A/N - First of all, thank you guys so so much for all the lovely reviews you left me last chapter. I didn't expect to get many more than usual but I got loads and it made me feel really happy to hear your feedback! I love you guys, you're all so awesome! Also, I apologise for the German typo in the last chapter. Thanks to the people who pointed that out to me! This chapter is once again beta'd by Amethyst DragonRider, though apparently I can only blame English typos on her now lol. Oh well. And I got two pieces of awesome fanart from the lovely Neko6 from LJ, so you should go click on the link in my bio and go look at it because it's really good. And now, I hope you enjoy the next chapter.
It had been a while since Gilbert had woken up to feel the comfortable warmth of another body sleeping beside him in bed. At first, as he lazily slipped between the realms of consciousness, he couldn't quite process the light weight of the arm curled slackly around his chest, but then he felt Roderich's breath on his shoulder and the events of the day before sparked in his head like a light bulb. The memories sent a pleasant rush of heat from his chest right down to his fingers and toes, and he turned his head to see Roderich lying close beside him, his eyes closed and his expression peaceful. Mariazell lightly tickled Gilbert's nose and he gently blew it away from his face.
Tearing his eyes away from his bed partner, Gilbert glanced over at the clock on the bedside cabinet and was surprised to see that it was already past nine. Although he supposed that it wasn't too strange that he had rested well after the previous evening. The room was still gloomy and Gilbert didn't have to look outside to know that there would be clouds covering the sky. It was as though the brilliant sunshine of yesterday, after being thoroughly ignored by Gilbert in favour of Roderich, had stormed off to sulk somewhere. It was a little known fact (that is, unknown to anyone except Gilbert) that even nature itself was utterly besotted with the embodiment of Prussia, unable to resist the aura of pure awesome that radiated from him at all times. So it was no surprise to Gilbert that the sun was acting like a jealous lover (though no doubt it had been slyly watching through the window as Gilbert had finally tasted the pleasure in Roderich's gasps and breathed in the softness of his thighs), and so Gilbert merely shook his head pityingly and lamented with an appropriate amount of martyrdom that being utterly irresistible had its downsides.
These humble thoughts were interrupted, however, by Roderich sighing in his sleep and nuzzling against Gilbert's shoulder. It was ever so slightly adorable, Gilbert considered, and he placed one of his hands lightly over the one of Roderich's that lay on his chest. The same feeling he had felt yesterday rose up inside him, but now he understood what it meant. A part of him wanted to name it with a four letter word, but the rest of him recoiled; it was enough that he had recognised and acknowledged it, surely, without having to attribute a word to it. No, it was best to take things one tiny baby step at a time. Besides, it was impossible that everything he felt could fit into four letters. Four letters would crumble and splinter to pieces under the strain of it all. Really, it was better for the health of the alphabet if he just understood and left it at that.
There was movement in the bed beside him, and Roderich made a small noise as consciousness tugged at his mind. Gilbert felt eyelashes flutter against his skin, and he lightly stroked the back of Roderich's hand, trailing his fingers down the rest of his arm. Roderich moved his head back slightly so that his face was no longer buried in Gilbert's shoulder.
"Morgen," he murmured sleepily, and Gilbert was struck by how unfazed the other nation was by what was potentially a fairly awkward situation. Not that Gilbert generally found the morning after awkward, but the fact that it was him and Roderich created amazing potential for embarrassment and denial. But Roderich seemed perfectly at ease, as if he woke up next to Gilbert every day.
"Hi there," Gilbert replied, and suddenly realised that he had no idea of how he should act or what he should do. He had never been in this situation and actually cared about the other person before. Well, maybe he had cared a little about some of the people he had slept with, but never like this. This was new and alien territory to him, and the fact that it didn't seem to be for Roderich threw him off kilter even more.
"It's Sunday today," Roderich said suddenly, as if a thought had just occurred to him. Gilbert frowned, failing to comprehend the significance of the day of the week. "It's the last day I have to dress up as a maid," Roderich explained.
"I think you should wear it for an extra day," Gilbert said, hoping that some normal banter would make him feel more at ease. "Since you barely wore it yesterday."
