II.
Recollection
The procession was subdued and silent, trudging through the snow. The black of their clothes was a stark contrast against the white landscape, all the people following the car. It finally stopped and the casket was brought out. Open casket, despite the drawn sight of Gilbert's face. He had withered in the last few months. But he had surpassed expectations. Gilbert Beilschmidt was a fighter and he had held on for five more years.
"Gilbert could make anyone smile," Elizabeta murmured, face half-concealed behind a black veil. "He was… Rude. And vulgar. But he wanted you to be happy. Not that he'd ever admit it of course." She offered a weak smile and was rewarded by a couple laughs from the crowd. "He just… He was a good man. And for the greater majority of my life, my best friend." She looked down at the ground, twisting a handkerchief through her fingers. "The world is worse off without him."
She looked over at where Roderich stood with their daughter, staring straight ahead of himself, dark circles under his eyes showing that he hadn't been sleeping. He looked faraway, lost in some other world. She hoped it was a world where he was happy, like she had never seen him when they were together, like she had seen him every day with Gilbert.
Ludwig was by the casket now, looking down at his older brother's face. "I never thought… This would come so early." His voice was hoarse and he clenched his fists by his sides. "Gilbert… He was like my second father. When Vati died… Gilbert took over everything. I was practically raised by him." Blue eyes closed and a deep breath was taken. "I've lost the last of my family this week. I can only be glad that he is no longer suffering." He opened his eyes again, hands relaxing. "Ich liebe dich, bruder."
Francis and Antonio went up together, Francis openly wiping his eyes and sobbing in French: "Mon ami… Adieu, adieu, adieu…" They stood looking down at the casket, looking down at their departed friend.
"There's no one like Gilbert…" Antonio murmured, as it was clear Francis currently could not. "You would take him to a bar and ten beers later, he's still only slightly buzzed. He would just sit you down when he knew you had a trouble and listen, nodding and taking notes and going 'mhm, mhm, awesomely interesting, keep talking'. And though his advice was… Sometimes not the best, he always tried his best and wanted things to work out for you." The Spaniard fell silent, lower lip trembling slightly.
Francis rubbed at his eyes. "There was no better friend… From infancy, no better friend… Everyone here should be heartbroken at the loss. Mais… But he called on me just a couple weeks before… Before, you know… And he told me not to worry about him. He died happy." He looked up, eyes still watery. "He knew he was loved."
Very slowly, Roderich went up, holding the hand of his ten year old daughter. For a long moment, he stared down at his husband's face, then his shoulders shook a little and his eyes closed. "I love you, Gilbert…" he whispered. "I love you now, and always…" A single tear ran down his face. "Ruhe in Frieden."
The little girl, who looked so much like her father, leaned over the casket and tucked a single red rose under Gilbert's hand. "I love you, Vati Gilbert," she murmured before stepping back. The pair of them stood there as the casket was closed and lowered in the ground. They stood there as it was covered and the both of them looked at the headstone.
It read: Gilbert Beilschmidt. Awesome husband, father, and brother. January 18, 1975 – February 28, 2005.
This was definitely one of the hardest scenes for me to write. I never kill off people. Never. But there you have it. The last section will be up tomorrow. Review, please?