Of Family, Friends and Football
Epilogue: The Aftermath
He opened the door.
"Ve~ Hi Ludwig~!" Feliciano greeted before hugging him.
"Hello, Feliciano," Ludwig replied, submitting to the over-enthusiastic gesture of affection. "Come on in."
The Italian skipped inside. "Ve, Ludwig," Feliciano whined, "I'm sorry to bother you so much. I stayed over at big sis Eliza's place last night, but she said she couldn't send me home since she promised to go out with Roderich today and she says she can't let him go out alone since he'd get lost. I didn't drive to the game, since I went with Lovi and I think he's still angry with me so I didn't want to call him to pick me up because he'd yell at me so then Roderich suggested that I should ask you if you could drive me back home–"
"Of course I'll drive you home," Ludwig interrupted the Italian before he could get to his wailing stage. Roderich had called Ludwig last night to explain things, so he knew about the whole thing anyway. "Now just let me get some things sorted out in the kitchen, and then we can leave."
"Oh, were you cooking? Pasta?" Feliciano asked hopefully.
"No, I baked some cakes, actually. I was in the middle of packing them in boxes when you rang the doorbell." He had made the cakes with the intention of dropping off a box each at Roderich's and Elizaveta's as thanks for sheltering Feliciano from Lovino's wrath, as well as for something for the Italian to snack on during the drive. True, it was not the Italian's precious pasta, but Feliciano seemed to enjoy his culinary creations anyway.
"Okay! Let's go!"
"Just a moment. I need to tell Gilbert we're going out."
The man in question was lying fast asleep on the couch, hugging one of his stuffed pandas to his chest. Ludwig was thankful that at least he was not drooling on the cushions. Yet.
"Gilbert," Ludwig said, shaking his brother gently on the shoulder.
Gilbert did not budge, but his pet bird did. It gave a little hop, as if it were annoyed at being disturbed from its nap. Sometimes Ludwig wondered if the bird chose to make itself at home on Gilbert's head because the little thing honestly mistook that messy mop of hair for an actual bird's nest.
"Mmrggghhhuuuuum," Gilbert replied. From experience, Ludwig knew that grunt meant, 'Go away West, it's too early'.
"Gilbert! Wake up!" Ludwig thundered.
"Grffmm!" Gilbert grunted before he turned his back on Ludwig, clasping the panda over his head. Even Feliciano could tell that meant, 'Fuck off.'
"He's not waking up, ve~" Feliciano pointed out.
Judging from his brother's stubborn set of shoulders, Ludwig knew that any following verbal methods of trying to get Gilbert to move would be futile, since his brother was just in that mood where he would cling to the couch by his teeth if necessary. No matter. Ludwig had several ways of dealing with a particular brat of an elder brother who refused to get up. He need not resort to physical force either, since violence would certainly upset Feliciano.
Ludwig trotted off into the kitchen and returned with one of the boxes of cakes he had prepared. He opened the box and waved his hand over it, slowly filling the living room with the absolutely mouth-watering aroma of freshly-baked cakes.
Three... two... one...
Gilbert sprang awake, sitting bolt upright and yelling, "Whatever it is, West, I want a piece of it!"
Feliciano caught the panda Gilbert had sent flying in his excitement, and giggled.
"Hey!" Gilbert growled when he realised that he had just been tricked into waking up. "Dammit West, that's mean. So give me that piece of – ooh, is that apple cake?" He brightened.
"You can have one slice," Ludwig replied, deftly side-stepping Gilbert's clumsy tackle for the box, "if you promise to watch the house while I'm gone."
"Sure, sure. Now gimme!"
Ludwig handed Gilbert one pre-cut slice of the cake, which the man promptly shoved into his mouth. "I'm driving Feliciano home. Don't forget to water the plants and walk the dogs – are you listening to me?"
Gilbert was hugging their Italian guest and pinching his cheeks. "Yeah, I'm listening. Watch the house, walk the plants, water the dogs–"
"Gilbert!"
"I'm kidding!"
Ludwig sighed. "Anyway, I'll be back around five. I left something in the microwave for lunch." Satisfied at Gilbert's affirmative nod, he went into the kitchen to get the rest of the boxes and then grabbed his jacket. Then he remembered. "Oh, I almost forgot. Arthur came by this morning and dropped this off for you. You were still asleep. I asked him to come in, but he said he didn't have the time." Ludwig handed Gilbert a small gift-wrapped package.
"Wow, a present!" Feliciano said. "There's a card, too."
Gilbert looked at the card. It read:
The next time you want to settle a stupid argument, use this.
- Arthur -
P.S. Unless you're up against Francis; then whatever it is - call me, I'm in.
Gilbert eyed the package curiously for a few seconds before he tore away at the wrapping. Then he looked at the actual gift for a long moment before he broke into a grin, and then collapsed in hysterical laughter.