"That wasn't my fault!" Roderich protested. "And, actually, I wore it for a couple of hours, but you slept through it."
"Of course it's your fault," Gilbert argued. "If you hadn't been so intent on providing the she-devil with a weapon of mass destruction, you would never have got sick. Speaking of that…" He rolled over onto his side to face Roderich, whose arm slid off his chest at the movement, and placed his palm on the other nation's forehead. He paused, the uneasy feeling stirring inside him anew. "You're still too warm," he said.
"Well you did say that it was impossible for me to get over a fever in a day," Roderich reminded him. "Naturally I'm not fully better yet. I apologise in advance if I've made you sick too," he added with unusual consideration.
"Didn't I already tell you that I'm too awesome to get sick?" Gilbert replied. He sat up and slid off the bed. "I'm going to have a shower. You stay here and try not to get even more ill." Roderich frowned at him and sat up as well.
"I'm well enough to get up," he protested. "Or," he continued in a lower, more enticing voice, reaching out to pull gently on Gilbert's arm, "we could both stay in bed." Gilbert let himself be tugged down to meet Roderich's lips, lured by the promises in the other nation's tone, but then he felt the unnatural heat radiating from Roderich's skin and pulled back. Roderich looked confused by this unusual show of restraint.
"I'm not going to have sex with a sick person," Gilbert explained. He did have some morals, after all, even if he didn't often choose to apply them.
"You already did," Roderich pointed out.
"I made a mistake," Gilbert said, and was so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely registered the slightly alarmed expression that appeared on Roderich's face at his words. "I'm going for a shower," he repeated, and turned to leave without a single glance back. He didn't want to see the brunet's faintly flushed face and recognise the fever that had caused Roderich to act so strangely the day before. The same fever that had still been affecting him when he had given himself to Gilbert. The same fever that had a hold on him now.
By the time Gilbert was standing under the jet of hot water that beat down almost unnoticed on his skin, there was a hugely uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, as if his organs were being twisted and knotted together. All he could think of was how obviously the fever had been influencing Roderich's mind yesterday; how he hadn't been thinking straight and whether when he became better he would realise that he hadn't really wanted to sleep with Gilbert. Maybe he would think that Gilbert had taken advantage of him, because this was how Gilbert was starting to feel. He hadn't intended to, of course not; he would never do such a thing – not when it had actually meant something to him. Not when he had realised that Roderich maybe possible might just mean something to him.
A sharp smack rang out as he slammed his fist against the tiles. It caused a dull pain to resound through his knuckles but he barely noticed it. Why couldn't he have held back until he was sure that the emotion he had thought he'd seen in Roderich's eyes was genuine? He hadn't intended to try and tempt the brunet into bed yesterday, but there was had been a force like magnetism that had gripped him out of the blue and stirred a need in him so powerful that he couldn't even imagine not giving actions to his emotions. Even now he couldn't bring himself to regret what they had done together, and that made him feel even worse.
When Gilbert finally emerged from the shower, he didn't return to Roderich's room, choosing instead to enter his own bedroom in search of some fresh clothes. Admittedly he was too distressed to bother checking the garments to determine whether or not they were actually clean, but since he didn't immediately wrinkle his nose in disgust and wonder what had died, he deemed them acceptable. As he stepped out again onto the landing, he paused, debating on whether he had the nerve to look at Roderich again before deciding that of course he had the nerve, he always had the nerve to do everything. It was just that he didn't actually want to see Roderich right now. It was so late in the morning that if he didn't have breakfast soon, it would be too close to lunchtime and he would starve. Therefore the only logical thing to do was to head downstairs to the kitchen.
And head to the kitchen he did. The only sounds in the house were his footsteps on the stairs and then on the linoleum of the room he had made such a mess of earlier in the week. He couldn't hear any movement from upstairs and wondered if Roderich had obeyed him and stayed in bed, but then came a faint rush of water from the shower and it became apparent that Roderich was doing no such thing. It wasn't really a surprise – Gilbert never expected Roderich to do anything he said (which was why this week had been such a novelty), much like how Roderich never expected Gilbert to obey anyone. That just wasn't how they worked.
