Warnings! : RusGer, GerFem!Ita. 1970s. CHARACTER DEATH! This is a long one, and is not a happy story at all, so there.
SATURN
The uniform was itchy.
That was what Ludwig hated the most about the university. A minor grievance, perhaps, but it was remarkably irritating all the same. Whatever fabric the coarse, green overshirt was made of, it agitated him intensely and made it very difficult to focus. Spent his very first day in his very first class fidgeting in his chair, annoyed and restless, resisting the urge to scratch everywhere.
Paying attention was extremely important to Ludwig, and it was also very important to his instructor, who came up to Ludwig as soon as the lecture ended and suggested, helpfully, "Try wearing a thin button-down underneath. It will help. I've already been there."
Ludwig was embarrassed somehow, eyes on the table beneath him and mumbling apologies.
His intended course of study was chemical engineering, therefore it was extremely prudent to be fully alert and aware. He had worked far too long and hard to get into ETH Zurich, and intended to be completely and utterly perfect during his duration here for the next five years. Had left behind his brother and guardian for this, was far from home and alone, and wouldn't risk any distractions.
In the end, and very quickly, Ludwig realized that his greatest distraction in class was not his miserably itchy uniform, but the helpful professor.
Ludwig had taken one look at him and had stupidly fallen head over heels. Absurd and unprofessional, but he supposed that was rather a tale as old as time, wasn't it, a student having a crush on their teacher.
This man, in all fairness, was rather unique.
Ludwig didn't know much about him yet, considering he had just started, and so he didn't know where he was from exactly, but knew that he was Slavic. His accent was very thick, but his speech was precise and well put together. He was in his late thirties, or perhaps forty at the most. Blond and pale-eyed, rough looking. His hair was often very messy although his clothes never were. He was tall and broad, one of the larger men Ludwig had ever laid eyes upon, and it was quite funny in a way because he looked so much more like a bodybuilder or boxer than he did some normal professor of chemistry. It amused Ludwig to seem him towering over everyone in class, eyes lidded and heavy and hooded, nose so prominent and sharp, looking like a very frightening vulture at times, and then to hear him speak about chains of reaction with such a soft voice. He had such a pretty voice that didn't at all match his appearance, and Ludwig liked to close his eyes sometimes and just listen to that voice murmuring away, because it was quite soothing.
His name was Ivan Braginsky, and Ludwig found him completely fascinating.
Ludwig stared at him every time he had a chance to, and sometimes the professor glanced up and caught him. At times, Ludwig looked away in mortification, and other times Ludwig stubbornly held that gaze. Since the helpful advice about itchy uniforms, they hadn't spoken to each other directly, and Ludwig thought at times about lingering for a few minutes after class.
Didn't know why. What would he say? Nothing in his head was appropriate. He didn't even know why he stared or why he was so entranced. Didn't know why he wanted to speak to that man, why he even wanted to interact beyond the basic level.
He was quite a handsome man, to Ludwig's perhaps odd tastes. Ludwig had long known that he liked both men and women, and his taste in both had always been very odd to Gilbert, who usually crinkled his nose at anyone Ludwig was eyeing. Some may have seen this professor as unappealing, but to Ludwig he was quite nice indeed. The age difference mattered little to him, as he imagined it did to most twenty-year-olds with rushing hormones.
Silly; as if Ludwig could ever just stay behind after class and walk up to that huge, intimidating man and try to flirt with him. Would have gotten knocked out, or expelled.
Ah, well. A man could dream.
Weeks passed, and Ludwig had stopped looking away altogether when the professor caught him staring. It did seem, however, that every time Ludwig glanced up nowadays the professor was already staring at him as if in wait. Ludwig never disappointed.
The first time they spoke directly again was four months into the course.
Mr. Braginsky was always locking eyes with Ludwig, and that day, Ludwig had been filing out when he had been stopped by a call of his name. He glanced back to see the professor waving him over. He was more excited by that than was appropriate, and went immediately over.
Braginsky asked, "How's the uniform lately? Not bothering you anymore?"
Ludwig shook his head, their eyes locked and Ludwig attempting to convey interest, however stupid and improper it may have been.
Braginsky looked Ludwig over, and added, "You're the quietest in the class. If you ever have any questions, you can always stay after, and I'll be glad to help. You never speak."
How he loved that accent.
"Oh," Ludwig uttered, dumbly. "Sorry. Are my grades bad?"
"Not at all."
Awkward, but not exactly uncomfortable, and Braginsky finally said, "Well. Go on, then. I just wanted you to know I'm here."
"Thank you, Mr. Braginsky."
Ludwig meant to leave, and was stopped again with a low, "Call me Ivan."
A shudder of excitement, and Ludwig looked over his shoulder and nodded his head.
Well! It may have been very inappropriate, but perhaps he wasn't the only one thinking it, after all. Perhaps there was just a little more to this than Ludwig had anticipated, and the next day he kept his eyes on Ivan at all times, very frequently catching Ivan's gaze and holding it.
They taught and learned while essentially ogling each other, and they carried on that way for two months.
Ludwig loved watching Ivan writing at his desk. Ivan's handwriting was pretty, elegant, but more than that Ludwig just loved the pen he used. One of those old pens that required the tip to be dipped in ink. There was nothing more fascinating somehow to Ludwig to watch Ivan dip his pen and then scratch away. Ludwig had always found that rather endearing.
One day, Ludwig lingered after class, emboldened by Ivan's very heavy eyes always atop him.
Ivan looked up, saw him there, and sat up straight, maybe just as excited as Ludwig was.
"Something on your mind, Ludwig? A question about today's lesson?"
"No," Ludwig replied, as he stepped forward, coming closer and closer to Ivan's desk.
Ivan tapped his fingers on his desk, and asked, "Then what?"
"I was just wondering where you're from," Ludwig supplied, and Ivan seemed surprised.
Ivan never offered any information at all about himself, which was probably professional, but all of the other professors Ludwig had had always been very happy to introduce themselves on the first day and get to know their students on a basic level.
But not Ivan. Never said a word about himself.
A short silence, and then Ivan asked, "Why the curiosity?"
Ludwig knew then that his face was red, and his boldness fled. He took a step back, lowered his eyes, and muttered, "I was just...wondering. Sorry."
He meant to flee, but Ivan called, "Well! We can talk sometime. Maybe. If you want."
Talk?
Didn't know what that meant, but Ludwig said, anyway, "I'd like that."
He left quickly, before anything else could be said.
The next days were interesting, as Ivan and Ludwig ever eyed each other, and then Ivan held Ludwig once more after class to say, very lowly and very quickly, "I suppose I'll be out at the football field tonight. I like to sit there out there sometimes, when the weather is nice."
A rather large hint, and Ludwig took it.
He went out that night towards the football pitch, always looking over his shoulder, and when he was close, he saw Ivan sitting there alone on the stands, cigarette in hand. Ludwig crept up, sat a respectable distance away from him, and they talked. Just about class. Merely appropriate things. Nothing personal at all.
That came about the next time they met, late at night, this time in the garden, where it was very dark.
Ludwig liked it there better than the stands, because there was less light and the stars could be seen. Ivan asked Ludwig that night about his family, his life, and Ludwig responded happily, lonely as he was, being away from Roderich and Gilbert for the first time.
Told Ivan about his rough childhood, the death of his parents and being taken away from Gilbert because Gilbert hadn't been quite old enough to legally become his guardian. Roderich adopting him, and how Roderich and Gilbert always clashed and butted heads when Gilbert had turned eighteen and tried to take Ludwig away.
How Ludwig always felt torn between them and alone.
Ivan was quiet, and listened but didn't offer anything.
They sat out in the garden every night after that, making small talk, and absolutely nothing at all remotely inappropriate happened.
Ludwig wouldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed, because he was.
Then, a few weeks later, something wonderful happened; Ivan opened up to him.
It had taken a very long time, but at last Ludwig got a little bit of information out of Ivan, had apparently earned a bit of trust, because one night Ivan looked over at him, lit up in the moonlight, and said, "I'm from Russia. I was born in Leningrad. I defected twelve years ago. I came here to teach."
Ludwig stared at Ivan in awe, twisted at the waist to give Ivan his full attention, and leaned forward a bit.
They were close enough for Ludwig to catch the scent of Ivan's deep, subtle cologne. The very faint hint of cigarette smoke. The pleasant aroma of Ivan's clothes.