"Ve~ isn't big brother Gilbert too old for snakes and ladders?" Felicano said, staring in confusion at the children's game set.
--x--
He had already packed his precious laptop in its backpack, as well as a few other things in an overnight bag. Earlier, he had stuck a note on the refrigerator with one of the cute rabbit magnets Kiku gave him for Christmas, telling his brother that he was off sight-seeing for a few days so don't worry, and yes, your awesome big brother is going to bring back a nice souvenir for you.
Now he just needed to make a phone call.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Arthur. It's me." Gilbert paused. Was that yelling in the background? Some of the voices sounded familiar.
"Yes, Gilbert. What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to thank you for the gift."
Arthur chuckled. "You're welcome. Is that all?"
"I was thinking," Gilbert began carefully, "that I haven't been to your place for a while. So I wanted to come over and maybe we can watch this really awesome video I made of the football match."
"Now's not a good time–"
"What is all that shouting?" he interrupted when he heard an angry shout from Arthur's end.
"It's nothing, really," Arthur replied, but the man sounded more than just a little tense.
"Nothing?" Gilbert paused when he heard some more yelling, followed by what sounded like a heavy crash. "Yeah, right. I know you Brits are supposed to be tough as nails and all that shit, but if that was your definition of nothing, I'd hate to see what you people call noise."
Arthur let out a heavy sigh. "Look Gilbert, it's just that I have some company over right now – or else I wouldn't mind you visiting for a bit."
Company? Gilbert heard another spectacular crash that even made him wince. "Who?"
Another sigh. "That stupid lot I am forced to call my siblings, that's who."
"What the hell are they doing? Sounds like a wild party."
"Somebody," Arthur hissed in a way that made it clear that somebody was certainly not the Englishman, "decided that since the Krauts ("Hey!" Gilbert protested, but Arthur ignored him) have clearly had some nice brotherly bonding time over a recent footy game, then we should have some nice brotherly bonding time of our own over rugby."
Rugby? Gilbert blinked.
Francis had tried to teach him how to play it a few times, but the Frenchman kept getting distracted – like Gilbert had mentioned to Feliciano at the football game, he looked awesome and cute in shorts – so the teaching attempts had all ended with him punching a grope-happy Francis a few times before he stomped off home. Therefore, Gilbert never managed to learn much about the sport, but from what little bits he saw on TV, rugby involved a bunch of people crashing into each other, intent on doing maximum damage. There was an odd-shaped ball in use somewhere, but from what he had seen on the TV screen the ball seemed to be a rather unimportant part of the game. "Really?" he prompted. "All that noise is starting to sound rather awesome. And fun!"
"It is certainly not awesome and nor is it fun if they're playing rugby indoors, in my house!" Arthur raged. Right on cue, there was another crash. "For fuck's sake take it outside!" yelled the man, presumably to his siblings. "Oh, sorry. Still there?"
"Yeah. I could come over and help you out if you want," he offered.
"You know how to play a game of rugger?" Arthur's disbelief was obvious.
"No, but you can explain it to me."
"Rugby's rather complicated, Gilbert."
"So's the offside rule in football. If you can explain the offside rule, then you can explain how to play rugby," Gilbert argued. "Besides, I'm awesome. Rugby should be easy for me."
"Oh ha ha. Come off it, what do you really want?"
Gilbert wondered if Arthur knew him more than he had realised (yeah, right), or if the man had been hanging around Ludwig too much (no, not really), or perhaps all younger brothers attain in adulthood an in-built mysterious sense that automatically warns them whenever all elder brothers were up to something (rather scary, but possible). "Look, I just want to hang out at your place for a while."
"Whatever for?"
"Do you know what today is?"
"Monday."
"Yeah. Today's also the day a crucial piece of mail gets delivered to West's office–"
"What does the bloody postman–"
"–specifically, the billing statement for my little brother's credit card. That Swiss jerk maxed it out to the limit! Bastard even had the nerve to call – and reversed charges, the little fuck – to complain about it!"
"Oh." Arthur made an odd sound that was not in any way sympathetic, but sounded more like muffled laughter. "How bad is it?"
Gilbert shuddered. His brother had a huge credit limit and his gut told him that this time, nothing would save him from Ludwig's wrath. No embarrassing pictures, no amount of blackmail material, hell – not even if he actually scored the winning sudden death goal for Germany in the World Cup final. Oh no. Nothing. "It's the 'I need to stay away from West for at least a week' sort of bad," he admitted. His only hope was to stay out of sight until his brother had cooled down somewhat.
"Poor little thing. Go to the frog's then. Or Antonio's."
