Tuesday, December 24th, 1991: 1 day until Christmas
He used to do it a lot as a kid. If I ever couldn't find him within his room or somewhere in the house, I knew he was sitting outside. He started doing it when he was around physically six or seven - whenever he felt strongly about something he'd go outside, sit somewhere quiet, and stare. Holy Rome used to do it. . . I'm not sure where Germany learned it from, obviously the two never met, but it fills me with nostalgia every time I see him like that. Today is no different.
The sun hasn't even begun to come up as I sit next to him in the grass in the backyard. We sit in silence for a long while before he speaks up.
"How do you feel about last night?"
". . . I was quite hurt to be honest. But Canada and I talked through it and I understand why he remained silent. Not that I agree with that choice, but I know why he made it."
"If he truly does care for you why not tell you? I would die for you - I have died for you."
"It's complicated for him. His childhood was not like yours, or even mine, it was crushing for his self-worth and identity. I raised you to be proud of who you were and where you came from, to be strong and to fight. He was raised to be silent and obedient, to disappear whenever he was not needed for something. . . so, it was hard for him to break from that, even when he knew it could hurt someone he cared about."
Germany sighs and looks down. The silence is heavy, not even a bird makes a sound, no wind to rustle the leaves.
"Do you love him?" I know the answer to his question but hesitate nonetheless.
"Yes."
He takes a deep breath and blinks a few times, eyes growing moist. It hurts me to see him so hurt, the last thing I want to cause him is pain. I'm not sure what I could even say to help the situation. Do I justify how I feel about Canada? Do I tell him how much he means to me? Would that even help?
"Eighty years ago you told me that you would never fall in love again. . . I'm not upset that you did, but I guess if I knew it was possible I would have gone about things differently. Even then would it have mattered?"
". . . I don't know. . . I'm so sorry Ludwig that I have never properly addressed this. It's not that you are lacking in some way, it's not you at all. I never wanted to do to you what Holy Rome did to me. I didn't want to mix a romantic relationship with one that had me in an authoritative role over you."
He nods a bit before turning and meeting my eyes.
"I'm glad that you are happy now, that's all that matters to me. . . I'm just not sure if I trust Canada. But I trust your judgement, you've always been good at knowing what to do." I smile lightly while placing a comforting hand on his back. Silence hangs between us for a few moments as the sun slowly begins to peak over the horizon. "Italy called me."
"She did?"
"Yeah. . . she apologized for leaving the way she did, and that the last thing she wanted to do was make me feel like. . . like I never changed. Asked if I wanted to try again."
"What did you say?"
"I asked for some time to think about it. . . but I think I'm going to call her and tell her I'm willing to try again. I realize now that I can love more than one person. I love you but I also want to be with her."
His words make me feel quite a bit better, I'm ecstatic that Italy reached out to him. I'm also glad that his feelings for me will not cause him to spiral here alone. While I'm a bit lost in thought he moves to face me better and kisses me much to my surprise. Well, I mean, he's always been forward about this if memory serves. He pulls away and smiles lightly.
"Thank you for speaking with me."
Speechless I watch him stand and walk back into the house. I think I handled that well.
-Same day, fifteen hours later-
Germany's intense glare softens as he sighs out.
"I'm sorry for being so violent toward you."
"It's alright," Canada begins, "you have every right to be protective over Gilbert. I was hoping to keep all of this under wraps, I didn't want to cause any drama or make either of you feel like we didn't trust you."
"Well they clearly don't. Even after all this time." Germany pinches the bridges of his nose and I place a comforting hand on his back. "The thing I don't get is that France was the one to send this to my government."
"France? Why would she do that?" Canada asks himself.
"I'm not sure. When I asked her about it she said she had no idea what was in the envelope she received, but it had instructions to send to me. . . If I had to guess I would point to Russia. I would have never accepted anything from him so it makes sense that he would use France to get me to look at it."
"I see." Canada says softly.
"Either way," I begin, "it's all over now." I put a hand on my forehead as a wave of dizziness hits me.
"Thankfully." Germany comments.
"It's getting late." Canada says, probably picking up on my faint expression. Germany looks to the clock before looking at me.
"I'll see you in the morning." He says before walking away from us. Canada wraps an arm around my waist and I lean into him.
"Are you feeling okay?" He asks.