Ivan stared back at him, eyes running over Ludwig's face, and although Ludwig was desperately curious, he had enough tact in that moment not to pry further. Ivan had shown him trust, and he didn't want to risk losing it by being nosy. If Ivan wanted to offer more, then he would, in his own time.
So instead, Ludwig turned his eyes back out to the stars above the trees, and asked, out of nowhere, "What did you want to be when you were a child?"
Entirely random.
Ivan snorted, seemed caught off guard, and followed Ludwig's gaze up to the stars.
"A cosmonaut. Always, always, I dreamed of being a cosmonaut."
Daring to push a little, just a little, Ludwig asked, "So what stopped you?"
Ivan eyed the stars, thoughtfully, and finally said, "I don't know. My father was a chemist, so I suppose it was just easier for me, because I already knew so much about that. I didn't try hard enough."
Ludwig asked no more questions, and they just sat there for the rest of the night, watching stars.
The next day, Ludwig lingered again after class, as Ivan glanced up at him from above papers, and Ludwig felt bold enough to ask, "Perhaps tonight, we could have a beer."
Ivan lifted a brow, pen tapping the table, and then Ivan lowered his eyes back to the papers and said, so casually, "I suppose it's a plan. Let's meet where we always do, then."
Ludwig was elated, and spent the rest of the day in a daze.
That night, when they met, Ivan started walking, but not into the city. Instead, he looked over at Ludwig, and said, "Is it alright if we have a beer at my house? I think it would be improper for us to be seen together in a bar."
A rush of adrenaline, heat, excitement and fear, and Ludwig chirped, "That's fine!"
More than fine. Ideal, come to think, and he very happily accompanied Ivan to his home, catching the bus and memorizing the path. Ivan lived a good distance out of the center, on a very quiet street with few houses. They walked a bit more, and Ivan led Ludwig to a little house, tucked far back from the road and into the trees. It could scarcely be seen at all from the street, hidden away and isolated, but that seemed to suit private Ivan.
Ivan led him inside, they sat at the kitchen table over beer, and when they were a little tipsy, Ivan suddenly said, "You know. Your marks are perfect. You don't need to flirt with me to raise them."
Ha! As if.
When Ivan drank, his already heavy accent grew thicker, and Ludwig liked the sound of it.
Ludwig rested his chin in his palm, and found the courage to admit, however foolish it may have been, "I don't care about my grade. I just like you."
Ivan's stare was piercing, intense, impossible to escape, and Ludwig could only wait.
But Ivan played it cool that time, and merely offered Ludwig one more beer and then sent him on his way afterwards. Ludwig left with disappointment and yet hope. Seemed he was making more and more headway, and was sure he was getting close to something he wanted.
He must have been, because the very next night there he was again in Ivan's home.
By now, the line had very much been crossed, things had become extremely inappropriate regardless of whether or not anything was happening, and they were both very aware of that.
At the end of the week, Ivan stood up from the table, gave a very heavy sigh, came forward, yanked Ludwig to his feet, and kissed him.
Seemed waiting had gotten old for the both of them, and Ludwig had been very happy to throw his arms around Ivan's neck as Ivan quite literally picked him up and carted him off into the bedroom.
And that was that.
From that day, they began a very improper relationship, and neither of them really cared about the repercussions. Ludwig loved the scent of Ivan, the feel of his hands and how warm he was, and more than that he loved not feeling so lonely all the time. Ivan must have felt that, too, because he was always extremely affectionate, always seeking attention from Ludwig in private and always willing to give it in turn.
The rest of that year in university passed with no incident, as they kept their relationship very secret. That summer, Ludwig didn't go back to Vienna with Roderich or to Berlin with Gilbert. He stayed in Zurich, in Ivan's house, and told them he was just staying with a friend and would come visit.
One night, in the middle of summer, Ludwig asked out of nowhere, as Ivan lied tangled up in him, "Why did you defect?"
Ivan lifted his head, stared down at him, brow low and lips pursed, and for a while there, in that silence, Ludwig thought that Ivan wasn't going to answer. But eventually he did, and murmured, "We were set to work by the KGB. They wanted new breakthroughs in chemical weapons. Nuclear weapons. I didn't want to do that. That wasn't what I ever wanted to do. So I ran."
Ludwig held Ivan's gaze, and then kissed his forehead.
Every day, Ivan trusted him a little more it seemed. Ludwig considered them very close by then, lovers as they were but also best friends.
The next year, Ludwig discovered something new about Ivan.
One of the students that year spoke Russian, and tried on several occasions to stay a bit after class to speak to Ivan in his mother tongue about something he just hadn't perfectly understood, and always Ivan would call, "Ludwig!"
Ludwig would turn, and Ivan would say, "Stay just a moment, won't you?"
Ludwig did, always sitting and waiting dutifully as Ivan spoke to the student in Russian and helped him with whatever he needed. But when the student left, Ivan just said to Ludwig, "You can go."
It didn't take Ludwig long to realize that Ivan didn't want to be alone, for any amount of time, with another Russian. Strove to avoid it at all costs, and actually seemed extremely nervous about it, scared almost, and Ludwig knew that it was likely having to do with Ivan's defection. Must have been paranoid still about it. Well. He had right to be nervous, perhaps, having run from something like the KGB. So Ludwig just stayed when Ivan asked him to, and never let him have a conversation with anyone else alone.
Ivan seemed to jump at shadows.
Still, Ludwig spent every night at Ivan's house, forgoing campus, and by then they had long since become a couple. No one knew, no one suspected, because they were both extremely professional and stoic and Ivan lived in a rather isolated area. No prying eyes.
Ludwig was entirely enamored with Ivan, would have followed him anywhere, and was already planning on spending the rest of his life with this man. Easier to cling to that dream, when Ivan held him to his chest every night and kissed his forehead and whispered to him about the future.
He had been meant for this man, he was sure of it.
Time passed in a love-struck daze, and Ludwig was so in love with Ivan that he was blinded to all else. Ivan would show up frequently with flowers, would sometimes wake him up in the middle of the night and drag him out into the yard just to look at stars. Ludwig leaned his head against Ivan's shoulder, put every bit of himself into Ivan's hands, and trusted unconditionally, as was his nature.
As usual, it eventually caused him trouble.
It was their fourth year together when Ivan finally explained to Ludwig why he was so paranoid about being alone with another Russian. In some way, very soon, Ludwig really wished he hadn't been informed at all.
He was just lying there in bed, head rested on Ivan's chest as Ivan stared up at the ceiling, and then Ivan said, out of nowhere, "I lied to you."
Ludwig looked up at Ivan, and dumbly uttered, "What do you mean?"
Ivan turned his head, met Ludwig's eyes, and repeated, "I lied to you. About why I left. I didn't defect because I was afraid they would use my research for war. That's what I did all along. I worked for the KGB. Every bit of research I ever did was for them. That was the intent all along, to make chemical warfare. I lied to you. I defected because...I got scared. I was talking to a man I thought was a friend one night, and I insulted Khrushchev, and the Party. The next day, I was thrown into a cell and beaten. They held me for a week, sent me back to work, and told me that when I could no longer produce useful research that I would be shot. So I defected, because I didn't want to die. I'm sorry. I lied to you. I didn't want you to know that I'm not a good person. I knew what I was doing all along. And so now, I change my name and country every so often, because I'm scared to stay in one place. They'll always be after me, because I know so much. That's why I don't hold any meetings alone. I know one day I'll be assassinated. No one defects from the KGB and ever just gets away. I'm sorry."
No words for that awful dread Ludwig felt. So many things running through his head, so many thoughts. Fear. Terror. Anxiety. That awful unease that came with realizing that the person you were in love with wasn't who you thought they were.
Ivan looked once more above, silently.
It was quite a lot to take in.
Ivan was so quiet, still and pensive, and Ludwig knew that he was preparing himself for a breakup.
It wasn't coming; Ludwig loved Ivan far too much to just let him go, even knowing the truth. Even if it could have been dangerous. Knowing the consequences wasn't enough to deter him, and after a long while, Ludwig murmured, "I don't care about what you did. I care about who you are now. And I... I love you, whoever you are."
Ivan may not have been Ivan's real name, but that didn't matter. It was who Ludwig knew, and Ludwig loved this man, regardless of his past or who he had once been. People could change. Not always of their own volition, granted, but nobody was perfect. Ivan was only a man, and Ludwig didn't hold his flaws against him.
Ivan had told him the truth, and that meant enough.
Ivan seemed surprised, turning his head to stare at Ludwig very pryingly against the moonlight, and Ludwig could only stare back at him and let Ivan know that he wasn't going anywhere.
