Author's Note: Someone asked me if this was written for the kink meme. After being enlightened on what exactly is the kink meme (thanks, bitter green tea), the answer to that is 'no'. And how did this thing end up being such a huge monster of a fic anyway?
Of Family, Friends and Football
Part Five: Weltmeister in Freundschaftsspielen
"Grrghhhhhmmmm," grunted the bleary-eyed mess of unruly platinum blond hair, pale limbs and colossal ego currently sitting at the kitchen table, his chin cradled in his palms as he stared imploringly at his younger brother, who was busy cooking.
"No, I've barely enough time to make this one batch of pancakes as it is. I need to go to work."
"Mmpphhm?" Gilbert pouted just a little bit.
"You can always make them yourself, you know." Ludwig placed the stack of pancakes on a plate and set it down on the table. Gilbert immediately helped himself to some.
"Hrgghhmmm. Pgghhhmff?"
Gilbert had pretty much behaved himself for the past few days, meaning no one had called Ludwig to lodge a complaint about some outrageous stunt or prank, thus leaving the younger of the two brothers in a fairly pleasant mood and not to mention migraine-free throughout the week so far. Ludwig even found Gilbert's morning antics somewhat amusing today, when usually it would have just annoyed him.
"Trying to flatter me by telling me that I make the most awesome pancakes is not going to get you a second helping," Ludwig chided. His brother was such a brat sometimes.
"Prgghhhmm mmrrgghh?"
Ludwig blinked as he went through his Gilbert-gruntspeak mental phrasebook. "I don't know what that meant," he admitted when he failed to locate a relevant entry.
Gilbert took a large gulp of coffee, swallowed and then shook his head violently a few times. "I said," he tried again with slightly more coherent speech, apparently successful at shaking his vocal chords back to normal, "don't forget about practice. Arthur's coming today."
"I'll be there right after work," Ludwig promised.
"You'd better. Remember West, football–"
"–is war, I know. Why were you up so late anyway? You look terrible."
"Was doing some research for Saturday's game."
"Playing FIFA on your PS3 all night counts as research?"
Gilbert yawned. "God, West. Do you want me to play video games all night, or do you want me raiding random TV stations and football clubs for football match videos?" He smirked. "Please say it's the latter, because I really want to see what's going on in–"
"Forget it! Stick to the video games. I'm going to work now, see you later."
"See ya, West. And yes, I'll do the stupid dishes. Just show up for practice!"
Ludwig untied his apron, hung it up on one of the hooks on the wall and grabbed his suit jacket and briefcase on the chair. Less than five minutes later he was in his car, driving to work.
Why was Arthur coming over today anyway? Oh yes, he was going to help Gilbert with getting the pitch for their football game ready. Gilbert had mentioned something about playing on a smaller pitch, so the local council had to repaint the lines and reposition the goalposts; Arthur was going to be there to help supervise the work. Arthur was generally sensible – except when either Alfred or Francis were around, but that was another story – so Ludwig trusted Arthur to keep an eye on things and had given the man permission to smack his brother around a bit just in case Gilbert decided to get a little creative.
Ludwig checked the digital clock on the dashboard. By now Gilbert would probably be out walking the dogs, or out for a run in the city as he listened to the music on his iPod and his run would end with him dashing up the stairs of the Konzerthaus Berlin à la Rocky Balboa (Ludwig rued the day he bought that DVD box set for his brother's birthday). If Gilbert stuck to the routine he had established and had dutifully blogged about for the past few days, after that he would grab some lunch before going off to the nearby football field to train, as well as to see about the work on the pitch.
Ludwig could not help but wish that his brother would take some of his other official duties as seriously as he did with the football match on Saturday. Gilbert did not have to go to work five days a week as Ludwig did; his brother was usually assigned specific domestic duties from time to time, rather than regular international and domestic tasks due to his unusual status. The top brass had decided that rather than letting him run off loose on his own, it was better to give him a few things to do once in a while, just to keep an eye on him.