"Just a little light headed."
"Alright, let's lay down."
He helps me walk to the basement and down the steps, to my bed. I want to reach out and pull him down on the bed with me but I find myself being bombarded with fatigue and darkness.
"You should relax." I say softly, placing my hands on Russia's tense shoulders. He leans back in the chair, taking his reading glasses off and setting them on the desk before him.
"I can't. Not with all this to go through and America on me at every moment."
"I understand, but being so tense and exhausted is not going to help you." My hands begin working at muscles that refuse to soften. He gives a hum of approval as they begin to give way. "You should come to bed."
"I want to."
"So do so."
"I can't. . . Did you know that America doesn't sleep? Like literally, he doesn't need it."
"That's just propaganda." I try.
"Gilbert I'm being serious," He looks up and meets my eyes, "the man doesn't sleep. He just runs circles around me."
"Well, whether he needs to sleep or not, you do. And trying to do what he does is going to kill you."
". . . I know. . . In more ways than you can possibly mean."
"I only meant it in one way. You need to sleep." He sighs and puts his glasses back on, focus returning to the papers before him. I stand behind him, working at the knots in his shoulders and upper back. I wish there was some way I could help him, but I'm at a loss. The name of the game has changed quite a bit since I was a kingdom, can't go in cavalry a-blazing. "Ivan. You have to take care of yourself."
"I know." He takes his reading glasses off again and I know that this time they will stay off. "I just can't fight this sinking feeling that my best will never be able to match his worst."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Russia. You have done plenty amazing things that either took him years to copy or he has yet to even accomplish. I mean, he can't even launch rockets in cold weather." Russia smiles a bit and so do I.
"That is true. . . Thank you, Gilbert." He places a hand on mine, "I'm glad you're here. . . But you can leave if you want."
"I want to be here. You're not forcing me to stay."
"You say that but I have a hard time believing you don't want to see them at all. As much as I despise the man, Germany would be elated to see you again."
My smile softens at the mention of him. I'm sure he would be, and I would be too. But I'm nervous to go back. What would they think of me? I've changed, I'm not that Prussia that they all remember. There is a piece of Russia in me that will always be there, it's just a part of who I am now.
"In due time." I sigh out.
He stands up from the desk and allows me to lead him to his bedroom. With just us in the house we can act like this without fear of getting caught. We've been keeping our romance private.
"This feels good." He says while laying down on the bed.
"I told you. You need to rest."
"And you're right. As usual." He jokes.
"Of course, why else would you keep me around." He smiles and pulls me into an embrace.
I open my eyes and find myself in a dark room, a digital clock faintly glowing in the corner. The figure asleep next to me is much too small to be Russia and forces me to orient myself in the current reality. I sit up and run a hand through my hair.
"Are you okay?" I hear Canada ask softly as he turns over to look at me.
". . . I have this weird feeling."
"Weird how?" He sits up and puts a hand on my back.
"I'm unsettled. . . Like there is this daunting feeling in my chest that I can't shake. . . Something isn't right."
"Was it a dream?"
". . . I think so. I don't know, I'll be fine, it was just weird." He squeezes my arm affectionately and I feel comforted.
December 25th, 1991 : Christmas day, the death of the Soviet Union
"How do you feel about going back?" Matthew asks as he leans against the wall near the foot of the stairs. I place the last article of clothing into my bag and zip it up before sighing and sitting on the bed.
"I'm excited to see Ukraine, not sure what to expect from Russia. It'll only be for a couple of days, so I'm not too worried about something awful happening."
He nods and walks over to me, sitting beside me on the bed.
"I'll only be in Europe for two more days after you come back. You could come with me if you'd like."
"I would like that." He smiles and puts his hand on my knee.
"I was hoping you would say that." His hand begins to caress my knee before slowly sliding up my thigh. I smile as I stop the movement of his hand with mine.
"For someone who vehemently denies likeness to France you sure are amorous." He blushes a bit and looks away.
"Sorry, I know it can be a little much."
"I don't mind, not one bit, I just never knew you had this side to you I guess. I didn't really see it in the forties."
"I was trying to be professional in the forties, I was horrified by the prospect of someone finding out. Not that I regretted it, I'd do it again." He is just too cute, these butterflies in my stomach that go crazy every time he smiles like that never seem to die. "I've never felt this way for anyone before. My past relationships have always been one-sided or unhealthy. . . this is nice."