They didn't speak anymore, Ivan clenching him up and holding him.
Ludwig had assumed that was the end of it. He wasn't exactly elated at the news, certainly wasn't looking forward to any danger or inconveniences, wasn't looking forward to the day Ivan once more uprooted and changed his name, but he was prepared for it.
He was willing to live that life, if it was with Ivan.
Five years, and Ludwig graduated.
Ivan was beaming, proud and very bolstered, and Roderich and Gilbert had come all the way from Vienna and Berlin to stay with him all day and drink with him that night in a hotel. The next few days were wonderful, being with people he loved, but Ludwig was more excited when he was able to return to Ivan's.
It felt as if the next step of his life had begun. He was ready now to truly settle down. He wasn't a student anymore, and so there was no longer any need for secrecy. He didn't have to be careful and slink in the shadows. He was envisioning a wonderful life, something from a movie, just him and Ivan and a nice house and a calm life.
He forgot sometimes about the real world, and Ivan's past.
Clearly Ivan hadn't forgotten.
When Gilbert and Roderich left and Ludwig went to Ivan's door, something in the air had shifted. It had only been three days, and yet Ivan looked somehow horrible when he opened the door and let Ludwig in. Unshaven and messy haired. His clothes were wrinkled. The circles under his eyes very dark. It looked almost as if he had been crying, and rather furiously so. His eyes were red, bleary, swollen.
Ludwig had been confused and alarmed. Thinking Ivan was sick, he reached out and rested his hands on the sides of Ivan's neck, thumbs under his jaw, and asked, "What's the matter?"
Ivan squinted his eyes and hung his head a little, and Ludwig had felt the dread squirming.
Anxiety.
It took a long while before Ivan could look up at him, and longer yet for him to open his mouth and utter, "You have such a nice life ahead of you. Everything you worked all this time for, you can have. You don't need me anymore."
An awful rush of hurt.
Oh, no, not that. Not now. Ludwig had already been planning their future together, saw it in his dreams every night—
Ivan took his face in his huge hands, ran thumbs over his cheeks, kissed his forehead, and then said the words that everyone dreaded hearing.
"I'm sorry. But we can't be together anymore. I've thought about it, every day, and...I can't let anything happen to you. It's too dangerous for you to stay with me. We can't be together."
Shock.
Ludwig was too stunned to move, to think, to react.
Five years they had been together. Ludwig knew nothing else, had thought of nothing else all these years. Had given all of himself to Ivan, and had never once thought of letting go. How those awful words cut, to have Ivan suddenly casting him aside.
What had happened to change Ivan's mind?
Maybe Ivan had finally accepted the reality around him as Ludwig sought yet to ever deny it.
Ludwig lowered his voice and began, desperately, "Please, don't, I—"
Ivan kissed him to cut him off, held him there for a long while, and when he pulled back, he pressed his lips into Ludwig's forehead and whispered, "I've never done anything good in my life. Nothing I'm proud of. I would keep you, I would have had you with me, always, but I— That's not the right thing to do. It would be selfish of me, to put my happiness above your safety. It can't be. It was a dream we had. I can't pretend anymore that it can really come true. You can't stay with me. Eventually, you'll get hurt. I'm sorry. But I have to say goodbye to you."
Ludwig was too devastated to really comprehend, and Ivan walked him to the door as his vision blurred with the tears that began pooling in his eyes. Couldn't even cry, though, he was so dumbfounded. Ivan led him outside, kissed his forehead one more time, and then said, with finality, "Goodbye."
Ludwig realized suddenly that there was a suitcase on the porch; all of his belongings. Ivan really was letting him go.
Hurt.
Ivan turned around, shut the door behind him, and was gone.
Gone.
That was the last time he ever saw Ivan.
For a long, awful while, it felt as if the world had ended. Ludwig mourned, even as his life unfolded before him exactly as he had planned it all along. A year later, when he was twenty-six, he procured his first job at a chemical plant in Basel. He was making his life fit into the dream he had had for himself, and yet his other dream flashed before his mind every night.
Dreamt endlessly of Ivan, and thought every day of writing to him, but was too cowardly.
Later that year, he first met Felicia.
It had not been a good first meeting.
He had been minding his business, going down the street on his day off with a bag of groceries in his hand, and a woman had suddenly run in front of him from across the street, directly into his path. He crashed into her, naturally, and stumbled back. She was a young woman, a bit older than Ludwig perhaps, very pretty and very well dressed. Her hair was neatly curled, her makeup was pleasant and not too much, hair auburn in the sun and eyes lit up rather amber in the light. A normal woman.
But damn! She had turned on him like a bull, shoving his chest and screeching, "Watch where you're going!"
Ludwig was absolutely stunned when she slapped him right there in front of everyone, flabbergasted and so confused, and he stood completely still as she unleashed an unholy tirade upon him. She screamed at him until her voice was hoarse, about how stupid he was, how rude, how inconsiderate, pay more attention, knocking over a woman, etc.
Ludwig had bowed to her fury, as he did to everyone's, and stood dutifully still until she had finished. He didn't open his mouth, didn't lift his hand even though his cheek stung, and everyone on the street gawked at them, most of them sending Ludwig looks of sympathy.
When the woman finished screaming, she very abruptly burst into tears, as randomly as she had lashed out. Ludwig considered the ordeal done and over with, and sidestepped her to carry on.
From behind, she called out to him, "I'm sorry!"
He looked over his shoulder, as she wiped the mascara from her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she said again, as she took a step towards him, still crying, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean— My fiancé just left me. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
A twinge of pity.
He felt bad for her, and he didn't have anything else to do, so he turned back around to face her, and said, "Would you like to get a coffee and talk about it?"
He had been left, too, and knew that awful feeling.
She nodded, and the next thing Ludwig knew they were in a café, as Felicia spilled her soul out to him through tears. Ludwig listened as dutifully to her then as he had when she had screamed at him, and when she finished speaking, she leaned across the table, grabbed his hand, and said, "Thank you so much. I needed that. I don't have anyone else here to talk to. You're the nicest man I've ever met, you really are. I'm sorry again. I feel horrible."
He played it off, and said, "It's fine, really. If you need to talk again, I'll be around."
Anyone would have been upset, really.
She hesitated, seemed embarrassed, and yet still she had asked, "Can I have your phone number?"
He had given it to her, and yet it had been a little surreal the first time she had called him and asked him out again for another coffee.
Ludwig had thought right off that she was beautiful, one of the prettiest women he had ever seen, but as he got to know her more over the coming weeks, he found more things about her that he liked, and it was those other things about her that had him falling in love with her. It was very clear from the first few conversations that she had been interested in him, and it didn't take long before he felt the same.
A month after she had slapped him, he walked her home, and she leaned up to kiss him.
It all went on from there. Ludwig's mind was always on Ivan, but Felicia helped to take that edge off. Took away the loneliness. Helped to ease his anxiety and his mourning.
He loved her, and they were always together after that. She had done as much for him as he had for her, even if she didn't know it. He had nursed her through her breakup, but in a way she had nursed him through his, obliviously.
She worked at an art museum, painted too in her spare time, and Ludwig found her abstract style fascinating. She dealt in art on the side, and every so often she would buy something and show it off to Ludwig. An odd combination perhaps, a chemical engineer and a painter, but they seemed to fit very well. Her exuberance and vivaciousness complimented rather well his stoicism and silence.
He couldn't have Ivan, but he could have Felicia, and clung to her just as tightly.
When he was twenty-eight, he and Felicia bought a home together, moved in, became a real couple in a sense, and Ludwig was elated. It was so wonderful to be with someone who loved him, who had no cause to leave him, and yet despite how much Ludwig loved her he still thought always of Ivan. Wondering how Ivan was doing, if he was alright. If he was happy.
When he was twenty-nine, Ludwig bought a ring and fell in terror to one knee and proposed to Felicia, and nearly cried when she had tackled him and knocked him backwards onto the ground. He loved her, was happy she was there, but that night regardless he still dreamt of Ivan.
When he was thirty, they were wed, and it was Gilbert who was crying, pitifully so, as Roderich looked on so proudly. Admittedly, Ludwig did cry a little, too, because Felicia was crying. Hard not to be an emotional wreck on one's wedding day, but Ludwig's stint of being an emotional wreck carried on all throughout the day and for the entire night. As Felicia rested her head against his shoulder, Ludwig stared up at the ceiling, and wished, more than anything, that he could have looked over the crowd that day to see Ivan's face.