The twisted feeling in Gilbert's gut was so bad by this point that even though he was quite hungry, he could only bring himself to nibble half-heartedly at a slice of toast. He kept thinking that it wasn't supposed to have happened this way; it was supposed to have been right and perfect and happily ever after or however these things generally went. Gilbert wasn't exactly an expert in the field of…this, but he had a basic grasp of what a happy ending was supposed to look like (although he would rather die than ride off into some overrated sunset like a living, breathing cliché. The very idea made him feel physically ill) and this wasn't it. Ludwig had once sat him down and given him a very firm talk about what it meant to be consensual after hearing some of Francis' ideas on the subject. He had been worried that, since Gilbert and Francis were so close, Gilbert might pick up the idea that it was perfectly acceptable to provide Arthur with gratuitous amounts of alcohol for the sole purpose of seducing him when he was too drunk to know any better. (Although Ludwig really needn't have bothered. Arthur had long ago realised that drinking while Francis was in the vicinity was a very stupid thing to do and had appointed Gilbert as official cockblocker to make sure that Francis couldn't have his wicked way, or at least not without a lot of cunning). Therefore, Gilbert knew that having sex with someone who was suffering from a mind-altering fever was Not An OK Thing To Do. And he had done it anyway because he had momentarily forgotten everything except his own desire. Goddamnit.
When Roderich finally entered the kitchen, Gilbert had given up on the toast and was holding it, barely touched and cold, as if he had forgotten that it was even still in his hand. He didn't look round when he heard the slow, hesitant footsteps or even when Roderich addressed him.
"Gilbert, are you all right?" Roderich asked, and Gilbert wondered if it was really that obvious that he wasn't.
"Of course," he replied, trying not to sound as if he were lying. Not too blatantly anyway. He attempted to look as though he were intently fascinated by the toaster, but then Roderich gently touched him on the arm and he had no choice but to turn and look at him. Now that he had realised that Roderich was achingly beautiful, he couldn't un-notice it, and so he felt his heart tugged against his ribcage as if it were trying to move closer to the vision of warm skin and worried violet eyes clothed in the dress that Gilbert had picked out for him, hair still slightly damp from the shower. Gilbert had the sudden unbelievably strong urge to touch him, to hold him, and it was so hard to resist just reaching out and doing so that he felt as though pieces of him were crumbling and splintering until they had broken away completely, shattering as they hit the ground.
"Are you sure?" Roderich asked, and it was painfully obvious that he knew he was being lied to but was giving Gilbert a second chance to answer because he was genuinely concerned. Gilbert watched the chance fly past him and disappear like a ghost.
"Of-" his voice broke a little and he tried to cover it by clearing his throat. "Of course I'm sure; I'd know if I wasn't OK, wouldn't I?" If anything, Roderich looked even more unconvinced now than he had done before, and Gilbert had to tear his eyes away before the guilt showed too clearly in his gaze. He crossed the room silently to throw the remains of his toast into the bin, and as he turned to leave the room, he accidentally caught sight of the expression of confused misery on Roderich's face. The thought that maybe Roderich was starting to realise he had made a mistake flashed instantly in Gilbert's head, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He practically fled from the room.
***
It was quarter to two in the afternoon and Roderich was just about ready to curl up and surrender in his battle against self-pity. At first, he hadn't been able to understand why Gilbert was acting so strangely, but now he was having to try very hard not to acknowledge the very obvious reason that had steadily been getting clearer and clearer throughout the day. The reason he was trying so hard to ignore was the possibly that Gilbert had got what he wanted and had now lost interest in Roderich altogether. Really, Roderich knew that the thought shouldn't upset him so much; after all, he had spent most of his life wishing that Gilbert would just leave him alone, but now that his once-deemed impossible dreams were coming true, the only thing he wanted was to rekindle Gilbert's at times almost obsessive fascination with him. He had never wanted it to end in admittedly amazing but absolutely meaningless sex. All right, he had been in denial about what he really wanted, but he was now ready to consider the possibility that he might actually have feelings for Gilbert. However, if he admitted that to himself now, when Gilbert was using some rather impressive excuses to avoid even being in the same room as him, he had the feeling that a certain vital organ located between his lungs would break.
