Chapter 27

Pain of Separation

Do you remember...

White sunlight.

...how you promised...

A coldness.

...that we'd always be together?

Heaviness in his chest.

Forever.

"Hey."

A soft voice at his side. Another voice whispering in his ear. Or maybe just in his head.

"Hey. Hey, you awake, man?"

Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Gilbert managed only to shift his weight, inhale as he came around, and when the whispers stopped he looked over with bleary eyes, and rasped, "Yeah."

Someone was smiling at him.

Where was he? Felt hungover somehow. Exhausted.

The smell of leather and the burn of a heater. The whir of an engine. Golden hair shining in the morning sun.

Ludwig?

"Sorry if I woke you."

Seconds of incomprehension, and then Gilbert realized with a pang that it was not Ludwig that was smiling at him. It was his other guide. Eduard, his name was, or something similar. Didn't care too much to remember, if he were honest.

Looking around, wearily, Gilbert realized that he was in the car, slumped up against the door, half-asleep as Eduard sat there, staring at him. Turning his eyes to the foggy window, he could see that they weren't moving. Parked somewhere, in something that looked like a vacant lot of some sort, still as could be.

Gilbert sat upright in alarm, thinking that something horrible had occurred.

Heart racing, he turned to Eduard and asked, roughly, "What's happened?"

Eduard only smiled, and said, casually, "It's alright! Don't worry. Aren't you hungry? You must be. I'll go get us something to eat. Wait here."

Too sleepy to act and too dumb to respond, Gilbert could only watch as Eduard switched off the ignition and stepped out of the car, leaving Gilbert alone. The air became chilly without the heater.

...something to eat?

Squinting his eyes, he looked out of the window again, and could see little dots that were people walking to and fro in the distance. He realized that it was not a vacant lot. It was a rest stop, of some kind. They were taking a break.

A burst of anger that could have been irrational. There was no time. Didn't that damn man understand the urgency of this journey? Couldn't stop.

'How could he?' came a sudden voice in his ear, and he whipped around so hard that his neck hurt, but it was just Ludwig, still sitting in the backseat, looking wide-awake and alert and bright, and he was staring at Gilbert above crossed arms. 'How could he understand, if you won't tell him why you really came here? Stop blaming everyone else.'

For a second, Gilbert could only sit frozen, as his head began to ache. The anger faded. Ludwig was always right, and of course Eduard didn't understand, because Gilbert wouldn't even tell him why he needed to go to Moscow so badly.

Reaching up, he scratched irritably at his hair, and just grumbled, "Sorry."

He twisted in his seat, leaned over, and meant to take Ludwig's hand up in his own for a more sincere apology. His hand just went straight through Ludwig, there was a flicker of static, and Gilbert's face momentarily crumpled. Right. He remembered. This Ludwig wasn't real. That was why he was here.

Wanted to cry.

Ludwig leaned forward, arms falling down to the seat to balance himself, and he was so close that his nose nearly touched Gilbert's forehead, but Gilbert did not dare try to touch him again.

He couldn't bear the disappointment of feeling just air.

'It's alright, Gilbert,' Ludwig said, barely a whisper, his voice so deep that some consonants were lost completely, 'I'll stay with you. Even though you never stayed with me. I'll stay with you now. I'll help you.'

He could barely meet Ludwig's pale eyes, and felt that horrible rise of shame that he was somehow used to.

Ludwig's loyalty shamed him. The guilt was killing him. He didn't deserve Ludwig. Never had. By all rights, Ludwig shoulda just left him there in that damn cell.

He was going to say as much, but fell still when the door was yanked open and Eduard, dressed in a heavy coat and gloves and his hair covered with snow, came back in and collapsed in his seat with a sigh of satisfaction.

Gilbert could smell food. He had no appetite.

Eduard, oblivious to Gilbert's internal struggles, held out a package, brown paper wrapped in twine, full of snacks, no doubt, but he was too lethargic and disheartened to take it.