When he was thirty-one, they found out that Felicia couldn't have children, and she had clung to Ludwig's arm and cried for days, and it was almost as if she were afraid to let go of him. Oh, how his chest hurt when she had looked up from her wailing to utter, breathlessly, "Please don't leave me."
Never. Would have never, because he loved her.
They carried on, as they had for years, and Ludwig didn't regret anything that had happened. He loved her, and she loved him, and that was all that mattered. He was happy with her. Everything was fine, carrying on. His job was steady, constant, and Felicia was positively glowing. She came home sometimes with new paintings, which she always hung in attractive places. Sometimes at night, Ludwig would stare at the abstract paintings, and if he stared long enough he sometimes saw a bit of Ivan in some of then.
It never went away, those feelings he had. He would love that man until the day he died, even if he loved Felicia, too.
When he was thirty-two, he received a letter. He opened the post one day, and there it was, a little envelope. Unassuming. His heart raced when he saw the writing, and recognized it long before he saw the name scribbled at the top.
Ivan.
He looked around, almost guiltily, and slunk inside, running into the bedroom. Felicia wasn't even home yet, but somehow Ludwig felt as if he were doing something wrong when he sat down on the bed and opened the envelope to pull out the letter.
His hands were shaking when he began to read it.
Oh, that beautiful writing. Long missed. The ink was thick, silvery, perfectly fitting Ivan. Could perfectly recall the sight of Ivan dipping his pen into his ink.
Dear Ludwig,
How are you? I don't know if you'll receive this, or if this is even the correct address. I searched for you, as best I could, and this address was where I was led. I hear you've married now. I'm happy for you, that you can have something safe and comfortable that I was unable to give you. I hope you're doing well. Please know that I think of you every day that passes. I know I made the right decision, for your wellbeing, but god, how I wish I had made a different one. It's too late now to regret, isn't it? I can only remember our time and be happy for it, for that brief moment. I'm grateful to you, more than you can know. How glad I am that we met. You brought me more happiness than you could ever understand. I wish things could have worked out differently, but I feel relieved that your life seems to be going along quite perfectly. I'll understand if you've pushed me far out of your mind, or if you've by now forgotten me. I mean no intrusion, nor annoyance; I just wanted to tell you that I miss you, that I care deeply for you still, and I always will. You don't need to respond to this if you don't wish to. I almost don't expect you to, when you have a wonderful life. I'm merely a memory to you by now. All the same, I do hope, if nothing else, that you'll hold me no ill will. I hope you can forgive me, and perhaps remember me fondly, although I did nothing to deserve it.
I'm happy for you, and I hope that you'll have nothing but fortune in whatever path lies yet ahead of you. I've never forgotten you, and I couldn't wait one more day to tell you that. I suppose I needed to get it off my chest. So I shall say both 'hello' and 'farewell'. I'll leave you to your happy life, and spend the rest of mine thinking of you.I don't ask you to pity me, for it's nothing I haven't earned. You're better off without me, I know.
Good luck, Ludwig, in everything. Always know how happy you made me. You're the only thing that ever did. For that, I love you, and always will. I just wanted you to know that I've never forgotten you. Please, have a happy life. My regards, love.
Underneath, a postscript, scribbled in a slightly more harried fashion, more sloppily, as if a very quick afterthought before it had been mailed.
P. S. - I have borrowed a bit of phosphorous from the laboratory and mixed it into the ink. My hope is that it may glow just a bit at night, that you can read this letter even as you lie down to sleep. That we may both, for just a while at night, pretend we're cosmonauts amongst the stars. This is the only way we can be together now.
Ludwig smiled and snorted, and clenched the letter very happily to his chest.
Oh! How wonderful that was to read, to feel those sentiments so potently even after seven years, as he had the very first day. He had never fallen out of love with Ivan, and it was marvelous to hear that Ivan held those same feelings.
He sat down immediately and started writing his own letter, always looking over his shoulder for Felicia. And he didn't know why he wrote it, because he knew in his heart that it was a dead-end and that he was happy now, had everything he wanted. He loved Felicia, but he loved Ivan, too, and so he wrote.
Wrote everything he dared, about how much he had missed Ivan, how much he loved him still, how he thought about him every single day, how some part of Ludwig always had and always would belong to Ivan. He wrote whatever nonsense came to mind, included his phone number, pulse racing and feeling dizzy, and then he sealed it up in an envelope.
Then he lost his courage.
He twisted the envelope restlessly in his hands, faltered, felt self-conscious and nervous, guilty, and in the end he didn't mail it. He buried it in his dresser alongside Ivan's letter, and tried every morning to find the will to mail it.
In the meanwhile, after Felicia fell asleep, Ludwig took the letter out in the dark of night. As promised, the ink glowed, just a bit. Nothing powerful, but certainly enough to read the letter even in the dark. A faint, comforting purple light, soft and so befitting Ivan.
Ludwig felt as enamored as he had back then. That rush of love and adoration crashing over him from out of nowhere.
He read the letter every night, blissfully enraptured with Ivan but also painfully aware of Felicia sleeping in the bed.
He loved them both, and for that felt horrendous. There would be no perfect outcome for him, and he knew it. If he stayed with Felicia, he would always miss Ivan. If he left and ran into Ivan's waiting arms, he would forever and always mourn Felicia. Not fair, but it was a mess he had gotten himself into and there was no one to talk to about it.
He didn't know what to do, but knew he was in love.
It took him three months to gather up the courage to finally mail out his letter.
Every day after that was just waiting. Every day, Ludwig watched the phone, relentlessly, hoping against hope that Ivan would call him.
Finally, two weeks later, the phone rang, during dinner. Ludwig jolted up and raced to it, heart hammering and feeling oddly excited. Felicia had just snorted, thinking nothing of it, and Ludwig's voice shook when he answered, "Hello?"
A voice over the line.
"Is this Ludwig?"
Not Ivan's voice, and Ludwig's excitement died. Disappointment rushed up. He had gotten ahead of himself again, and merely uttered, far less enthusiastically, "Yes. Who is this?"
No direct answer, as the voice instead asked, "Did you write a letter to Ivan Braginsky?"
Unease. A twinge of dread, twisting in his stomach. Ivan's old worries and fears, passed on to Ludwig. The horrifying thought that this person was a potential danger, that maybe Ivan's past had caught up and now Ludwig was in trouble.
Still, he answered, quietly, "Yes."
A hesitation over the line.
"I regret to inform you that Mr. Braginsky has passed on. I'm sorry."
Stunned and confused, Ludwig clenched the phone and sputtered, "I-I'm sorry? What?"
Made no sense. Had to have misheard.
The voice said, "He died three months ago. I'm sorry you have to find out this way"
In denial and bewildered, Ludwig asked, "But—how?"
"I'm afraid he killed himself. If you—"
Ludwig heard nothing more, breathing heavily and head spinning, and he hung the phone up and sat down on the sofa, staring ahead at the wall.
Lost.
An awful surge of hurt, and anger. Incomprehension. Why would Ivan have done that? How could he have ever let himself go that far? Why hadn't he reached out to Ludwig sooner? Why had he waited until it was too late?
Oh—every single word of that letter suddenly took on a different meaning. Ivan hadn't been attempting to rekindle their old relationship; he had been saying goodbye, in his own way.
Everything had piled up, had become too much, Ivan had gotten so sick of looking over his shoulder and fearing everyone, afraid of every single noise and motion, terrified to even open his front door. The stress and pressure had gotten to him, and instead of asking Ludwig for help he had just written a letter to let him go.
He hung his head, elbows on his knees, and burst into tears.
Felicia was upon him very soon, kneeling on the floor before him and forcing his head up, her thumbs running over his cheeks as she asked, "What's happened? What's wrong? Oh, Ludwig, what's the matter? Who was on the phone?"
She was scared, panicked, no doubt thinking that something had happened to Gilbert or Roderich.
He couldn't speak for a moment, crying too hard to form words, but she was very patient with him. What could he really say? He couldn't truly be honest.
When he found his voice, all he uttered was, "A friend of mine from university died."
Not a lie, but not the truth.
Her face softened, she sat down beside of him, and held him there as he cried all night.
Oh Ivan. How could he have done that? How could he have just gone on and left Ludwig behind? To reach out again like that, only to say farewell. It wasn't right.