He had been so sure that there was something more between them; that was what made it so hard to accept that maybe Gilbert had been after nothing more than sex all along. Roderich had taken careful note of how the other nation acted around him (while all the while trying to fool himself into thinking that he wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention as to whether Gilbert was slyly eying him up or not) and he had thought he had recognised emotions that had at first worried him until eventually he had found himself feeling the same way. Recently, he had even found himself taking it for granted that something would eventually happen between them. Well, something had happened all right – it just hadn't led to the other parts of the story that Roderich had been expecting and maybe even hoping for.
And so it was that now, as Roderich walked into the lounge only for Gilbert, who had been sprawled on the couch reading a magazine, to get up immediately and try to leave as casually as possible (and fail dismally), Roderich felt the rejection as a physical twang of pain in his chest.
"You can go home if you're bored of staying here," he said, and it felt as though his voice was coming from miles away, spoken by someone who wasn't trying desperately not to fall apart. Gilbert paused and looked at him in surprise.
"I never said I was bored," he protested.
"You don't have to," Roderich replied, wondering how he could manage to sound so calm when everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. "I'm just reminding you that no one's forcing you to stay here. This was all your idea in the first place, so if you've lost interest, I won't stop you from going home." Something flickered in Gilbert's eyes and he suddenly looked unsure.
"Are you trying to kick me out?" he asked suspiciously.
"Aren't I always?" Roderich replied without thinking. It came naturally to him to make quick, dry comebacks when speaking to Gilbert, and the habit was so ingrained that it was easy to fall back on it now. Maybe if he acted the way he always did, it wouldn't hurt so much to watch everything he had hoped for smash into pieces like the fall of an empire before his eyes.
"Hey, don't forget we had a deal," Gilbert reminded him. "Who would make sure you wore that –" he gestured towards the dress, "-if I left?" For some reason, Gilbert's seemingly light-hearted attitude struck a nerve in Roderich and he felt his pain give way to anger.
"But this isn't about the dress anymore, is it?" he asked quietly, and it was as if he had spoken a forbidden magic word: the kind that wipes whole civilisations off the face of the world in an instant. The atmosphere in the room thickened until Roderich considered it a miracle that neither of them were choking on the tension.
"No," Gilbert said quietly, "I guess it's not." It was as though neither of them wanted to be the first to say it; to shape their mouths around the three letter word that hung in the air between them. There was a silence so full of communication that the air almost collapsed under the weight of it all, and Roderich slowly shook his head.
"Just leave," he said, and turned to exit the room, feeling as though he had had a beautiful flower growing inside him but he had nurtured it too much and not carefully enough, and so now it had died because of his own love for it.
"That's it?" Gilbert demanded behind him, and Roderich paused at the angry tone in the other nation's voice. "We've gone through all this and that's it? I'm not saying I did the right thing, because I didn't, but you don't need to get like this about it." Roderich felt his fists clench involuntarily.
"Like what exactly?" he asked in a cold enough tone that it could have caused winter to shrivel away to a warmer place.
"You shouldn't have to ask," Gilbert said, "Or is fucking someone then going ice queen on their ass such an everyday routine that you don't even realise you're doing it anymore?" Roderich whirled around, his face flushed with rage, meeting Gilbert's acid glare with his own.
"How dare you?" he demanded furiously. "You were the one who started this! If you didn't want it to end this way then you shouldn't have slept with me." Gilbert's lip curled into a sneer.
"And get nothing at all out of this?" he asked, and there was pain in his words, drowned deep beneath the anger. "I don't think so. Not when the only thing you're good for is a fuck."
And there: he had said it, and everything that Roderich had feared was slicing through his skin with teeth and claws and malice; shattering his ribs, puncturing his lungs, reaching for the most precious part of him and ripping, tearing, crushing, mutilating. Breaking.
