in Alfred's breast pocket. Alfred glanced down, and actually inhaled quite sharply.

Holy hell—a huge wad of money, hundreds, completely filling his pocket. Musta been thousands of dollars there, and Alfred glanced up at Toris, feeling a little clammy. Shoulda been happy, maybe, grateful, whatever, but Alfred just felt rather nervous. Uneasy.

"What's this?" he asked, as his heart raced.

"Your holiday bonus," Toris supplied.

It was stupid, maybe, but Alfred couldn't help but feel that Toris saw him as more of a dog. This money was nothing to Toris, pennies, and yet was remarkably substantial to Alfred, and Toris knew it. Toris must have felt more like a man who had just bought a homeless guy a coffee and therefore considered his good deed done.

Alfred was dirt to these guys.

And then, beyond that, there was the motive.

Holiday bonus? Bullshit. Toris and Gilbert had emotionally manipulated Alfred, and now they were giving him gifts, money, and Alfred wasn't blind to the reason. They were just bribing him in a sense, giving him incentive to stay alert and on guard. Sure, a bodyguard needed compensation for risking their life, but none of this was really normal.

Maybe Alfred was just over thinking and taking things too personally because he had broken the rules and gotten too close to a client.

If any of his other clients had stuffed a stack of bills in his pocket, Alfred woulda said 'thanks a bunch' and carried on without a second thought.

He really needed to screw his head back on straight. Ludwig had messed him up.

Toris suddenly said, very randomly, "Do you know how difficult it is to get a marriage annulled? It's quite annoying. And not in our best interest."

"What's that mean?" Alfred asked, shifting around.

"That means that I need you fully alert for a long time. Our goal is to have Ivan sign the divorce papers. So that property and belongings can be legally split. With an annulment, Ludwig gains nothing at all. Divorce will benefit him. Ivan has a great amount of personal wealth. At present, although he hasn't yet done so, Ivan can still cause quite a few headaches for us in a legal sense. So. Sooner or later Ivan will sign, one way or another."

Toris glanced down at Alfred's gun, and Alfred could see the pursing of Toris' lips.

"Or perhaps Ludwig will be a widower. That would be the best outcome of all."

Alfred balked at that, straightened up and inhaled, angry and terrified and everything in between. These assholes—

He sidestepped Toris, face red and wanting out of here, and Toris called to him from behind.

"Whatever happens, you'll have our full power behind you. You'll be immune from prosecution. On our honor."

Some honor!

Alfred ignored Toris, and all he wanted then was to see Ludwig, the only good person in this damn building, and yet he hesitated there before the door.

The box under his arm. The money in his pocket. The distress on his face.

Shit.

Alfred turned abruptly on his heel, stomped once more past lingering Toris, who snorted, and then got onto the elevator. He closed the doors before Toris could decide he wanted to ride, too, and tried to gather his head. The cold air outside was helpful, but the ride back to Ludwig's house was still too long. He felt guilty somehow when he turned the key on the door that had once been Ivan's, and he tucked the money away up in the bedroom, along with the gun. No need for it just yet.

Maybe he was just trying to delay what seemed to be inevitable.

Toris and Gilbert were manipulating him alright, and now maybe Alfred could see a clearer picture about as to why. They wanted Ludwig safe, sure, but it seemed that they also wanted Ivan to exit stage altogether.

Death was easier and less messy than divorce.

Had Alfred really been hired as a bodyguard or as more of a hitman?

Not what he had signed up for.

To distract himself, Alfred went back out into the city, because this was the last day he would have free time before Christmas. The last chance to get Ludwig something.

Something.

What did you get someone who had everything?

Not a gun, for sure.

Ludwig was impossible to shop for, and nothing Alfred came up with ever seemed useful or worthwhile. Ludwig was brilliant, rich, classy. Alfred was clueless. So, in the end, dumbass Alfred just bought some flowers. What else could he do? Had nothing else to offer a man like Ludwig, and he wasn't emotionally capable of writing out a sincere card, so this seemed the only route.

Alfred only ever did his best.

At the last second, he bought himself a bottle of decent scotch, for extra courage.

He hid them up in the bedroom with everything else, and bided time. It was Friday; Christmas fell on Monday. They'd last until then, surely, without wilting.

And they did, for the most part, but Alfred still felt rather dumb when he woke up that morning, greeted Ludwig with a cheery 'Merry Christmas', and then slunk upstairs as Ludwig made breakfast. While in his barely-used bedroom, Alfred observed himself in the mirror, and tried to find good things about himself.