Ludwig admitted that generally Gilbert was good at his job, which usually involved attending certain defence-related meetings, as well as threatening and terrifying various recalcitrant officials and MPs into doing whatever Ludwig's boss wanted. However, Ludwig had to admit that whenever Gilbert was on an assignment, retrieval of his brother at crucial moments was necessary in order to prevent Gilbert from getting carried away and end up starting potential armed conflicts with their neighbours for the heck of it, particularly with Roderich.
Still, having a migraine-free week so far due to Gilbert's sound behaviour was a nice feeling, although Ludwig was almost positive that it would end after Saturday's game.
--x--
Gilbert smirked, pleased with his own awesomeness.
While Ludwig had specifically mentioned that he should not bother any of the German football teams or ruling bodies, his brother never said anything about other German government agencies, oh, such as the Bundesnachrichtendienst. A phone call to the intelligence agency and a snarled threat or two had got him what he wanted, namely information on his enemies. Specifically, his enemies' preparations for the game on Saturday.
After all, football is war. And in war, you needed all the information you could get in order to formulate the perfect battle strategy over a bottle of cold beer and a thermos of hot tea during a fifteen-minute break from football practice.
"You actually got some poor souls in the BND to find out what Antonio and Lovino are doing for the game? You sneaky bastard."
"Says the guy who bullied his intelligence agencies into producing satellite images of the football field near Francis' place and intercepting that pansy's phone calls!"
Arthur's cheeks turned slightly red. "I meant that as a compliment."
"Really? Oh. Anyway, the BND says that Antonio isn't doing anything much. He played with the local kids only twice. Other than that, he just spends his time tending to his tomatoes." Gilbert snorted in derision. Typical of the Spaniard to take things so lightly. "That brat Lovino on the other hand, either forces his brother – poor little Feli – into training with him every morning until lunch, or he goes out for a run. I don't know why he needs to do all that extra running, Italians are fuckin' geniuses at running away in the first place. Then he goes off to train with either Napoli or Palermo. The kid's taking this really seriously. He's got the two clubs completely petrified whenever he shows up." Gilbert could not help but nod in approval, since traumatising random people was always awesome in his book.
"He just wants to bash your brother's head in with a football."
"He can try. West's a great goalkeeper," Gilbert said proudly.
"He'd better be. Then again, maybe whatever Lovino kicks at your brother won't even hurt him a bit, since he's built like a brick shithouse."
Gilbert frowned at that last bit. "Did you just insult my brother? Or was that one of those funny English compliments of yours again?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "It wasn't an insult. Anyway, here's what I have on Francis. Judging from the satellite imagery, that bastard's going to be the goalie. He's doing nothing but basic drills and working on his goalkeeping."
"Francis? Goalkeeper?"
"That was my reaction too." Arthur took a sip from his thermos. "Antonio's midfield, and Lovino's the forward. I suppose Lovino wanted to make sure Francis doesn't get anywhere near him, so Antonio stuck him as the goalie. How did he manage that, I wonder."
"Antonio can be fuckin' persuasive if he wants to be, especially where his little Lovi's welfare is concerned," Gilbert explained. "It just doesn't happen often, since he keeps forgetting where he puts that double-headed war ax of his. But once he finds it and points it at your face, it's hard to say no even if he has that clueless smile on his mug." He finished his beer. "As for Francis, well yeah, I can sort of see him as a goalkeeper. That pansy was always quick with his hands."
Especially when it came to touching other people in inappropriate areas.
Although that line was not actually uttered, both of them knew they were thinking it.
Ludwig joined them some time later; as the youngest of the trio went through his warm-up routine, he engaged Arthur in conversation while Gilbert busied himself with taking pictures of the finished pitch to post to his blog.
"Did my brother cause any trouble?" Ludwig asked, bracing himself.
"Although I must admit there was a relatively small amount of psychological and mental trauma inflicted upon the local council workers, no one died or required medical attention. No explosives, incendiaries, biological contaminants or other harmful objects were used. No physical harm was caused to the surrounding premises, people or animals. No vital regions were invaded. No lawsuits foreseen in the immediate future," Arthur said, counting off his fingers. He shrugged. "I think that about covers it, really."
Ludwig looked impressed. "He was that cooperative?"
"Well... it was rather difficult to get him to stop trying to exercise his destructive creativity."
Ludwig gave Arthur a wry look. "You punched him, didn't you."