He mourned for months, endlessly, crying when he was alone and trying so hard not to let Felicia see how much pain he was in. It felt as if he couldn't breathe, and he held Ivan's letter to his chest every night, after Felicia had gone to sleep. Reading it in the dark, as the purple glow of the phosphorous comforted him in some small way. Tried to pretend that Ivan was still out there somehow, that perhaps he had finally become a cosmonaut after all. That was all; Ivan was just playing out amongst the stars, as he had always dreamed.
Every night, Ludwig read the letter, caught the scent of Ivan there, and pretended. He never told Felicia, because he didn't want to hurt her, and he didn't want something to go wrong and for her to ever think less of him.
For her to ever leave him was terrifying, so he mourned alone and in shadows.
He tried his best to remember Ivan as he had been, and not how awful and depressed and scared he must have been there towards the end. A life that had gone awry.
Tried to remember Ivan's pretty smile.
Years passed, and Ludwig began to cope a bit better with things. He stopped pretending that Ivan was drifting about up in the atmosphere. Ivan was dead, and he was trying his best to come to terms with that. It was a little easier every day, but he still cried from time to time, when he was alone for too long.
His favorite moment of his day, though, was still his nightly reading of that letter. He supposed it was his version of therapy. His comfort. His way of clinging.
Every single night without fail, Ludwig held that letter close, as he carried on in his life.
Ivan was gone, but never entirely forgotten.
When Ludwig was thirty-seven, he caught the flu for the first time in his life in November. It was an awful, painful experience, far worse than he had imagined it would be, and he spent two weeks huddled up on the couch, trashcan beneath him and constantly writhing. Felicia coddled him, doted upon him, pampered him, but that didn't make the agony go away.
Felicia did kiss his forehead, fearless of catching it herself, and murmured, "My poor baby! There's nothing more pitiful than a sick man."
He tried to smile, and failed.
Felt like he was dying, and Felicia teased him relentlessly about 'man-flu' the entire two weeks. After that, it began to clear up, and on the third week Ludwig returned to work.
But in February, he caught it again.
How bizarre! He had been perfectly healthy his entire life, and now he had caught the flu twice in four months. Something seemed highly unfair about that.
The second time was worse, and it was harder to recuperate from. Felicia coddled him as fervently, but didn't tease him that time, often appearing rather concerned as he shivered with fever.
As soon as he recovered from that, Ludwig got a flu shot, and swore he would do so every winter. Couldn't risk getting it over and over again and missing so much work. Still, though, every year after that, he caught colds and bugs very frequently. Without fail. It got so bad, in fact, that Felicia forbade anyone coming over if they had a cold. When Gilbert showed up, Felicia actually took his temperature before she let him inside. Roderich had to pass similar exams.
Ludwig couldn't figure it out. His immune system had never been so weak. He didn't understand why he was suddenly sick all of the time, what was wrong with him.
Ludwig noticed shortly after that his brush was coming back with more and more hair in it. Hm. It wasn't terribly noticeable, for how pale his hair was, but it was certainly thinner than it ever had been. How unfair; Gilbert was much older than him and still had loads of hair, like a teenager.
When he was thirty-nine, Ludwig woke up one morning in spring and felt someway as if he had been run over by a train. Felt so sore, weak, lethargic. Didn't want to get out of bed, he was so tired, but forced himself. He took his temperature; it was normal. So he went to work, despite the awful ache all over, and tried to push through.
Felicia noticed when he came home and threw himself straight into bed. By now, she was used to him being sick, and she was quick to grab his shoulders and give him a bit of a massage. He was out like a light, but the next morning he didn't feel any better. As if he had been utterly drained of all energy.
God, what was wrong with him?
Felicia ran her hand over his back, soothingly, as he tried to pull himself out of bed that next morning.
"You look terrible," she said, worriedly, as he once more took his temperature and it was once more normal. "I'm getting worried about you. I think you should go to the doctor."
She had a point.
But he was so damn tired, and he said, "I'll go soon."
Soon wasn't really all that soon.
Summer came, and Ludwig was still sloughing his way through that awful lethargy. Had no life at all, none, had never felt so weak and tired in his living memory. His muscles ached all the time, without him having done anything. He went to work, came home, and went to sleep. Just too tired to even bother going to the doctor, and maybe he was actually scared to find out what was wrong with him.
Stubborn.
Felicia was worried. He had lost a bit of weight, for his endless sleeping, and he knew he looked a mess, pale as snow and the circles under his eyes far too dark. His coworkers worried about him, too, and when Roderich and Gilbert came by to visit in July at the same time, the first thing Gilbert said was, "Holy shit, Lutz! What's the matter with you? You look awful."
Roderich, ever the concerned father, swept forward and pressed his hand into Ludwig's forehead.
Ludwig brushed them off, and tried to pretend to be more energetic than he felt while they were there, but he knew he wasn't fooling them.
Months he suffered that lethargy without fulfilling his vow to go to the doctor, and then, in October, two weeks after his fortieth birthday, everything just crashed.
He walked through the kitchen in the morning to get his coffee, and the next thing he really knew he was on the floor and Felicia was above him, sobbing and crying out.
Awful, vulnerable minutes, as his mind and body just couldn't sync up and give him a clear picture of what was happening. Ludwig could only drift about, in and out of clarity, and then suddenly more people were standing above him, and he was being carried. He remembered being in the ambulance, Felicia beside of him, and he remembered arriving in the hospital.
He couldn't say how long he had been there, though, before he was finally lucid and once more aware of his surroundings. Came to and looked around, at the IV in his arm and at exhausted, red-eyed Felicia staring over at him.
She was clenching his hand, and he somehow managed to ask, "What happened?'
That awful look on her face.
"I don't know. You had a seizure. Oh, god, I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. I just want to know what's wrong with you."
A seizure? He heard it clearly, but didn't much comprehend. He didn't understand anything happening to him lately. He didn't understand how he could be so healthy his entire life and then suddenly tank so furiously in just a few years when none of his habits had changed.
All they could do was wait.
Miserable hours.
A knock on the door, and a doctor came in, papers in hand and smiling thinly.
"Hey, Ludwig. How are you feeling?"
"Horrible," Ludwig supplied, honestly, and the doctor gave a humorless snort.
And then everything was quiet, and for a long time.
Ludwig felt his stomach sinking and Felicia was squirming.
The doctor finally spoke up, as Felicia clenched his hand, and asked, "I see that you work in a chemical plant. Do you come into contact frequently with radioactive elements?"
A lurch of unease.
"Of course," Ludwig replied. "It's fundamental."
"Is it possible there's been some sort of, well—forgive me, this isn't exactly my specialty—some sort of spill or breach or some such, that would cause you to be exposed to such radiation?"
His stomach was twisting, lurching, and Felicia's grip on his hand was so tight that it was painful.
"No. We're very methodical. Such an accident could scarcely occur. And it certainly never has, not to my knowledge, in the history of the plant."
The doctor stared at him for a long while, pursed his lips, hesitated, and then said, in a softer voice, "Well, regardless. Your immune system is gone. Everything keeps leading us back to radiation poisoning."
Ludwig felt remarkably cold then, despite Felicia's warmth. The air seemed to be sucked out of the room, for he couldn't breathe suddenly. A cold sweat on his brow.
Couldn't comprehend how this could have possibly happened.
In denial, perhaps, Ludwig stubbornly said, "It can't be. If that were the case, more people in the plant would be sick."
"It would seem that way," the doctor agreed, "and that's why we've informed the appropriate authorities. They should be at the plant now, as we speak. They'll come by afterwards, to speak to you. In the meanwhile, we have many things we need to deal with. You have aplastic anemia. And your liver is barely functioning. The prognosis is...less than favorable, I fear."
A sharp inhale from Felicia.
Ludwig just felt rather numb then, confused and bewildered. Made no sense.
But he understood far too well what was being laid before him, the exact consequences, and he turned back to the doctor, to say, "I'm not leaving this hospital again, am I?"
The doctor shook his head.
Felicia burst into tears, leapt upright to her feet, and whined, in her own good bit of denial, "What are you talking about? You're just sick; they'll fix you. You'll be alright."
She didn't understand that it didn't work like that when it came to some things. Sometimes, optimism wasn't enough.
Ludwig tried to speak, to say something, but Felicia had already turned her wrath on the doctor, marching up to him and demanding more than asking, "You're going to make him better. Right? That's your job!"
The doctor, poor man, held her gaze and tried to be firm and gentle, and began, "We'll do what we can to make him as comfortable as possible—"
Felicia's awful bawling intensified, and Ludwig sat upright when Felicia shoved the doctor's chest.
"That's not right! You have to do something! This isn't right! You can't let him die, what's the matter with you? You have to help him! That's what you're here for!"