Just couldn't ever really think of anything there he liked.

He took his glasses off, combed his hair back, put on the only good sweater he had and a little cologne, grabbed the flowers, and prayed that he could complete this ridiculous mission without coming off as an absolute loser.

Ludwig didn't look back at him for a while, focused on cooking, and Alfred asked, "Will Gilbert and Toris come over?"

Ludwig scoffed.

"I'm afraid not. They won't set foot in this house. It's Ivan's, after all."

"Oh. Well. Will you go over there?"

Ludwig was intentionally not looking at Alfred then, and his voice was lower, rougher, when he murmured, "No. I don't think so. I haven't been invited. Since I left home the first time. I think it will just be you and me today."

To try to cheer him up, Alfred swaggered forward, clapped Ludwig on the back with his left hand, and said, "Good! Better that way." Ludwig finally turned his head, looked over at Alfred, and Alfred pushed the flowers into Ludwig's face and added, "Merry Christmas. Sorry. I didn't know what the hell to get you. You have everything."

Ludwig stared at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, gawking at Alfred as if Alfred had rocketed down from space.

Automatically, Ludwig breathed, "Thank you," but made no move to take the flowers. Made no move at all, come to think, seemed stupefied and dumbfounded, and Alfred snorted a little.

"The ham is burning," he offered, and Ludwig jumped and inhaled, refocusing on the stove and coming out of his trance.

Alfred set the flowers on the counter, as Ludwig glanced over at him every few seconds, and Alfred was rather pleased with himself when Ludwig set the flowers in a vase and put them in the middle of the table.

It was better than nothing, Alfred supposed, and Ludwig just stared away at him as they ate.

It started snowing shortly after, and Ludwig finally said, when they washed dishes together, "I have something for you, too."

Alfred smiled, brightly, and was pretty sure he felt elated. Ludwig must have cared about him, to get him anything at all.

The present that Ludwig had for Alfred wasn't under the tree (nothing was there aside from those damn shoes), and instead Ludwig slunk almost abashedly into his bedroom and came back out with a package. As if he had hidden it there in a fit of nerves, but now that Alfred had presented him with a gift he had regained his courage.

Still, Ludwig was practically squirming and was certainly avoiding eye contact when he held the package out and said, in a voice that threatened to give out, "Here. This is for you. It's nothing... You probably won't like it."

Alfred took the gift, and replied, honestly, "I don't care what it is. I'm just happy you got me anything."

Ludwig lifted his head, raised his eyes, and seemed encouraged.

Alfred plopped down on the couch, Ludwig sat on the piano bench, hands wringing a bit as Alfred tore open the paper.

Well...

Wasn't what he had expected, exactly, but he supposed he could have.

A suit.

Alfred snorted, looked up at Ludwig, who very quickly said, perhaps preemptively defensive, "For the theatre. You know. If we go again."

We?

Alfred lifted a brow, smirked away, and was content enough that Ludwig was beginning to think of Alfred and him as 'we'. Us. You and I. As if Ludwig were considering Alfred a potentially permanent part of the scenery, and Ludwig was beginning to think of a future that apparently involved Alfred.

Alfred was absolutely onboard with that.

The suit itself was nice. Very expensive, naturally, though surely much less so than Ludwig's suit. Alfred wasn't a suit guy by any means, but Ludwig smiled in relief when Alfred said, "I like it."

Ludwig stood up, and said, "Try it on."

Alfred obeyed, although Ludwig likely didn't mean for Alfred to rip his shirt and pants off right there in the living room. When Alfred was in boxers, Ludwig turned away, face red again, as Alfred squirmed and wriggled his way into the suit.

A little tight.

Ludwig had eyeballed, no doubt, and when Alfred had successfully forced his shoulders into the jacket, Ludwig returned his gaze and looked him up and down.

When Ludwig came forward and took the jacket into his hands, testing the fit, Alfred found himself flexing and bracing as usual, because, ya know, Ludwig's hands were suddenly running all over him.

"It's a little small," Ludwig murmured to himself. "Don't worry. We'll go to the tailor and fix it. I just guessed." Ludwig removed his warm hands, backed up, and gave Alfred a good observation, before adding, "You clean up well."

Alfred's smirk intensified.