"Just once," Arthur said defensively, "and it wasn't really hard. And you did say it was all right. He was a bit angry at first." He frowned and then corrected, "Actually, I think he was more surprised than angry, but he cheered up after I said I'd buy him a beer."
"What are you two still standing there for?" Gilbert yelled from the other end of the pitch. "Get off your lazy asses and get over here for some training!"
Both Arthur and Ludwig exchanged long-suffering looks, sighed and ran to where their smirking teammate waited.
--x--
Ludwig could no longer ignore the unholy racket from downstairs. And just earlier in the day he was thinking on how nice it was that Gilbert was on relatively pleasant behaviour so far. He sighed, pushed his paperwork aside and made his way to the source of the noise; the storeroom in the back.
"What are you doing?" he asked when he opened the door to the storeroom to find his brother sitting cross-legged on the floor, noisily rummaging through the contents of a large box. Several other boxes and storage crates lay opened next to him, their contents scattered on the floor. Ludwig twitched at the amount of cleaning up he would have to do later; like always, Gilbert would refuse to tidy up afterward.
"Hey, West. Have you seen my old football kit? You know, the white and blue one? I can't find it in my room anywhere, so I thought it must be down here."
"Your old kit? No, I don't think I've seen it for a while now."
Gilbert put the box away and scratched his head. "Where the fuck did I put that thing? I could have sworn I packed it in one of my boxes when I moved back in here. And the game's only in a few days...." He stood up and made an exasperated noise. "What the hell am I going to wear then? We're supposed to wear our home kits!"
"Well, you can always wear mine," Ludwig offered. "I've got a spare kit–"
"No, West! I need to wear my kit! My kit! Don't you get it?" Gilbert snapped, glaring at him. He must have looked surprised at the outburst, since Gilbert's harsh expression softened slightly before the man looked away. "It's okay, West. I can't wear your kit anyway. You're about two sizes bigger than me," Gilbert muttered.
A feeble attempt at an apology, but Ludwig accepted it anyway. "I'll look for it after I'm done cleaning up here. Maybe you've just misplaced it somewhere else, that's all."
"Maybe it's in your room?" Gilbert wondered aloud. When Ludwig glared at him, he said, "Okay, I know. Your room is off-limits after that last time. Honestly West, I don't know why you're so sensitive about that boring old room of yours."
"Anyone would be 'sensitive' if they came home to find their room and everything in it covered in fluorescent blue paint! What were you thinking back then?"
Gilbert shrugged. "I can't remember. But it must have been something really awesome."
Ludwig massaged his right temple with one hand and pointed to the door with the other. "Out."
"Fine, fine."
With Gilbert safely out of the way, Ludwig rolled up his sleeves and set to work tidying up the mess his brother had made. He carefully repacked some of the boxes and neatly stacked them back up on the shelves, thinking as he worked. Despite Gilbert's self-proclaimed awesomeness, his brother was very sensitive about a few things.
The first was Gilbert's adamant refusal to be named anything other than Prussia. When he had moved back in with Ludwig, some of the top brass suggested that he change his official name to reflect his new status; Gilbert's response to that was to ignore them all and sang Preußenlied loudly at the meeting, drowning out all the objections and startled exclamations at his rudeness. When Ludwig had tried to make him to at least rethink the whole situation, Gilbert had simply glared at his younger brother and stated that he had pulled the same stunt with Ivan – who then had proceeded to give him a sound beating with that damned water pipe – and still he had only answered to Prussia then, so he would be damned if he would answer to any other name now, just because some stupid paper-pushers thought it was a good idea.
Ludwig never brought up the subject again.
The second was Gilbert's attachment to some of his personal possessions. His brother had quite a number of them, as evidenced by the boxes and crates in the storeroom. There were keepsakes like his old Teutonic Order surcoat (Ludwig was amazed that the garment had somehow survived, even though it was more than a bit tattered) and chainmail; oil portraits of his dear Old Fritz; his battle standard, that blood-stained Prussian flag Ludwig remembered so well from his childhood; and of course, his old Prussian blue uniform.