She was sobbing so hard she could barely speak, and shoved the doctor one more time before whirling around and snatching Ludwig in a painful embrace, burying her face in his hair.
Ludwig squirmed in her arms, met the doctor's eyes as he shuffled, and asked, "How long?"
Felicia burrowed all the harder into him, as if that would somehow prevent her from hearing the doctor's answer.
"A month, maybe. At most."
Goddamn, hadn't expected it would be that soon.
A crumble of his bravery, but shock held him together then.
"And if... If I go home?"
He didn't wanna fuckin' die in this hospital, hooked up to machines that kept him alive. Wanted to be home, with people he loved and familiar environments.
The doctor shook his head, and offered, "Maybe...two weeks? Optimistically. But it doesn't matter. You can't leave. Until we find the source of the radiation, you can't go home. Her, either. After they're done at the plant, the men will come see you, and then I imagine they'll go to your home."
Ludwig turned his eyes back down to the blanket, and fell silent.
Rather trapped, then. No choice in the matter. But they were right, he supposed. Couldn't risk it, but he didn't understand why he was the only one sick if it had been an accident at the plant. He did nothing different than anyone else. Had no special jobs or tasks.
Just didn't understand how this could have happened.
The doctor wandered away as Felicia cried into Ludwig's hair, and several hours later, in the evening, when Felicia had cried herself senseless and sat in the chair in the corner with her face rested in her hands, there was a knock on the door.
Officers came inside, sat down, and said, quickly, "There's no radiation in the plant. We'll be going next to your house. Do you have any idea how you could have been exposed?"
Ludwig said, "No," and thus began the very lengthy and very annoying questioning. He was already in a bad mood by then, needless to say, and the scribbling on the notepad was driving him crazy, as his head pounded away. Their interrogation was grating his nerves more than the goddamn prognosis.
One month to live. Who could ever take that well?
Scribbling. That pen, moving away, as the man kept on, question after question. That annoying scribbling—
Scribbling.
Oh—!
Ludwig inhaled and sat upright so quickly that it made him dizzy, his mind raced as fast as his heart did, his pounding head blazed up, and somehow, someway, it all came together and clicked up in his head.
The man looked at him in alarm, as did Felicia, and they asked at the same time, "What?"
He stared ahead, eyes wide and breathing through his mouth, as the realization struck him so powerfully that for just a ridiculous moment he felt giddy.
"There's a letter," Ludwig began, and his voice gave out on him for a while. "I got a letter, years ago. From another chemist, and I— I thought it was phosphorous in the ink. But it's not. It's the letter. It's in my dresser. That has to be it."
Felicia looked quite alarmed when the officer stood up, looked at her, and said, "Come with us. We'll need to be let in."
She looked at Ludwig uncertainly, but he gave her a nod and a smile for bravery, and she kissed his forehead before going with them.
Ludwig could only lay back and feel like an absolute fool.
Phosphorous. How stupid.
Ivan. Had he really sent that letter? Ludwig wasn't so certain then. That little postscript that had looked so rushed; that wasn't Ivan's writing. Could see it now, in hindsight of course, and couldn't believe he had ever been so dumb. Should have known it somehow. Should have been more suspicious, when he knew who Ivan was and who he was hiding from.
Should have questioned that, as much as he should have questioned whether or not Ivan had really killed himself.
Could see it all so clearly—Ivan hadn't killed himself, Ivan hadn't written that final line, and Ivan hadn't mailed that letter. Should have seen it sooner, should have known, should have realized and should have been smarter.
Hours later, Felicia came back, and Ludwig stirred from his lethargy.
Felicia leaned over him, running her hand down his cheek and neck, and he couldn't stand her sad smile.
"Did they find it?" he asked, after a silence.
She nodded.
"Yeah. It... They got close to the dresser, and the meter just went off." Her face crumpled, her eyes misted, and her voice was strangled when she added, "I hate that sound."
Felt so stupid then, so awful and guilty, and was very quick to demand, "You need to be checked out, as well."
Again, she nodded.
"I know. They already told me. I'm about to go. I just came to see you first."
She was crying then, and god, he couldn't stand the sight of it.
He reached out, grabbed her hand, and beseeched, deeply, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I never wanted anything to happen to you, I—"
She cut him off by pressing down and kissing him, her eyes squinted tightly to prevent her from crying.
Guilt.
How had he ever been so stupid?
She left him then, her hand trailing down his face in farewell, and those were long hours, waiting to see if his foolishness had harmed her.
When she came back, very late at night, Ludwig tried to sit up, and realized he was too tired to do so, and that was rather terrifying. So, he asked, "What did they say? Are you well?"
She came over and crawled into the bed, and whispered, "I'm fine, they say. I'm fine." He closed his eyes in relief, as she gripped his hand, and it made his chest hurt when she added, thickly, "I wish I weren't."
"Don't say that," he chided, as she clung to him.
She was silent for a long while, and when Ludwig was sleepy, she asked, "What did the letter say? Who was it from? For you to keep it all these years. They told me that for you to have been exposed so much, you had to have been holding it every day. They say the only way for it to affect you like that was if you inhaled the...whatever they called it, rays or some such. So. Who was it from?"
A surge of guilt again, regret, and he was reluctant to tell her because he didn't want to hurt her.
His silence must have been quite telling to her, because she kissed his cheek, and murmured, "It was someone you were in love with, wasn't it? You can tell me. You could have always told me."
Well. He was dying, and there was no point now really in keeping anything from her. He didn't want her to spend the rest of her life wondering, thinking, trying to put together pieces on her own and coming up with wrong conclusions.
So he lowered his voice, and was honest with her. Told her everything. Told her all about Ivan, the first day meeting him, how in love he had been with Ivan, all those years with him, and then finding out that he wasn't who he had said he was, but still being so in love with him that he was willing to give up and risk everything. Told her about how much it had hurt, when Ivan had told him that they couldn't see each other anymore, because Ivan was so worried about him getting hurt. How life had ended in that moment, and hadn't started at all again until he had met Felicia.
It felt so strange, though, to attempt to explain to her that he loved her so much, but that at the same time he had never fallen out of love with Ivan. Loving two people at the same time. He felt so wrong and guilty saying it, but she just listened.
Listened to everything he said, and didn't interrupt.
When he finished speaking, she was thoughtfully still, and then she kissed his forehead and whispered, "Thank you for telling me."
With that, she huddled up, and they slept.
The next morning, there was another knock on the door. Ludwig sat up, hoping it was Gilbert and Roderich, but it wasn't.
It was a well-dressed man, clearly some officer, and he stepped inside and came forward as Ludwig sat up straighter. Felicia went to the chair, and sat down.
The man reached the bed and extended his hand.
"Ludwig, is it? Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances. I'm Agent Zwingli. You can call me Basch, if you want."
"Why not?" Ludwig drawled, very humorlessly. "I'll be dead in a few weeks. Better get cozy while we can."
Regretted it a bit, when Felicia squinted her eyes and turned her head.
Basch seemed amused enough, and sat down.
"Well," he began, hesitantly, "We're all caught up now, so I can let you in, a little. Naturally, most of this is still classified. But, hell. It was a synthetic radioactive element—"
"Curium," Ludwig offered, having figured it out by then. The purple glow. The silvery, thick ink. It was so obvious to him now that he couldn't see how he had missed it to begin with. "Isn't that it?"
The officer nodded.
"Yeah. In the ink. I don't need to explain anything of that to you. You're the chemist."
Felicia's face was buried in her hands.
Ludwig was silent and pensive for a moment, and then asked, "Is that what killed Ivan?"
Another nod.
"Yeah. We've exhumed him. Now that we have something to look for. His first official cause of death was listed as suicide, as I'm sure you know, but we know now that wasn't the case. I'm sure some money was involved in that declaration. He was exposed to a hell of a lot more of it than you. We think maybe no more than a month before his death. It wasn't just in that ink. His dosage was far too high. We're still working on that. I suspect it was in his cigarettes, personally. We think— Well. As a chemist, if you had to offer your opinion, hypothetical of course, as to where someone could just go about and obtain curium, where would you gander?"
That was obvious, and Ludwig immediately replied, "America."
"Yeah. We guessed that, too. We think you were targeted intentionally. I don't think Ivan mailed you that letter. I think Ivan wrote it with that ink, and then kept it for a while, for whatever reason. I think whoever poisoned him came across it, took it, and mailed it to you. Maybe they thought you knew more than you should have."