"Come on," Eduard coaxed, amicably, "When's the last time you ate?"

He couldn't remember.

Eduard's voice wasn't as deep as Ludwig's, but still deeper than Gilbert's. Friendly as his face. Warm.

'Take it,' Ludwig demanded sternly from behind, 'How are you going to come find me if you can't even stand up?'

It was true (Ludwig was always right), and Gilbert reached out reluctantly and took the package, settling it in his lap as he, and Ludwig too, watched Eduard with an observant eye.

Curiosity, more than anything.

That loneliness.

Eduard was younger than Gilbert, a little. Had that easy, friendly air of kindness and good-nature that had long since been missing in his home since Ludwig had left. Healthy, clean, fresh-faced, pale-haired and fair-skinned, broad and well-settled, bespectacled and almost too pleasant, he hardly looked like a rebellious smuggler and law-breaker, a repeat offender of defection. He didn't look the part. He just looked like a student. One of Ludwig's friends, maybe, if he had ever let Ludwig have any.

Maybe that was why Eduard was so successful, just because of his non-threatening appearance. That guy coulda been an accountant or something, he was so ordinary. Guy like that. Easy enough to like, right off.

Gilbert watched quietly as Eduard removed his gloves and brushed the snow from his hair, turning the car back on and blasting the heat. He seemed to feel he was being watched, and, without glancing over, he said, calmly, "You don't talk a lot, huh?"

For a minute there, Gilbert was stunned.

Never, ever in his life had someone said that he didn't talk a lot. Usually, people were begging him to shut up.

...was he so different now? It was strange to hear, and somehow sad. He didn't feel like himself anymore. Had lost himself when he had lost Ludwig.

Ha. He never thought someone would ever say that to him.

Finally, Gilbert shrugged a shoulder, and averted his eyes down to the food in his lap as Eduard attacked his own with voracity, and after a silence, he grumbled, "What's there to say?"

Eduard paused, chewing a mouthful, and then laughed.

"I'm sure there's plenty," he said, cheerfully, "You're just not tellin' me!"

It was true.

Ludwig was laughing now, too. He missed the sound.

'Gilbert, you're always so stubborn! You think you can do everything on your own. You'll see. In the end, you'll need someone. I tried to get you to open up to me. Stop pretending. You're only hurting yourself.'

He shifted under Ludwig's sharp words, and bowed his head, staring without interest at the food below. He didn't feel like eating.

Eduard noticed, and suddenly said, "I'm not going to drive anymore until you eat it. All of it."

Narrowing his eyes, Gilbert sent prissy Eduard a halfhearted glare, and heaved a sigh. Oh, yeah, Eduard reminded him of Ludwig, alright. Little bastard. Just like him.

That was kinda nice, though, really, because he missed Ludwig so much.

What could he do?

The morning sun was rising.

He ate, as was expected of him, and when he was finished, feeling somewhat ill for it, he shoved the paper in Eduard's hands just to prove that he had, indeed, eaten all of it. Satisfied, Eduard shifted the gear, pulled his foot off the brake, and they were off again.

Ludwig was on his knees in the backseat, gripping the windowsill and staring out at the passing lands with an almost childish excitement. Gilbert watched him in the side mirror, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. When he had the real Ludwig back, when they were both back safe and sound in the West, he would buy a car and take Ludwig on a long road trip before he finally handed him off for the last time to waiting Roderich. Anything to make Ludwig happy.

He leaned back into the seat, as Eduard drove silently, and he closed his eyes and listened as Ludwig observed the Russian landscape, pointing out something every so often and sounding very much enthused.

'Gilbert, look! We're getting closer. Oh, Gilbert! Can we go see the Kremlin before we leave? I'd like that. The cathedral, too. Since we're going to be together again.'

Gilbert only smiled.