"This is nice." I say softly before placing a hand on his cheek and connecting our lips. He pulls me closer to him as he shifts to lay back on the bed with me straddling him. I trace soft kisses down his jaw and neck before resting my head against his chest. He places a gentle hand on my back and softly rubs my back.
"Hmm, you're going to put me to sleep." I say, causing him to laugh.
"Good. Then I can keep you like this for hours." I try to fight the obnoxious smile that wants to mark my face as an intense feeling of content and joy fill my chest. God I haven't been this giddy about someone since I was a young teenager. "How would you feel about getting a place in the city rather than living in that secluded house?" He asks.
"The city? Do you not hate being around others?"
"I never used to. . . I don't know, something about you makes me want to. I have this thought of us living in a warm place in Ottawa, maybe there's a dog."
"That sounds perfect," I say with a bit of laughter, "I've never been to your capital."
"It's quite nice, if I may brag."
"We'd be a lot closer to America."
"We would. . . I think I want to get closer to him. He's been trying to get closer to me but I just keep shutting him out."
"You're getting me all excited about the future and I'm blushing, how dare you." I joke. He laughs as I sigh contentedly. Although, that content feeling is replaced with curiosity as I feel something press into my stomach. I shift a bit and raise an eyebrow. "Interesting." I comment.
"It is the inevitable consequence of you laying on top of me. It actually happens pretty much anytime you touch me, and now I see why you compared me to France."
"No worries, I remember what it was like to be young."
"You are young." He laughs.
"I look young, but my mind and body no longer act young." I sit up, straddling his hips properly. He looks up at me with those soft purple eyes, lips slightly parted. He must know what he does, there is no way he pulls that expression without knowing what it does. I lean forward and place a few kisses along his neck, causing him to arch up into me. However before we get too carried away I move off of him.
"Hmm," he moans softly, "you can't do that to me then just leave." He whines. I smirk and look at the clock.
"Dinner is going to be ready soon."
"My appetite can only be satisfied by you."
I would immediately acquiesce to him if it weren't for the wave of dizziness that hits me, causing me to place a hand on the dresser to support myself.
"Come now. Dessert is always after dinner."
He smiles and gets up from the bed. I follow him up the stairs however only make it into the hallway before feeling extremely light headed and faint. He turns to look at me, cocking his head to the side a bit.
"Are you alright?" He asks.
"Um, yeah I just," I feel like the words I want to say are being ripped from me before I can even think of them, "sorry, I'm feeling faint."
"Hmm, maybe you should lie down for awhile. This has been a rather stimulating week." He suggests. I nod, thinking harder than I normally do to understand the English words. And as I try to turn around, the world slips out from under me, causing him to catch me in his arms. My body feels heavy and refuses to listen to what I want it to do, moving not of my own volition. At some point I think I'm on the floor, maybe I heard Canada yell something, the sensations I feel are hard to explain and it frightens me. The only thing I know for sure is the searing headache that attacks me.
As I open my eyes again I see Canada and Germany on the floor next me, looking down at me with worried expressions.
"Gilbert? Can you answer some questions for me?" Matthew asks, but I'm not entirely sure what he said.
"What?" I try asking, but I didn't hear myself say that. I feel him take my wrist into his hands and feel for my pulse.
"Frances, get some water and a cloth." He says, but it sounds so foreign to me. They speak over me but I'm not fully aware of what is happening around me, to me. After what feels like hours of this strange limbo I come back to my senses, looking up at Germany and Canada as they look down at me. Matthew wipes a warm washcloth under my nose and I notice blood on it.
"Gilbert?" Germany calls to me. I wrap my hand around his wrist. There is a lot I want to say, to both of them, but I can't muster it.
"It's going to be okay." Is all I can manage, before an overwhelming exhaustion crashes into me. I feel Germany take my hand and Canada place his on my chest. Their voices, Canada's compressions, Germany's hand in mine, feels a million kilometers away. Despite this an amazing feeling of relief and serenity wash over me, as my vision leaves me. I can't feel anymore, their hands, the ground, I have no sensation. The only thing I can register are their voices. But eventually I lose that too.
There's nothing. . .
. . .
. . .