Ludwig snorted, heaved a sigh, and fell back into his pillow.
Ah, hell. He was a goner, so why bother mulling it over? It was done. Felicia was fine, and that was all Ludwig really cared about then.
Basch clasped his hands, leaned forward, lowered his voice, and then asked, "And I don't suppose you did know more than you should have? Anything that can give us a lead here?"
"Sorry. I wish I did. But I don't."
Basch looked disappointed, and Ludwig felt that way, too, if only because he felt like he was dying for nothing.
Ludwig took his turn, and asked, "So, hypothetically of course, who do you think did it? The KGB, naturally?"
Basch lidded his eyes, looking quite condescending, and replied, "You know I'm not at liberty to say. I'm just some guy that now has Russia breathing down my neck. They say it was the Americans. The Americans say it was the Russians. Britain thinks it was the Italians. The Italians say it was an inside Swiss job. What do I know?"
The trouble with spies, Ludwig supposed. They were everywhere and in everything, and crossed each other so frequently and repeatedly that their webs could never possibly be untangled.
Still...
"For what it's worth," Ludwig whispered, tiredly, "Ivan wasn't dumb. He never met with another Russian. Ever. He wouldn't go near, speak to, or be alone with any Slav, from whatever nation. He was quite paranoid about that. He wouldn't have let any Russian into his home. If that helps."
"Guess it does," Basch murmured.
A heavy silence, as Ludwig felt utterly exhausted, and after a while Basch stood up.
"Well. I better let you rest. I'll try to come back, if I can. If I hear anything hypothetical, of course. Rest up, eh? Don't just go out easy."
Ludwig scoffed, and retorted, "Wouldn't dream of it."
With that, Basch took his leave, and he could hear then that Felicia was crying.
He didn't know what to say to her, and remained silent. A few hours later, there was a knock on the door, and they looked up to see Gilbert and Roderich standing there. Ludwig sat up, elated and yet so nervous and somehow horrified. Loved the both of them so much, and dreaded having to face them like this, on the brink.
An awful silence, and it was Roderich who came in first, chin high and trying so hard to remain calm and impervious, as he always had. It was Gilbert who hung back in the frame, staring at Ludwig through wide, bleary eyes and appearing immobilized.
Roderich sat down, after a hug, and Ludwig asked, "How was the trip?"
Small talk. Trying to pretend that everything was fine.
Roderich's swallowing and blinking said otherwise, but he answered, softly, "Alright. What can you ever really say about a train?"
Roderich was as pale as could be. Had never seen him so pale. He was older by now, was mostly grey, but still Ludwig could never have said that Roderich had ever looked his age. He did then, as he stared down at Ludwig silently. Looked tired and sad, weary, as his eyes ran over Ludwig's face. When Roderich opened his mouth, nothing came out.
Momentarily, his face collapsed, but Roderich was composed and dignified and pushed it away shortly after, seating himself on the chair in the corner.
Gilbert hung there in the doorframe yet, staring away at Ludwig as if Ludwig actually were radioactive. Ha.
To spur mystified Gilbert out of that stupor, Ludwig met his eyes and called, gently, "Hey, it's okay. I'm not actually radioactive."
No response from Gilbert, who merely inhaled sharply and crinkled his brow, before he finally took one step in, and then another. Felicia leaned down to kiss Ludwig's cheek, and whispered, "I'll go get some coffee or something."
She took her leave, placing her hand on Gilbert's shoulder as she passed him, and gave them a little space. Roderich, perhaps as stupefied as Gilbert, just sat there in that chair, dumbfounded and staring blankly away.
Gilbert came up to the edge of the bed, gripped the railing, and whispered, "You're not?"
Ludwig snorted, and replied, "It doesn't work like that. I can't give you radiation poisoning, man. Tough luck."
A crumple of Gilbert's face, and his next whisper was horrible.
"I wish you could. We've always done everything together."
How that hurt.
Gilbert looked awful. Was a complete wreck. Gilbert's eyes were red. Bleary. Dark circles beneath. His hair hadn't been combed in days, his clothes were wrinkled, and his cheeks were coated with heavy stubble. Had likely spent the entire train ride bawling.
As much as Felicia crying, Ludwig couldn't stand Gilbert looking so downtrodden and devastated.
To lighten the mood and break the ice, Ludwig reached weakly out, punched Gilbert's arm, and said, gruffly, "Hey. Think of it this way; it'll be a memorable death. I got poisoned by rogue KGB or MI6 or American agents with Curium, named after Marie Curie, and I get to die of aplastic anemia, which just so happened to kill Marie Curie. I mean, come on! It doesn't get more interesting than that. I'm gonna be way cooler than you, forever. Sucks for you. All that work you did."
Gilbert gave a weak, strangled laugh, hung his head, squinted his eyes, clenched his jaw, and burst into tears.
God, seeing Gilbert crying was unbearable. Seeing a man like that break down.
Gilbert clenched up Ludwig's hand, and finally said, through tears, "Damn, Lutz. Why you have to set the bar so high? Huh? How am I supposed to have a cooler death than this? Think about someone other than yourself, asshole."
Ludwig laughed, as Gilbert dissolved into more tears.
Curiously, it was Roderich who came up to Gilbert and put a hand on his back. Supposed there was really no choice for those two then than to put their rivalry and hard feelings behind them. A hospital was no place to fight and argue, after all.
For the next two weeks, Ludwig was surrounded every day and every hour by the three people he adored. Felicia slept in his bed, cramped as it was, and Gilbert and Roderich slept in the reclining chairs in the corners. No one left, and it was very satisfying to Ludwig, to have all of them there together.
His favorite moments were when they hunkered down over the bottom of the bed and played a game of cards together, trying so hard to pretend that everything was normal.
When Felicia combed Ludwig's hair, she pulled the chunks out of the brush and threw them straight away, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Gilbert turned his head away when the nurses came in to change Ludwig's IVs, and kept on chattering, as if everything were fine. Roderich still spoke to Ludwig about things they were going to do when Ludwig got better, and sometimes he trailed off, as if he had suddenly remembered that Ludwig wasn't going to get better, but then he would just carry on right where he had left off, and still pretended.
Despite their best efforts at playing everything off, there were so many more times when they just couldn't, and breakdowns were alarmingly frequent.
The worst part of dying wasn't even dying; it was just seeing all those people he loved crying like that. Seeing those rocks he had always held to suddenly so distraught and lost. To see Roderich pressed into the wall, hands hiding his face as his shoulders shook. To see Gilbert unable to speak for very long before his throat clutched up and his face collapsed. To see Felicia so pale and exhausted, having spent all of her tears and instead smiling in a beautiful and yet heartbroken way that was beyond devastating.
Coulda handled dying just fine if it hadn't been for that.
Days passed, and Ludwig grew weaker with each of them. Sometimes, that agent came by to speak to him, but had no new information to give him. It didn't matter, anyway. Would change nothing. Ludwig was happier that he had other people to take his mind off of it. Nowadays, everyone seemed to be together at all times. They all knew it was coming, and no one wanted to be away when it happened. Ludwig was grateful for that, and more grateful that Gilbert and Roderich had put aside all of their grievances with each other. They seemed quite at peace with each other then, and often stuck to each other's side as Felicia clung to Ludwig.
Ludwig was glad for that. That was a silver lining to all of this, he figured. Perhaps the best he would get.
Several days after, when Ludwig couldn't sit upright without Felicia helping him, Ludwig knew it wouldn't be much longer.
Felt it coming then, and maybe Felicia did, too.
Gilbert and Roderich sat side by side in the chairs later that evening, murmuring to each other, as Felicia came over and crawled up into the bed. When she rested her head on his chest and embraced him, she suddenly asked, out of the blue, "I know you don't believe in heaven. So what do you think happens? What do you think it's like, to die?"
He was gonna find out soon.
Roderich glanced up as he and Gilbert fell silent, and Ludwig contemplated.
He reached up, rested his hand on Felicia's forearm, and after a while, he said, "Well, I imagine it's just like sleeping. It's nothingness, like before your first memory was. But I think that as you're dying, right at the very last moment... What I imagine, anyway, is that it's like..." He trailed off for a moment, struggling to pin down how to word his thoughts, and managed to put together something somewhat tangible. "You know when you have a great dream, and then you start waking up, but not all the way? When you're sort of stuck there, not awake but not all the way asleep, and everything seems slow, and then before long you fall back right into that dream, and it feels like you've been there for years? I think that's what it will be like. I think at the very end, you fall back into that dream place and get to stay there, for a while. Hopefully it will feel like years."
