Dietfried was pouting, and he knew it.
It was well past ten in the morning, and he was still in his silk pajamas, lounging in his room. His phone indicated about twelve missed calls from KJ, but he simply didn't want to talk to him -or anyone- at that moment. He felt like life had hit him a little too hard, and he needed a little time to recover his breath. He had ignored the mailman when some letters were stuck in through the small flap on his front door. He kept telling himself he wanted to be alone, but another part of him was waiting for his brother to come home.
It was most disappointing when he didn't.
With a heaving sigh, Dietfried got up, bathed, dressed, and prepared for his day. Just as he was putting on his shoes, he glanced toward the front door and spotted the mail in the floor. He picked up one of the off-white envelopes, the paper whispering between his fingers. He didn't recognize the handwriting on it, but still opened it to find a very short note on a scrap piece of paper. All it said was: You were right. G. He puzzled over the message. There was no return address, or other information provided to provide a point of reference…. He bent his head closer to check for other signs of tampering, but spotted Violet's handwriting on one of the other envelopes. His heart did a great gallop, and he froze, staring at the little parcel like it would transform into a lion and devour him. Then, he dove for it like a man starved, reaching for what he thought would be his last meal. He ripped into the envelope and read the letter, his heart aflutter the entire time his eyes flew across the paper.
She still wants to try. Joy. Such a short word for a feeling that brought light to his very essence. He felt like he could charge down the street, jump up, and fly. She still wants to try! He felt his face break with a big, stupid grin, and then the front door opened, and then he balked at his brother, who stood in the doorway looking like an enraged beast. His anger radiated off of him so thickly that Dietfried imagined he could see an angry red light radiating off of him.
"You kissed Violet?!," Gilbert demanded, advancing into the building as if he intended to bash Dietfried's skull in. Dietfried straightened to his full height, tucking the letter into his pants pocket, and gave Gilbert his full attention. He didn't flinch when his brother gripped him by the collar of his shirt, a large portion of the silky top crumpled under his grip. Dietfried met his brother's one remaining eye, which glowed with emotion. It was the most passionate that Dietfried had ever seen him, and the fact that it was over such a small thing… it was kind of funny. He felt the corner of his own mouth twitch, and then KJ came toddling in, closing the front door behind him.
"Now, now, guys…," KJ said, exasperated. "Is this really necessary?"
Gilbert snarled, and Dietfried felt happiness coil in his chest like a lap cat curling up on its favorite person. It'd been since childhood since such a bold expression full of emotion had crossed Gil's face…. This place truly felt like home again, although nothing had changed except that his brother was back. Dietfried forced his expression into blankness, and he nodded. "I've done more than just that," he answered coyly. When Gilbert opened his mouth -maybe to say something scathing- Dietfried continued. "You had been dead to us for four years, Gil," Dietfried reminded him gently. He could have yelled at his brother for the injustice he'd given them. He could've snarled back and landed the first punch. They could've had a knock-down, drag-out fight. But Dietfried knew the pain behind Gil's anger was tangible, and he needed kindness instead. "Maybe if you'd acted like a typical boyfriend and wrote home every now and then, I'd have kept my distance. If you'd allowed us any insight into your livelihood, there would've been no room for me in her heart." Gil's face changed, contorting first through jealousy, anger, then grief. "But you chose not to. For whatever reason, you did not tell us. Four years…. That's a long time, brother."
Dietfried reached out and touched Gilbert's shoulder. "I cannot help that I love her. Nor will I apologize for my advances. You were dead…. But there is still hope for your relationship with her. And if the circumstances had been different, I would've never challenged you in this. But, Gil, I will not step back. I will not give in. I will try – wholly, sincerely, and without holding back. So you do your best, and I'll do mine. And Violet – let her do what makes her happy. Don't you think that's the way we could best show our affections?"
Gilbert pulled away, staring at Dietfried like he'd grown another head. Gone was the anger, and befuddlement stole its place. His face seemed to say: 'Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Dietfried?' It was almost comical, but Dietfried managed to keep a straight face. It wouldn't do to laugh now and destroy the thoughtfulness he'd instilled suddenly on Gil. Dietfried let his hand drop away from his brother's shoulder, and KJ made a happy sound. "Great! Now that this is over and done…. How about a story!"
Dietfried gaped at KJ, eyebrows raised. "…. Are you joking?"
KJ shook his head. "I need to tell you of how Gilbert and I became acquainted…."
The tale gave Dietfried more than one suspicion about his new friend, but he withheld his thoughts. He replayed their words in his mind, analyzing what the two of them had said to determine the entirety of the story.