Yet again, that arrogance and ego deflated, because Ludwig just stared at him. Ludwig stared at Alfred, eyes running restlessly over Alfred's face, and from the steady lowering of Ludwig's brow, Alfred was pretty sure that once again Ludwig wasn't seeing the person he wanted to see. Ah, goddammit. Ludwig could stare holes through Alfred all night, but it wouldn't turn Alfred into Ivan.

Even with a suit, even without glasses, Alfred wasn't Ivan, and he didn't like to think that Ludwig was pretending.

To distract Ludwig from trying to reshape Alfred into a big ugly Russian motherfucker, Alfred suddenly said, "Say! I bought some scotch for tonight. You wanna go on a walk or something before we get wrecked?"

Ludwig's eyes cleared up, he came back to Earth, and nodded his head.

Alfred changed, and Ludwig was performing his staring match then with the piano, until Alfred led him out of the door. He didn't miss that when they passed a payphone at one point, Ludwig suddenly hesitated and looked over, as if desperate to use it. He knew who Ludwig wanted to call, and knew he wasn't supposed to let him.

Ludwig wanted to wish his husband a Merry Christmas, but he couldn't, so Alfred put his hand on the back of Ludwig's arm and forced him along.

Not the cheeriest walk ever, nor the cheeriest Christmas for that matter, but they did what they could, and when they were back inside and the snow was falling hard, Ludwig cracked open a bottle of wine and dumped it in a pot. Alfred watched as he tossed a few things in it, and hovered nosily above him.

"What's that?"

"Glühwein. Ever had it?"

"Never even heard of it," Alfred snorted.

"It's a Christmas drink in Germany. It reminds me of home."

Germany or Gilbert? Ludwig had to have been very young when he came to America. Didn't seem as if he could have had many memories of his home country.

That was when Alfred thought to actually ask, "How old were you when Gilbert brought you here?"

"Nine. But during the holidays we always flew back and spent a few weeks there. I haven't been now in...seven years. For a few years there, I went to Russian instead."

Christmas in Russia? Pfft. Musta been some mess.

Alfred didn't press for more information, because he didn't wanna know, but Ludwig was in one of those moods where he felt like spilling his soul to Alfred for no reason, and so he carried on.

"It's a little different in Russia. But I liked it. I suppose because Ivan was there, explaining everything to me. The only thing I didn't like was that we had to pretend we were just friends. We couldn't exactly go around holding hands there, you know. Can you imagine how ridiculous that felt, walking down the street with my husband and pretending that we were just business partners? Our marriage isn't recognized in Russia. But his mother loved him anyway. She knew all about me. She demanded to meet me." A hint of a smile on Ludwig's face, despite his crinkled brow. "She hugged me when I walked through the door and kissed my cheek. I hadn't even introduced myself. She was so nice to me. She said she was happy that someone else was taking care of her son. So she wouldn't worry about him as much. I wish... I would have spent more time with her, if I could have. That was the first time I had ever seen what it was like to have a mother."

Alfred watched Ludwig, and didn't mention that he didn't really know what that felt like, either.

After a silence, Alfred asked, "Why didn't she just come over here?"

"She said she didn't want to leave home. She'd be homesick, even if she had Ivan."

Homesick.

Yeah, he knew that feeling, even just a few states away. Couldn't imagine how much worse that would have felt, being on a different continent, across an ocean, in a different country that had an entirely different culture and language.

Isolated.

They fell silent for a while, as Ludwig poured himself a mug of his wine concoction and handed one to Alfred. Alfred sipped at it, and it was nice. Certainly cozy enough, pleasant, but Alfred had something much harder in mind, and quickly retrieved his bottle from the bedroom.

He spiked his mug of gloo-whatever with scotch, as Ludwig snorted, and they began the night proper.

The sun set, and Alfred was pretty warm, as Ludwig plowed through the entire pot of wine and so ended up making another, as Alfred took on the bottle of scotch. He shouldn't have gotten drunk, he knew. Needed to be sober and alert at all times, to protect Ludwig should Ivan randomly show up, but hell.

Alfred was only human.

The tipsy chatter between them was a little more pleasant, a little less dreary, and Ludwig's red face was from alcohol that time, despite Alfred's occasional flirtations.

It was the first time Alfred had ever had a Christmas that felt happy. No one fighting. No police. No drugs. No beatings. Just him and Ludwig, a tree, lights, snow falling outside, warmth and comfort. The only thing that could have made it better was if Ludwig had been sitting beside of him and Alfred could have thrown an arm over his shoulder.