Everything was quiet.
Gilbert stared at the floor, and Roderich had turned aside. Felicia didn't speak.
He hoped it would be like that.
That night, right before sleep, long after Gilbert and Roderich had nodded off, Felicia clenched his hand and whispered, over the glow of the dim lights, "I have a confession to make, too."
Ludwig inhaled, stirred, and turned his head to her so that she knew he was listening.
She didn't meet his eyes, and hesitated.
"When we met the first time, I... You know how upset I was, because my fiancé had left me. But what I didn't tell you, was that I— You look so much like him. I used you at first. Those first few months, I pretended that you were him. That's the only reason I ever dated you in the beginning. I didn't care about getting to know you, because you looked like him and that was all I wanted. But I fell in love with you, and I... Even though I used you in the beginning, I love you, more than you know. I'm sorry."
Ludwig snorted, and leaned down to kiss her hair.
"Don't be. Lucky for me, huh? Otherwise I would have missed out."
Felicia shook her head, and was quick to add, "No. That's not all. I was afraid to tell you. After I fell in love with you, I couldn't say it. He left me because I— I knew I couldn't have children. I knew all along, and I didn't tell you, because that was why he left me, and I didn't want you to leave me, too, because I love you. I lied to you. I just pretended I didn't know, because I couldn't lose you. I feel now like I...as if I stole something from you."
Not true.
He forced her gaze that time, briefly, and said, very honestly, "I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. If you had told me, I wouldn't have left. I love you, and I would have always stayed. Always. Don't think that, because I would have always stayed. Nothing would have changed."
He meant that, more than she could know, and hoped she understood.
Everything was what it was. Ivan had left Ludwig. Felicia's fiancé had left her. For that, they had met, and Ludwig didn't regret any of it because things had worked out the way they had perhaps been meant to.
Felicia was quiet for a while, and then murmured, "I still love him, too, and I always will. Just like you, so don't feel like you did anything wrong. That's the great thing about being a human, I guess. We can love more than one person. I'm glad you had someone else that made you feel that way, too."
She lifted her head then, met his eyes, and smiled.
The first time he had seen a real smile from her, since then.
"I don't know what happens after we die, but, whatever it is, I hope that I get to see you. Even if it's like you say, and it's just one last dream, I hope you'll be there. I know we only live for a blink, but I'm so glad mine was with you. I want you to be there."
He intertwined his fingers within hers, and vowed, "If it's possible and in my power, I'll be there. And god willing I won't be a dream."
He may not have believed in god or heaven, but he did hope, at some level, that it would be possible for him to be there for her at her end, as she was now at his. Would have been comforting to just believe it.
She kissed him, rested her head, and they slept.
When he awoke in the morning, he felt it. The beginning of the end.
That he was close.
Couldn't say how he knew. That awful sensation he had, and the numbness of his body. Cold and so sleepy. Had nothing left, nothing at all, and knew it was time.
Time to go.
He tried to turn his head to Gilbert, and barely managed, so weak he suddenly was.
"Hey," he whispered, and Gilbert looked up, eyes bleary and tired.
"Yeah, Lutz?"
He smiled, held Gilbert's gaze, and said, for one of the very, very few times in his life, "I love you, Gilbert." Instantly, Gilbert's face crumpled, his eyes squinted, his despair visible, and Ludwig was quick to add, "I know I always told you otherwise, but you actually were a great big brother. The best."
Gilbert sucked in air, struggled to open his eyes, and whined, "Why— You gotta say that now, huh? Not now, man. Please."
As Gilbert cried, Roderich came forward, grabbed his hand, as Felicia clung to him tightly, and he lowered his voice to murmur, "Hey. Not yet."
The time was never going to be right, they all knew it, so there was really no point in denying it, in trying to fight it off. Ludwig just gave Roderich's hand the best shake he could, and murmured, "You're my father, you know? You always were. You don't know how much you mean to me. I don't know where I'd be without you."
Roderich tried hard to be strong, to remain impassive, and failed, dissolving into tears as much as Gilbert.
It was Felicia who was strong, as she had been now for weeks, and when Ludwig turned to face her, his nose pressed into hers. Her eyes ran over his face, and he hoped that she knew that he had a million things in his head that he wanted to say. Would never have had time, even in a healthy lifetime.
All he could think of to say to her was, "I'm glad my blink was with you."
A very quick scrunch of her face, pushed quickly away, and she smiled at him, that same beautiful smile she had sent him the day they had married.
She pressed forward to kiss him, and whispered, "Wherever you go now, I'll be with you. Until the end."
Gilbert's hand was suddenly on the top of his head, and that was one of Ludwig happier moments, surrounded by the three people he loved.
Had gone as far as he could have hoped to in his life, really, felt satisfied and content, felt loved and quite safe, so Ludwig just shut his eyes then and went to sleep. A new dream started.
By then, it was a relief.
That feeling of slipping into the surreal lull of time and space that accompanied deep sleep.
He realized soon that he was sitting down somewhere, but it was very dark, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust.
A grand, dark theatre. Below, an empty stage, the red curtain above. The seats were all empty. Quiet and dark. The edges were pitch black where the chairs ended, obscurity beyond, and Ludwig looked around a bit in a daze.
Not what he had really expected.
A warm, rough hand suddenly grabbed his own, and Ludwig's attention was taken from the stage and he looked over to his left.
A euphoric, burning rush.
Ivan. Oh—
Ivan sat beside of him. Hadn't seen him in so long, so damn long, and he was every bit as remarkable as Ludwig remembered. Just as strikingly handsome as he had been the very first day Ludwig had first laid eyes upon him. Dressed so neatly, hair combed back and clean shaven. Those circles under his eyes were gone. He was young, healthy, perfectly strong and composed and no longer looking tired and defeated. How Ivan must have looked in the prime of his life, before terror had taken over.
He was beautiful.
No words he knew could have ever described that happiness, when Ivan pressed forward and kissed his forehead. That wonderful and familiar scent, right there and yet far away, just a whiff of the past. The feel of Ivan's hand.
They stared at each other for a long while, and somehow held a lifetime's worth of conversation even though not a single word was said. Merely looking into Ivan's eyes like that.
Maybe they had become cosmonauts, after all.
Ivan smiled over at him, holding his hand quite tightly, and Ludwig enjoyed the sight of him as the curtain on the stage suddenly lowered, just a bit. A very comfortable silence then, safety, and Ludwig rested his head on Ivan's shoulder, closing his eyes as a wave of sleep came over him from the depths.
Couldn't say how long he had rested there, and was stirred from that deep slumber by the sound of a piano. He opened his eyes, lifted his head, and turned his eyes to the stage below. Roderich sat there suddenly, playing as easily as he always had, and Ivan awoke as well. They watched, and Roderich turned his head briefly to the side, catching Ludwig's gaze. A long, loving stare, and Ludwig felt sleep coming right back up.
The curtain had lowered a bit more.
Supposed his subconscious desired all of them to be together.
Whether this was real or not was entirely inconsequential, as he once more rested his head on Ivan's shoulder and nodded off.
Years later, another sound, and that time it was Ivan who awoke first and nudged Ludwig gently awake. Once more, he looked down to the stage, where Gilbert now sat on a chair, guitar in hand and playing a pretty duet with Roderich, who perhaps hadn't stopped playing at all these ethereal years.
Gilbert sent Ludwig a wink, inclined his head, and Ludwig smiled down at him.
Those two, getting along at last as they had towards the end.
Well, then...
Only left one person.
Once again, the curtain fell just a bit, and Ludwig reposed against Ivan as he waited for their final member.
Felicia would come soon. He would wait for her.
Time didn't move for them, as Ivan murmured to him over the dimming lights. The world beyond them carried on, the stage ever in motion, and Ludwig only stirred from his slumber there against Ivan when another hand suddenly grabbed his right.
He looked over, and smiled.
Felicia had joined them at last. As beautiful and bright as she had been on their wedding day, hair lit up despite the lack of sunlight and eyes so loving, and somehow her smile was still the prettiest thing Ludwig had ever seen, even on the other side of the veil.
Felt at peace then, surrounded by the people he had most loved.
The lights went out, Gilbert and Roderich took their final bows, the curtain hit the stage, and Felicia leaned her head against his shoulder as he leaned his against Ivan's.
Sleeping then was easy, and not frightening. Effortless and soothing. The dream ended.
The distant crackle of radiation was drowned out by Felicia's soft, lethargic humming.
Night.