Gilbert was sure she was dead, lying there at the bottom of the cathedral stairway, drenched in blood and rubble from the explosion, her arms detached and useless elsewhere, her body freely bleeding from the open wounds. He choked on his grief as he fumbled to make his limbs move to obey him; she might yet live, and he had to find help for her. His right arm hung useless at his side, dragging along the ground as the rest of him struggled over the debris toward help. He never saw her as a tool. She was a normal girl – his girl. That was his constant chorus as he kept progressing, slipping on the rubble and his own blood as he tried to get to the cavalry. His vision was fuzzing around the edges, and he grit his teeth in frustration, only to find his vision blurring with tears that fell haphazardly down his left cheek, while hot liquid poured down his right where his eye was leaking in a bloody mirror of his tears.Just as hope was beginning to fade, he spotted someone, and reached out, desperation for Violet energizing him. This was his last chance to get her help. Through the blackened curtain of his vision, someone grabbed him, and Gilbert succumbed to the darkness.
KJ had only just managed to survive the explosion himself. Pure luck alone had placed him underneath the stairs, where he'd been hidden for the initial chaos caused by the invasion, and then around the corner to the exterior of the building, opposite from the explosion that had taken out a huge part of Intense's walls. He saw the man crawling from the debris, recognizing him as a soldier. KJ looked back toward the camp he'd just escaped, and knew that if he took the injured man there that he would surely be tortured and killed for the desecration of Intense's cathedral. The smoke had yet to clear from the explosion, and he hefted the unconscious soldier onto his shoulder, then took off into the night with the chaos as their cover.
There was much work to be done to save the soldier's life, and KJ did not have the resources to accomplish this task. With this in mind, he quickly traversed the mountainous crags of the Mother Goddess' Spine with feet sure from years of residence near it. He kept by the waters, crossing when it was safe, so that his scent trail wouldn't be in tact if they sicked tracker dogs after him. The sun was starting to rise high in the sky, and he had quite a distance left to the nearest village. KJ ran, even as his muscles screamed from the extra weight of the soldier, and his lungs burned for air. He ran, feeling the other man's blood seeping into his clothes, unsure if there would be ramifications of his escape, and driven by his desire to see his family once more.
When he finally found a doctor, he had to contract himself for work in exchange for the soldier's medical care. He had money, but he had no access to it at the time. Not that he minded: he found his fingers remembered his life's work, and the town was happy to have him around. His eye was lost. There was nothing that could've been done there. What they'd had to be careful of most was infection. Thankfully, the bullet had stopped in the eye ball, and though the eye was destroyed, it had protected the crucial tissue of the brain. Still, they would continue to be present there for nearly two years. Although the recovery time from the surgical procedure to attach auto-mail was only five to six months in Enciel, this place did not have the superior resources or technology available. It took some trial and error, detachment and reattachment, and then a lengthy physical therapy and recovery. During this time, Gilbert exchanged missives with the military, sent letters to Claudia Hodgins, and relied on KJ. They were fast friends, and KJ thought that they would've been the same in any other circumstance.
"I'm irresistible, after all," KJ had joked, evoking an exasperated half-smile from Gilbert. "Of course, I'd assumed," KJ said, casting Gilbert an unhappy look, "that he had contacted his family as well…. And I didn't realize you two were connected until the night Ms. Bougainvillea passed."
They had moved to the living room for this longer discussion, and Dietfried found himself at the edge of his seat, peering at KJ with curiosity. "You were so careful to not discuss what you were doing at that camp, why you'd escaped from it, or even whether or not it was an enemy camp or one of our own. Care to elaborate?"
KJ looked stricken. "Why, Dietfried, you already know most of that story." That proclamation took Dietfried off guard, and he fell into silence to contemplate it. Then, his curiosity got the better of him, so he tucked that comment away for further contemplation, and changed the topic.
"Okay, that's two of these long years. That doesn't explain the other two, nor why you chose not to tell us why you were alive, Gil." Dietfried turned grim eyes to his brother, the expectation weighing heavily on Gilbert, who sighed, suddenly weary. "I went back to work with the military," he said simply, and stopped talking. Dietfried started at him, expression deadpan. "There better be more to that, Gil," he said, a warning note to his voice. Dietfried was selfish by nature -a flaw he'd been recently trying to combat, but there was only so much room for that in his heart for this situation. He felt his brows draw together in his frustration. Gilbert recognized the expression; he'd seen it so many times over the years. Dietfried was the only person that could snarl without baring his teeth: his eyebrows would furrow, and the muscles around his nose would tense, so that he really looked like a threatened wolf. Nostalgia whispered through the room, and Gilbert sighed.
"The rest is classified, need to know only. As Colonel, I have sworn secrecy in this matter. All I can tell you is that it was an Army-related job, and it has finally allowed me to come back home, although the mission is not yet complete."
"Ah, well, congratulations on the promotion," Dietfried said, voice flat and cold. "I do hope that the suffering of your family and friends was worth the title upgrade." An idea startled him, and he felt his eyes widen. "Does this classified, need to know only mission have anything to do with the rumor of someone wanting to resurrect the monarchy? Is that why you're back home now?"
Gilbert stared at him, aghast. "What…? How….?"
"It is then?" Dietfried ran his hands through his hair, thinking. "So, the rumors do have some merit." He stood up as Gilbert approached him, taking in his mildly annoyed expression.