He was just remembering Ludwig as a child, probably, who had always been excited to go off and see new things. Why wouldn't Ludwig be excited to see Russia for the first time? It was endearing, to hear such eagerness in Ludwig's deep, rumbling voice. He hadn't done anything to make Ludwig sound like that in so many years.

The road passed.

Eduard glanced at him, but sensed his melancholy and stayed silent.

How much longer before they reached Moscow? Once in Moscow, how many days—weeks!—before he found there what he sought? The dread was ever creeping upon him.

They had only driven for four or so hours before they suddenly paused again, and when Eduard pulled the vehicle into another little stop, Gilbert felt his agitation growing. Did they have to stop so frequently?

Eduard seemed supremely unconcerned. Carefree. Confident.

The snow was deepening.

"Why are we stopping?" he asked, perhaps petulantly, but Eduard was patient, and seemed unfazed by his harsh voice as he cut the ignition.

The sun was high.

"Afternoons and evenings are the worst times to be on the road," he began, gently. "There are roadblocks, here and there. It's better to lie low for now. If you had a good fake ID, it would be different. But. Oh well." He saw Gilbert's look, and added, with a laugh, "What, you came all this way just to be caught in a car by some nosy cop? Wanna go back like that, man?"

Gilbert furrowed his brow, and fell back, crossing his arms irritably. Inconvenient.

"We'll drive all night and in the mornings, but I don't want to risk too much."

Gilbert didn't want such delays. He didn't want to hang around here in Russia any longer than necessary. This shitty place. Even if Ludwig was having fun sight-seeing.

"And I have to sleep, too, you know," Eduard suddenly tossed out, with a smile, and Gilbert's frustration dulled down into resignation.

Even though he hated it, he had to let Eduard do as he pleased, because this was Eduard's car and Eduard's hard work and Eduard's sacrifice, not his, and Eduard was risking his life and freedom just to help him. He could not protest if Eduard wanted to stop and rest.

Owed that guy, anything, anything at all.

Begrudgingly, Gilbert crossed his arms and leaned against the window as Eduard pulled his coat tightly around himself, huddling into a little ball. A few moments of silence, and Eduard was out like a light. Gilbert was left alone with Ludwig, who was leaning forward, resting his arms upon the top of the seat, leering down at Gilbert with a knowing smile that made him suddenly uneasy.

'Just go back, Gilbert. It'll be better for you. You won't make it.'

The words hurt. Ludwig didn't trust him. Brave Ludwig, who knew no fear.

He would never go back. Not without Ludwig.

He could only shake his head as Ludwig stared him down, and it was with a weak voice that he managed to whisper, once he made sure that Eduard was fast asleep, "I won't go back. I won't. I won't give up. Not on you."

'You did so many times before.'

Now Gilbert twisted in his seat, and leaned forward too, clenching his hands together as he met Ludwig's icy eyes. He was almost too ashamed to keep the gaze, but did so, barely, and tried to smile.

"But not this time! I won't this time, I swear. It won't be like before, you know. I... I don't drink anymore, I don't. Not since last year, I haven't had any. It won't be like before, I promise."

And, oh god, it was true. He hadn't drank in so long. So long. It had killed him, every bit of him, had hurt like hell, but he had done it. Hadn't fuckin' drank in a damn year. No pills. No drugs. Nothing. Had been building up to that escape, that grand escape, and had wanted to be sober when he crossed the wall, wanted to be clear-headed when he had Ludwig in his arms again.

He didn't want to disappoint Ludwig anymore.

He didn't drink anymore.

He wished that he had done it earlier. It should have been young Ludwig that drank so heavily, as all young men have the right to do, spending all night out at bars and with friends. It should have been Ludwig that came home drunk and staggering. Not him. He should have grown out of that phase, as Ludwig no doubt would have had it been reversed, but he never had. Shameful. Thirty-four years old and acting like a goddamn teenager. He had deprived Ludwig of a childhood.

Ludwig watched him, idly, cool eyes looking him up and down. Gilbert could not bear it. He needed reassurance.