When Ludwig had suggested that some of the items should be donated to a museum, Gilbert's response was a vicious glare, followed by a hard smack to the head. Ludwig got the message and respected his brother's wishes, keeping all of the items in storage. They were meant to be kept and not to be given away or thrown out, not ever.
As for Gilbert's old football kit, Ludwig knew why his brother could not find it. That kit was the one thing Gilbert brought back from his years behind that damned wall, and it was also the one thing that Ludwig had secretly got rid of.
Ludwig hated that white and blue kit; he hated looking at it and recalling all those years of forced separation from his brother. He knew that Gilbert was not well-treated during that period; his brother was very thin and deathly pale when he had moved back in. Ludwig knew that during that period of separation, Gilbert had made sure that most of his own meagre earnings, his personal rations – what little that may be – went to his people, even if it meant another painful confrontation with Ivan. It was just like when Ludwig was growing up; Gilbert had made sure that Ludwig got the best food, even at his own expense if need be, since he did not want his little brother to have poor nutrition like he did when he was a boy. Despite that devil-may-care appearance, that unbearable attitude and not to mention that gargantuan ego, deep down, Gilbert cared for his people, cared for him. Ludwig would personally vouch for that and would cheerfully beat up, or even start another war with anyone who dared to suggest otherwise.
So if Gilbert wanted his own kit, then he would get his own kit. Ludwig would see to it.
--x--
Gilbert was still worried about his kit the following day, and the day after.
When he had asked his brother about his kit in the morning, the younger man had simply shrugged and said that the kit could not be found anywhere in the house, so he must have simply forgotten to pack it with the rest of his things after all. Disappointing, but there was nothing else he could do about it. He would just have to borrow his brother's kit, or better still, he could just buy a new one tomorrow.
"Tomorrow's already Friday too," he muttered to himself as he turned off the shower and stepped out of the stall. Just one more day to the match. Just one more day and he would get to kick the living daylights out of Antonio and Francis. Well, maybe he would bully little Lovino around a bit too, just to make it look good. He was confident that he would have no problems dodging a rapid-fire barrage of tomatoes; unlike Antonio, he was awesome.
Finished showering, he returned to his room to get ready for bed. He made it a point not to stay up too late for the last few days before the match; the last thing he needed was to be in less awesome conditions for the big day. It was only when he wanted to update his blog that he noticed the box on his desk.
Judging from the general appearance of the box, Gilbert guessed that it contained some clothes. Ludwig bought him some things once in a while; he could not help but wonder if it were because his brother secretly enjoyed dressing him up or anything of the sort. He shoved that somewhat disturbing thought away and opened the box, expecting some new fancy button-up shirt, then blinked when its contents were nothing of the like.
Instead of the usual shirt or trousers, the box held a white football jersey with black trim, black shorts and white football socks – all of it in his size. Ludwig must have bought it especially for him to wear to the match. Well, at least he did not have to pay to wear his brother's kit–
He froze when he finally noticed something different on the white jersey. Instead of the usual DFB logo on the jersey's left side, like on his brother's kit, this jersey had the Prussian coat of arms – the crowned black eagle carrying a sceptre and an orb in each of its talons, with the intertwined 'FR' for Fridericus Rex emblazoned on its breast – his coat of arms.
"West...."
Gilbert immediately ran to Ludwig's room, the jersey grasped firmly in his hands. Not bothering to knock, he flung the door wide open, startling the hell out of his younger brother. "West?" he practically yelled.
"Gaah! How many times have I told you to knock – oh." Ludwig made an embarrassed cough when he spotted the jersey Gilbert was holding. "I see you found it."
"It was kinda hard to miss, since it was sitting on my desk."
Ludwig's cheeks turned pink. "Is it all right? I couldn't find that old white and blue kit of yours, so I thought I'd get this one made for you." He coughed again. "I think this one looks much better," he added. He looked like a little boy caught in the middle of a prank and was trying to explain himself, tugging at his collar as he looked at Gilbert with a somewhat hopeful expression.
"All right? West, this is more than all right – this is just...." Adjectives failed him; he did not know just how to describe what he was currently feeling at the moment. "This is just awesome."
There, that was the best thing he could think of and it still paled in comparison to what he felt. Still, it was good enough for Ludwig; his brother looked relieved, then pleased with himself.