He was vaguely aware through the pain and the shock and the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes that Gilbert's expression had changed, but he didn't want Gilbert to see him shatter and fall. More than that, he didn't want Gilbert to see him cry, because the levees in his eyes had broken too. Turning, he fled blindly, not knowing where he was going but needing to escape.
"Roderich, wait!" Gilbert was following him, but Roderich didn't stop or look back. Somehow, he reached the back door and flung it open, running out into the garden, but then there were arms around his waist, restraining him, and he was forced to stop.
"Let go of me!" he managed to say through the sobs that were horrifyingly clear in his voice. He ripped Gilbert's arms away from him, but didn't try to run again. What would be the point? Instead, he merely took several steps and stood facing out towards the garden, drab and dull under the cloud-filled sky.
"I didn't mean it," Gilbert said desperately, and the raw panic in his tone was almost a comfort after the harsh anger from before. "I didn't mean any of it! I don't – I didn't – I…shit, Roderich, I don't really think that about you!"
"You don't have to lie to me," Roderich said, and he sounded defeated and hopeless. "At least now I know where I stand, so –"
"No, no, you don't get it!" Gilbert protested, and his voice was becoming increasingly distraught. "I wasn't even angry with you, I was angry with myself and I took it out on you. I didn't mean anything I said, I was just trying to hurt you and it was wrong and I'm – and I'm sorry!" Something about the way he forced out the apology as if it were trying to fight to stay in his throat made Roderich feel slightly calmer. He had never before heard Gilbert make a genuine apology, but the rush of words that had just left his mouth seemed to cut a red hot streak in the air in the shape of guilt and a plea for forgiveness.
"Why were you angry with yourself?" Roderich asked quietly. He raised a hand to wipe the tears from his eyes now that they had ceased their flow, but his glasses were in the way. He took them off and let them fall unceremoniously to the ground, transforming the world around him into a fuzzy blur of dark, muted colours.
"Because you were sick yesterday and you weren't in your right mind," Gilbert tried to explain, and his words were still being forced into the open, tumbling out in fast, ragged breaths. "Then this morning I thought that maybe I'd taken advantage of you in your moment of weakness and I didn't mean to and I didn't want to, but –"
"That's why," Roderich interrupted, "you were avoiding me today?" The pieces were clicking together in his head and he turned round to face Gilbert, hoping to see the truth in his eyes, but he was too far away and his glasses were lying on the grass, so he couldn't see Gilbert's expression.
"Yes," Gilbert admitted. As Roderich stared at him, looking but not quite able to see, a gentle patter of rain started to fall from the sky. A couple of raindrops landed on Roderich's cheeks, but they didn't feel like tears; they felt like the balm that could wash away his grief.
"I thought you were acting that way because you'd only wanted sex and you'd got it," he said, and was suddenly relieved that he couldn't see Gilbert's expression. It made honesty easier than if he had been able to watch the reaction to his words. "I thought you didn't care anymore." At these words, Gilbert came towards him with stilted, halting movements, unsure of how to act in the situation but trying so hard, Roderich knew, because although this was difficult for them both, neither of them were willing to let the other slip through their fingers and vanish like the half-formed memory of a dream.
"That's not true," Gilbert said, denying Roderich's fears, and now he was close enough that Roderich could see him clearly. On his face were all the uncertainties and struggles and suffering that he had been trying to hide, and Roderich suddenly realised that he had already forgiven him without even noticing. He stepped forward and slowly put his arms around Gilbert, kissing him gently and hesitantly on the shoulder.
"I'm glad," he replied softly as Gilbert's arms slid around him uncertainly in return and the rain hit him lightly on his bare legs. "And you don't have to worry," he murmured near Gilbert's ear, "because I knew exactly what I was doing yesterday and I know exactly what I'm doing now." He leaned back and brushed his lips tenderly against Gilbert's, giving him a kiss as gentle as the lyrics of a love song, and Gilbert's arms tightened around him. Somewhere far away, a peal of thunder rumbled gently in the sky. Above them, a cloudburst rained down from Heaven, sending torrents of blessed relief to the earth that would turn the world grey for an afternoon but later, much later, when the sky was blue again, would sink into the ground and help the flowers to grow.