"Once we're back together," he whispered, fervently, "I'll make it all up to you, I swear I will. I'll do anything you want me to. I'll do anything."

He meant it. He would do anything to regain Ludwig's trust. Ludwig's respect. Ludwig's adoration. Anything.

Ludwig only stared at him, with a tilted head of curiosity, like a dog. Calculating his honesty.

Ludwig had no faith in him.

How could Ludwig keep faith in him after years of such drastic ups and downs? How could Ludwig keep faith in him when he would rather have started a fight than just sit still at home?

Fight.

He had fought with Ludwig too many times to count. He hadn't meant it. He hadn't ever meant it, those horrible things he sometimes said. He hadn't ever meant to hit him in those moments of intoxicated fury—he would never hurt Ludwig intentionally. Not Ludwig. It had just happened. He got so angry, sometimes.

The whole thing was his fault, he knew. There was no denying it. He wouldn't even try. But even so...

Maybe Gilbert had hit Ludwig before, but it wasn't like Ludwig hadn't turned around and hit him right back. Harder. Ludwig hit far harder. It wasn't like Ludwig had just sat there and cried. It wasn't like that. Ludwig had hit him back. So it wasn't like Ludwig had ever been scared of him. Maybe he had hated him, sometimes, and maybe they had spent entire nights just screaming at each other, but Ludwig had never been afraid of him. Never.

Ludwig had never feared him.

If he had, he would never have let Gilbert cling on to him the next day as he fought off his hangover. And he would have never have just sat there and let Gilbert hold him against his chest and bury his face in his hair. He wouldn't have laid there on the couch, either, smiling as they apologized for their various trespasses and giggled over each other's bruises.

Ludwig wasn't afraid of him. It wasn't like that. Ludwig knew that it had never been malicious.

Glancing over to make sure that Eduard was still asleep, Gilbert leaned forward, and whispered, "I swear Ludwig, once I get you back I won't ever lose you again. I swear. I'll do anything. Anything you want me to do, I'll do it. I'll do all that stuff you wanted me to. I'll go back to the doctor. I'll get pills, I'll go talk to the fuckin' therapist, I'll stay home. I'll do anything you want. I swear."

He could not stand Ludwig's silent stare.

Couldn't Ludwig understand that it would be different this time? He would act his age. He would play the role of big brother. He would assume the responsibilities he had always neglected.

"Don't you believe me?"

Silence, and then, finally, Ludwig smiled.

'Sure, Gilbert,' he said, but despite his smile and his confirmation, there was something in his voice, something under the surface of calm, that made Gilbert's heart sink. Skepticism. Ludwig was just humoring him.

Wanted to cry, but instead, he huddled up like Eduard had and tried to sleep. Suddenly didn't want to be awake anymore.

Snow drifted down. Time passed peacefully.

The high sun faded down into the horizon, he drifted in and out of a fitful sleep as Ludwig hummed to himself in the backseat, and finally, as the fierce winds picked up outside, Eduard woke up with a shiver.

The air was colder than ever. Night was near.

For a bleary second, Eduard only looked back and forth, lethargically, and then stretched out with a deep groan, taking his glasses up from the dashboard and putting them on as he stifled a yawn. Gilbert, just as lethargic, leaned his head against the window and waited for the car to start moving again. The sooner this whole thing was over, the better. His threshold was growing near.

Moments of settling in and a cup of coffee later, Eduard was ready to go, and as the snow fell all around them, grey against the night sky, he finally struck up conversation again.

He could see, perhaps, Gilbert's desperation.

"You know," Eduard began, a little condescendingly, "sometimes talking to someone can make things a lot easier." Gilbert grunted an incomprehensible reply, but Eduard was undeterred. "You've obviously got a lot on your mind. We might be stuck together for a while, you know, so why don't you tell me what's going on?"

Hesitation.

Ludwig was quiet in the back. Asleep, maybe.

