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When the albino woke up, he didn't want to remember. Elizaveta with Roderich...a perversion of nature. It couldn't possibly be, except it was.

Then the door was flung open and a sobbing Elizaveta ran to his arms, trailing her long tangle of hair and the wide sleeves of her pale green nightdress. She buried her face in his, weeping uncontrollably, her eyes rimmed in red when she looked up at him with such despair in her eyes that it made his heart skip. Stunned and more than a little confused, he slowly moved to embrace her back. "What is it, Lizzie?"

"Roderich..." her voice caught in her throat in a choke, "...is dead."

And then the events of the last night came rushing back to him, as well as the feel of satisfaction for what he had done. The arrogant little prick deserved it. Yet he couldn't squelch the guilt he felt at having rendered the love of his life to heartbroken tears. Then he couldn't help but notice the warmth of her leaning against him, and the silken feel of her hair draped against his bare chest. He tried best to not let the flush creep up on his cheeks.

"Why?" she sobbed. "Why would anyone kill him? He has nothing of value, no influence...just why!?"

"Maybe," he said carefully, "somebody was jealous of him."

At that, she turned her tear-streaked face up towards him. "What do you mean?"

Now, with Elizaveta practically sitting on him, he was nearly speechless. "I...don't actually know..."

Normally she would've questioned him further, but now was a time for no words. She leaned her head against him, and he closed his eyes, wrapping both arms around her. He wanted...so many things, and it was torture to hold her so close and yet not have his feelings reciprocated. It was enough to tear anyone's soul in two.

Presently, he said, "I..I have to get dressed." And wash the blood out of my favorite pair of gloves. It was a miracle that Elizaveta hadn't noticed the suspicious red stain under the black fabric where it rested on his bedside table. Carving legible words into the Austrian's pale skin took a lot of energy, and he was already drained from the wedding ceremony, to say nothing of the fight. He'd staggered in as the sun was rising, stripped down to his underwear, flung the gloves on the table, and fallen into a dreamless sleep.

"Well, I'll stay in here with you then." Elizaveta drew his dark blue covers around her self like a shawl, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall.

There was no way he could shoo her out, and he didn't really want to. It wasn't often she was as vulnerable as she was now, and he found it endearing, despite the circumstances. But he couldn't very well wash his gloves clean with her in here...but, conversely, he couldn't leave them as they were, still damp. If he did, the gloves would be ruined forever and, worse, positively reek of blood.

He buttoned up a dark red shirt before pulling a black jacket on over that, and then, looking over his shoulder at Elizaveta, who still had her eyes closed, he made a split second decision. Gilbert walked over to the bed and picked up the gloves, laying a black tablecloth over his sparsely decorated nightstand to hide any remaining stains. He'd clean them up later.

Red tendrils drifted off the cloth as he plunged them into the sink. Austrian blood that would never really leave him alone.

From behind him, Elizaveta called, "What's that?" He heard the covers slide back as she started to get to her feet. Oh no no no no, you can't come over here, you'll figure it out-

"It's nothing!" he tried to say lightly. "You don't have to get up-"

But already she'd crossed half the room, and the sink was full of strings of blood. He quickly turned around to block the her view. "Um, seriously, it's nothing, just that I spilled a drink on my gloves and I wanted to get it out-"

Elizaveta came to a stop right in front of him, already looking better than she had just minutes ago. "You're acting awfully weird about this, Gilbert."

"Yes," he chattered, "Well, it's nothing."

She frowned and was about to look behind him when a servant came to the door. "Lady Hedervary, we need to, like, dress you for the funeral..." Seeing the expression on her face, he sighed. "It must totally suck, and I really, really feel for you, but we gotta do this." He stepped into the albino's rooms and grabbed her arm.

She allowed herself to be pulled out the door, her face as sad as anything. Gilbert tried for a reassuring smile, but judging from the twitch of her lips, he must've looked utterly ridiculous.

The room was empty once again.

With a sigh, the albino went back to washing his gloves. Close call.

By the way, I'm bad at this Romance thing...