"It's in your colours," Ludwig said, his usual calm demeanour returning. "I'm glad you liked it."
"West?"
"Yes?"
Gilbert smiled. "Thanks."
His brother returned the smile. "No problem."
--x--
Ludwig breathed out a huge sigh of relief when Gilbert left and closed the door. He had been afraid that Gilbert would not like the new football kit; fortunately that was not the case. When his brother said that it was awesome and then smiled – not smirked or grinned, but actually smiled – he could not help but smile back. His brother had never looked so happy, even though there had been no vital regions invaded, the usual requirement of getting Gilbert to smile.
When Ludwig came of age, it was hard to find ways for him to show his thanks for all that Gilbert has done for him. His brother hated mushy gestures, so hugging and heart-felt statements and the like were out of the question, and he was not going to give in to Gilbert's own ridiculous suggestions on ways of properly thanking him. Therefore he had arranged to have the German football squad's home colours as white and black after his brother's flag, and made sure that they stayed that way even during their forced separation, and later their reunification. He liked to think of it as his own personal means of permanently displaying his appreciation and affection for Gilbert in a way that would not make his brother laugh at him, or even punch him for being a sappy idiot.
So when Gilbert had wanted to wear his own kit, Ludwig thought that perhaps his brother would like to wear something in his own colours, just like how Ludwig's football team has always worn them, albeit with a small but highly significant alteration.
Ludwig also loved to think of the national kit's colours as a way to make sure everyone remembered Gilbert, although he was pretty sure that not many people in the country needed reminding. There were plenty of things that were – and still are – part of Gilbert, part of Prussia around. For example, the Teutonic Order still existed, although no longer as a military order but as a charitable and ceremonial body (Gilbert had been annoyed at the current location of its headquarters; "What the hell are they doing in Vienna? That Roderich's turned them into a bunch of pansies!"); the Prussian virtues are featured regularly in political and academic debates. Come to think of it, the beer industry believed in Gilbert's personal existence in an almost religious fervour, for if his brother were to disappear he suspected that half the breweries in the country would go out of business due to a sharp plunge in sales. No, Gilbert would be around for a long, long time. He would make sure of that.
Or maybe, his brother would be around just because he was indeed, that awesome.
Ludwig finished his last piece of paperwork and then went to his final item on his daily routine; checking up on Gilbert. He opened the door to find, as usual, the lights still turned on. Gilbert was already asleep, snoring softly with a pleased expression on his face, his new jersey still in his hands. His little yellow pet bird was also asleep on its perch on the headboard.
Shaking his head, Ludwig carefully removed the jersey from Gilbert's clutches and folded it up before setting it down on the desk. He noticed that Gilbert's laptop was still switched on and the browser was currently displaying his brother's latest blog entry. Curious, he looked at the entry to find that Gilbert had posted pictures of his new kit, but surprisingly, the pictures had nothing like 'my awesome new kit' or 'my kit is more awesome than yours, you losers' for a caption. Instead, there was only the one line:
I have the most awesome little brother in the whole fucking universe.
Ludwig could not help but smile, since to be called awesome by Gilbert is very high praise indeed. He pressed the laptop's 'hibernate' key and then went to tuck Gilbert in, careful not to wake him. And then just because Ludwig felt like it, he bent down and kissed the sleeping man on the forehead.
"Good night, brother," he said softly, before he turned off the lights and closed the door.
Additional notes:
i. Weltmeister in Freundschaftsspielen (World Champion in friendly games); the nickname of the East German (GDR) football national squad.
ii. Bundesnachrichtendienst or BND for short; the German external intelligence agency.
iii. Napoli or Società Sportiva Calcio Napoli in full; a Naples-based club currently in Italy's Serie A football league.
iv. Palermo or Unione Sportiva Città di Palermo in full; a football club based in Palermo, Sicily, also currently playing in the Serie A. I figured Lovi would probably want to train with the southern clubs.
v. The former GDR national football team home kit was white and blue.
vi. Preußenlied – the national anthem for the Kingdom of Prussia.
vi. True fact: the German national football squad's home kit is traditionally white and black, after the colours of the Prussian flag.