Maybe he wasn't the only one having those kinds of thoughts.

"Alfred," Ludwig suddenly murmured, out of nowhere. Alfred snapped his head up, tipsily, and was caught instantly under Ludwig's potent gaze. "I find myself in a bit of a...quandary."

"Oh?" Alfred drawled, glass raising up to his lips again and knocking back another swig.

Ludwig averted his eyes then to the glittering tree, and smiled, just a little.

"Indeed. It's just... I hate to say that I think I'm getting a little attached to you. Ha. Isn't that like the number one unwritten rule of bodyguards? Not to get attached? It makes it hard to do the job."

Oh yeah—whoops.

To keep Ludwig from choking and cutting himself off, Alfred very honestly said, "I broke that rule with you a long time ago, man."

Ludwig glanced at him, bit his bottom lip, seemed deep in thought, and then carried on.

"Well, then. I kind of enjoy having you around. It's nice not to be alone, and to have someone who... I can tell you things I can't tell anyone else, you know? You're not a part of the company. It's like you're..."

A pause, as Ludwig raised and lowered his shoulder awkwardly.

Ludwig had a hard time speaking aloud about feelings and anything sentimental, except in very rare occasions.

"It's just... When I don't need you anymore, I think I'll actually miss you."

Ludwig not needing Alfred anymore was scary as hell, and it was a prospect that Alfred hoped was very, very far off.

Ludwig wouldn't meet his eyes, and Alfred turned his own to the flowers sitting over on the kitchen table.

Ah, hell.

"You can need me forever," Alfred finally uttered, heart thudding and stomach twisting. "You can just tell Gilbert that you need me with you at all times for the rest of your life. Doesn't he have the same two suits?"

Ludwig lifted his head, seemed startled, and Alfred thought he cracked a smile.

"Are you seeking an extended contract?" Ludwig teased, and Alfred snorted.

"Hell yeah. Say, I'll bet Gilbert wouldn't have any problem believing that you need me there forever."

A falling of Ludwig's face, and Alfred realized once again that he had been unintentionally condescending or insensitive. Gilbert already thought quite lowly of his little brother, and that might have stung just a little.

It passed, as it always seemed to, and Ludwig abruptly stood up. In his intoxication he staggered, and Alfred leapt up to steady him, although his own balance wasn't great. Instead of saving Ludwig, it was more of a tangle of hands in shirts as he and Ludwig tottered and tried to right the other, and when they finally found some sort of balance, they were chest to chest. Ludwig's hands were tangled around Alfred's waist as Alfred held Ludwig by the arm and collar, and then, thoughtlessly, Alfred suddenly leaned in, eyes locked on Ludwig's.

Ludwig seemed to hold his breath, paralyzed.

The urge was strong, and seemed natural, as Alfred held pretty-eyed Ludwig's gaze.

A sudden voice in his head. Gilbert's eyes. Toris' condescending look.

Widower.

Ludwig, dressed in black and mourning.

An awful rush of something Alfred couldn't place. Unpleasant.

Out of nowhere, Alfred felt terrible, and he averted his eyes and pulled back. Ludwig stood placidly still, not speaking or moving even as Alfred gave a scoff and let him go. He stepped back, and Ludwig's eyes fell to the floor.

A thick, awkward silence.

Alfred was the one to fall short then and back off, because he just felt so miserably and inexplicably guilty. How could he look at Ludwig and flirt with him then, as Gilbert's new gun rested upstairs? Knowing what he was being led to, what he was being encouraged to do, what he was being harnessed now for. He had misunderstood the intention, and had fallen into the wrong trap.

How could he press forward and kiss Ludwig then, knowing that it was alarmingly possible that he would end up killing the man Ludwig loved more than anything? Those shoes had been placed under the tree, in a silent, desperate wish.

The entire world seemed to be pulling every one of Ludwig's strings from behind some curtain, and Alfred was just another one, either by his own will or by Gilbert's.

Ludwig grumbled something incomprehensible and suddenly ducked inside his bedroom. Alfred stared at the door and waited, but Ludwig never came back out.

Alfred wandered over a while later and leaned against the bedroom door, listened, and could hear Ludwig crying.

Ha—someone crying on Christmas day. Familiar.

He rested on the couch, and the last image in his head before he fell asleep was of Ludwig in Russia, covered in snow and hugging an old woman.

Alfred was glad she was dead, so she wouldn't cry on the day he had no choice but to pull the trigger.

One less broken heart in the world.