He wanted to talk to someone, god knew he did, but he couldn't really stand to relive such shame. To admit to someone his horrible failure. To tell someone that he had been stupid enough to lose his own fuckin' brother.

He only stared out of the window at the drifting snow, and Eduard's voice was steadily lowering from cheerfulness into something almost like disappointment as he said, "Look at you. You came here for something, so bad that you went through all that, and you still won't ask for help. Where do you expect to get like that?"

For a moment, Gilbert started up, brow low and eyes wide, because it sounded just like Ludwig all over again, chastising him for being so stubborn. He disappointed everyone. Alfred. Roderich. Erzsébet. Ludwig. Now he was already disappointing Eduard, a man he did not even know.

It was too much.

That was why he opened his mouth, then, and told Eduard as much as he was willing to.

With neat alterations, of course, and he completely omitted the Russian from the story, for fear of a backlash. Instead, he created a half-true story of how his own stupidity had brought something horrible upon his little brother, and that that horrible something had brought his brother out here somewhere in Moscow, and that was why he was out here now, to find him.

Eduard only listened, and did not pry, and from the look on his face, he probably didn't want to know what that horrible something was.

A short silence, and then Eduard shifted his weight, awkwardly, and said, in a very thin voice, "Brother, huh? Brothers are supposed to protect each other."

Gilbert could only nod, and somehow Eduard's previous words seemed to turn against him, and maybe it was Eduard, in truth, who had a horrible something that he had been neglecting to talk about. Eduard was struggling with something. Finally, he found his voice, and spoke. Gilbert returned the favor, and listened.

The dark roads passed.

"You know," Eduard began, and something in his voice had changed. A dark, almost dreary kind of longing, or maybe it was regret, as he said, lowly, "I had someone who was kind of like a brother to me once. I'd always wanted a brother, and I thought I would have done anything for him. Like you, you know? We were supposed to protect each other. Look out for each other."

Gilbert shifted, uncomfortably, as Eduard's eyes became as dark as his voice and Ludwig took up whispering in his ear, and after a terrible silence, he managed to ask, weakly, "What happened to him?"

Silence.

Ludwig's voice was deep and smooth. Calm.

Eduard shook his head, heaved a great sigh, and there was something awful there, and finally Eduard said, "I don't know. Something happened one night, and I got scared. I ran away. I could have taken him with me, I guess, maybe, but I left him behind instead. I haven't seen him since. That was...god, six years ago. I don't even know if he's still alive or not. We promised that we'd take care of each other. That we'd look out for each other. But I let him down. I ran away. I left him behind. And there isn't a day that goes by that I don't hate myself for it."

Hate.

Maybe he and Eduard understood each other more than he had first imagined. Because, god, he hated himself too.

"And that's why you smuggle people across the borders," Gilbert said, without thinking, and Eduard looked over at him, glasses glinting eerily in the dim glow of the interior lights.

The snow fell. A dry laugh.

"Yeah. That's why."

To assuage a guilty conscience. Eduard had let someone down, and so he tried to redeem himself by helping others in need. That was why he was in this car now, driving a man he did not know all the way into the heart of the USSR.

To make up for it.

"It's not gonna make it any better," Gilbert added, sternly, and after a short, thick silence, Eduard snorted.

"No. It won't. I realized that a long time ago." He shook his head, mostly to himself, and followed up with, "But I still do it anyway. If I didn't help people now, I'd just..."

"Go crazy?" Gilbert offered, and Eduard nodded.

A look, an odd shift of Eduard's shoulder, and then Eduard began, carefully, "If you want me to hang around and help you... I would. If you asked, I would, you know. All ya gotta do is ask."

"...thanks."

Gilbert was glad for it.

Falling silent, their words exhausted, Eduard just drove, and Gilbert tried to sleep.

Ludwig's voice in his ear made it easy.

'Gilbert, don't give up. We were supposed to be together. Remember? You promised. Don't give up on me.'

Never. He was on his way. He wouldn't fail.

Not again.