"You really have no reason to know that information," Gilbert said, jabbing his finger into his brother's chest… right on the surgical incision near his heart. Pain exploded through Dietfried and he gasped, all of the color drained from his face, and he began to see stars. He didn't remember the fall to the floor, but he was suddenly on his knees, and he was able to see some of the world past the little black dots that had overtaken his vision. Gil was wide-eyed as KJ cursed and scurried over to Dietfried.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Dietfried ground out between clenched teeth, pushing KJ's steadying hand away. "Don't threaten to rip off my shirt again."
KJ leveled Gilbert with a glare. "I told you he's had surgery recently, Gilbert. Don't be so reckless next time." Gil opened his mouth to ask why he'd had surgery, but a desperate knocking on the front door distracted him. He heard Claudia's voice shouting through the wood. Dietfried stood slowly, a bit unsteady on his feet, but the last thing he wanted was to look weak in front of the likes of Claudia, who he was furious with for not telling him his brother lived.
"Bougainvillea!," Claudia shouted once more as he burst into the house, Benedict right behind him. "Good, you're both here…." He caught his breath a moment, and Benedict's concerned eyes caught Dietfried's angry ones. Something about those bright blue eyes, so like Violet's, looking at him so seriously cause Dietfried to put his anger away. Something has happened.
"Vi's car was attacked before she ever got on the train," Benedict said somberly, and everyone in the room tensed, looking at him with horror in their eyes. "There was blood in the back seat." KJ gasped, while the others just looked crestfallen at the news. Then, the Bougainvillea brothers rallied, and they were making plans and grabbing weapons, wasting no time on anything else.
They were going to find Violet.
…
The group had hardly started out before the rain started. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightening flashed a warning up ahead. Dietfried could see his breath as he exhaled, and knew that it was likely that the rain would shift to snow with nightfall. The wind whipped his hair, and he was suddenly grateful for the short cut the hospital had forced on him. He could do with anything, even something as small as his hair, distracting him from his path. There was a ferocity to the silence of the group, each of them gearing up to do whatever needed to be done to find and return Violet.
They went to the car first, hoping to catch clues. The metal vehicle was barely recognizable as a vehicle. The air bags had deployed, the windows were all shattered, and it looked like a giant beast had taken a bite out of the metal. The entire back passenger side was ripped away, exposing the back seat to the open air. The rest of the metal was crumbled like disturbed tinfoil. The blood in the back seat was substantial, but KJ didn't think the amount of blood indicated a fatal injury. The driver, however, was dead: draped like a marionette whose strings had been cut over the steering wheel, blood and other, thicker things still dripping from his head.
Dietfried had seen something like this before… and his blood ran cold with the memory. He looked up at Gilbert, and his mind suddenly put all of the puzzle pieces together. "Oh… Oh God," he groaned, and Gilbert's one eye watched as his brother's face paled, horror filling his eyes. "It was all about you." Dietfried turned, running a hand through his hair. Memories swirled around, and his knees went weak. He sat on the ground abruptly enough that KJ made a worried sound, stepping toward him.
The dreams he'd been having, the suspicions of Jefferies' guilt in Zilly's death...
Recognition stirred as his eyes met the man behind the windshield: Jefferies' man, Drexel Vogt, who stared at Dietfried even as he raised the weapon and aimed it right at Dietfried's mother.
A whisper in the darkness: 'Those bullets weren't meant for you, son…. It looks like I'll get my wish regardless: He is coming.'
'There have been insinuations that the illegal weapons trade, the violent attacks throughout town, and an extremist faction wanting to resurrect the old monarchy are all connected…. And there are whispers that your family line is the one they want as the new kingship, since you're one of the oldest blood lines of our country. I imagine you might be the target of some… interesting groups in the near future. I felt that you should be properly warned. Keep your eyes open.'
Gilbert's return…. A classified job….
A snarling Jefferies, ferocity in the gravely proclamation: 'I get what I want, Bougainvillea. And what I want is to play with that tool until its broken and bleeding, and them I'm going to kill it.'
Fear descended over Dietfried, so thick he could hardly breath through it, and he started to breathe heavily under the stress of it, as though he'd been running. The agony in his eyes awakened a mirroring one in Gilbert. Slowly, Dietfried reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his movements slow with the heaviness of his dread. He had the number memorized from hundreds of friendly calls between them over the years. The dull sound of the ring numbed him, and when a familiar voice picked up and said hello, he couldn't hide the grief in his voice.
"Where do you have her, Jefferies…?," Dietfried asked through clenched teeth.
Jefferies didn't bother to play dumb. There was a long silence from his end of the phone line, then he replied, "The warehouse along the train tracks…. You know the one." He paused. "You put all of this together more quickly than I'd imagined. I'm proud of you." Dietfried choked on the praise. "Is he with you?," his betrayer asked, referring to Gilbert.
"Yes," Dietfried breathed out raggedly. "Is she alive?"
"For now. I'll see you soon." Then there was silence, and guilt, sorrow, and bile burned the back of Dietfried's throat.