"That French loser's not talking to me at the moment – or maybe he just can't talk with that split lip – and Antonio's still busy trying to apologise to that bad-tempered Italian brat. I can't barge in there interrupting his stupid I Love Lovi moments, not after that last time when he shoved that ax in my face," he grumbled. "Besides, their homes are the first places West'll check."
"True."
"So can I head over there?"
"No. Try someone else."
"They'll just call West to haul me home. Ah screw it, I'm just gonna head over there whether you like it or not."
"What makes you think that I won't call your brother to let him know where you are? Or throw you out myself?"
"You won't because I know you want these pictures."
There was a long pause. "Pictures?"
Gilbert grinned. Arthur was just so easy to manipulate. "Of that French loser. Getting his sorry ass kicked."
"You already emailed me those."
"Not all of them. Plenty more where those came from. Little Feli's really good at taking pictures, you know. There's this one shot where you can see Francis' eyes just bugging out when he gets this uppercut right in the–"
Arthur harrumphed, cutting him off. "I absolutely detest you, you know that?"
Gilbert snickered. "So can I come over then?"
"Did I mention how much I find you annoying?"
"Yeah. I have videos too, you know."
Arthur snorted. "Two days."
"Three, and I'll even cook my own meals," Gilbert countered hastily. That last time he went over to Arthur's for lunch was just an absolutely painful experience. "I'll bring beer and chips for everyone too!" he added.
"Crisps," Arthur automatically corrected.
"Whatever."
"Fine, three days. And if my brothers try to kill you, I'm not going to interfere."
"Deal."
--x--
Ludwig leaned back in his chair and stretched, deciding that he deserved a short break from the amount of emails in his inbox and the pile of paperwork on his desk. It was almost time for lunch anyway.
Theoretically he could work from home; quite a number of his fellow nations were doing so, thanks to the miracle of modern technology. However, trying to get any work done at home with Gilbert around is an exercise in futility, not with all the distraction and noise from the man's constant pestering, horribly off-key singing or laughing like a hyena on LSD. No, it was far easier to actually commute to the office the old-fashioned way to get some actual work done.
Speaking of Gilbert, his brother seemed to have slipped back to his usual routine this morning. Namely trudging back to bed after breakfast, which also had gone back to normal; a situation involving Ludwig's car keys being held hostage and Gilbert demanding for a ransom of hot pancakes. At least Gilbert had stopped using – or rather, abusing – the strange English expressions he had learnt from Arthur.
Perhaps he should check Gilbert's blog, just in case his brother had somehow started another inane project. He turned to his computer and tapped a few keys to find that Gilbert had blogged a new entry, but it simply consisted of pictures of the football game on Saturday. Some of their colleagues must have emailed his brother the pictures they had taken.
He was amused when he noticed that Lovino had not replied to the comment he made on yesterday's entry, but several other people had, as well as made other comments about the new pictures posted. Gilbert dutifully replied to all of them, except for comments from Ivan. Ludwig shook his head and chuckled.
He barely had enough time to switch windows when his secretary entered his office to bring him his mail, efficiently sorted out for his convenience. Magazine subscriptions; letters from various government agencies and NGOs, a certain DVD he ordered from a catalogue – oh god, he must have accidentally asked the company to mail it to his office instead of his home address, thank goodness the package was discreet because he really did not want the people at work to know he was into Certain Things With Leather Whips; bills–
Strange, the envelope from the credit card company seemed to be thicker than usual. Probably had some extra pamphlets about some ridiculous new promotion stuffed in it. A total waste of paper and resources, he noted in disapproval.
Ludwig shrugged. He would deal with his mail later; now he had to figure out this claims form from a bunch of BND employees regarding recent surveillance operations in Italy and Spain before he signed it. He could not recall requesting any special assignments.
But first, there was something else he needed to do. He went back to Gilbert's newest blog entry and clicked on one of the pictures posted; the one of him hugging Gilbert when his brother had scored the winning goal. He wondered if Feliciano was the one who had taken the picture. He was not surprised if it were, for the Italian was undoubtedly talented in painting, so it was natural that such talent would also be applicable in photography as well. It was a great picture, he thought; it had captured the mood perfectly, both brothers grinning happily in triumph at the camera.
A few more clicks, and he was done. "There," Ludwig muttered to himself, "it's a good thing he'll never see this, since I'd never hear the end of it." He leaned back in his chair and nodded in approval. Satisfied with his new desktop wallpaper, he went back to his paperwork.
Somewhere else in Europe, Gilbert sneezed.
- THE END -
Author's note: This piece was brought to you by one fine day of watching Hetalia and Football Factory back to back, when a certain someone had the cheek to wonder what it would be like for some of the Hetalia cast to play in the most inane footy game in history and bully me into writing it.
Retarded brother relationships are so fun to write.
Thanks for all the reviews, favourites, PMs and comments. Hope you enjoyed reading this.
