Alone Together

Disclaimer: Everything but the plot and my fictional people and places belong to their respective owners (read: not me).

. . . . .

Gilbert used to think flying would be the most awesome experience in his life. As a young child, he would sit and daydream, as children often do, imagining himself soaring above the birds and flying to whatever destination lay just beyond the horizon. Owning a plane became his greatest ambition, a goal he knew he would never accomplish but tried anyway. His circumstances simply didn't allow for such extravagant futures; he was a man with too little money and too little luck who wouldn't pass the eye exam to begin with.

So, for the first time in his life, Gilbert found himself standing before the entrance to a plane, the briefcase and the guitar case in his arms heavy and grounding. Before he boarded, he took a moment to appreciate the enormity of this moment. Here he was, about to embark on a new journey and fulfill a childhood dream. This was his one-way ticket out of dear old Brandenburg, the place he had grown up and the place he had fallen.

Maybe one day he would have recovered enough to return to his little town, to revisit his old haunts and to see how life has moved on without him. Maybe one day he would have a wife and kids to take with him and a steady and legal job to fund it all. Maybe one day he would walk the streets once more and talk to old friends and business partners. Oh, how surprised everyone would be. The great and terrible Gilbert Beilschmidt, settled down? How preposterous!

It wasn't until the impatient man standing behind Gilbert poked him several times in the back did Gilbert realize that he had been blocking the entrance for quite some time. Not bothering to mumble an apology – For what did he have to apologize for? The other man should learn some patience! – Gilbert hurriedly took in the interior of the plane.

It was small, with one skinny aisle he had to shove his way through. To his left were rows of three seats and to his right were rows of two. As he fumbled around with his bags, trying not to bump into people who were glaring at him regardless of how careful he was, he arrived at his seat. Double-checking the row number above the seats with the 18F printed neatly on his ticket, Gilbert slid awkwardly into the window seat. He carelessly shoved his duffel bag under the seat in front of him, his guitar stored safely in the overhead compartment. He stared out the window at the busy airport runways while he waited for whomever he was sharing a row with, though the flight wasn't that crowded.

About ten minutes later, it became apparent that Gilbert wasn't going to be sharing his row with anybody, which left him with a sense of disappointment, but he shrugged it off and told himself that he didn't need anyone else to share his row because he was awesome enough alone. After all, only the weak cluster.

Soon enough, the flight attendants had gotten into position for the obligatory pre-flight safety procedure demonstrations. Gilbert didn't pay them much attention, eager to get up into the air. The first flight would only be an hour long before they would trade passengers at Copenhagen and take a one hour forty minute break. After that, it was across the Atlantic they would go, flying for a projected eight hours forty minutes until they reached Dulles Airport in Washington D.C. Another break, one hour fifty minutes this time, and then it was only an hour and a half until they reached their final destination: Ottawa, Ontario, the capital of Canada.

Finally, finally, they were speeding down the runway, steadily gaining speed until there was barely any runway left to speed down. Just as Gilbert was sure they were going to go off the end of the pavement, they were airborne. The feeling wasn't nearly as dramatic as Gilbert had dreamed of, but there was a certain significance in watching the world he thought seemed so vast shrink until the buildings were dollhouses and then specks so tiny they were irrelevant in the grand scheme of the universe.

Gilbert strained to see out the window with the sun in his eyes, to have one last glimpse of his old life. He got a small glance of buildings that could be anything and anywhere, and then the plane was tilting, turning northwest towards Denmark. With no neighbors to talk to, and nothing to read but a flight magazine filled with overpriced gadgets that would only ever serve as expensive dust collectors, Gilbert decided that a quick nap would probably do him some good. He really hadn't gotten much chance to sleep last night, what with all the final preparations that he left wait until the very final moment. After readjusting the air vent above him so that the cold air wouldn't shoot directly onto his face, he leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and drifted off into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Gilbert was woken again by the voice of the pilot informing the passengers that they were going to be arriving at Copenhagen in approximately fifteen minutes. Attendants came around prompting the passengers to return their trays to their upright and locked position and prepare for landing. Gilbert peered out his window once more, but didn't see much beyond some wispy clouds and ocean waters. If he twisted and put his face uncomfortably close to the dirty plastic, he could see slowly approaching land that had to be Denmark.

He watched as the land grew closer and closer. Doll-sized buildings steadily grew and rushed towards them. Soon enough, they were gliding above the runway before landing with a harsh bump. Gilbert gathered up his bags before he exited the plane and entered into the Copenhagen airport. His connecting flight's gate was pretty close by, and he did have an hour and ten minutes before boarding started, so he decided to wander around for a bit. The airport was crowded and bustling with rushed activity, so he wouldn't go far, just in case he got lost or something unawesome shit like that happened.

He wandered over to the food court and got himself a quick snack. For a little while, he amused himself with the various vendors near his terminal. Gilbert was actually polylingual, and took great joy in speaking some obscure language to trick the unfortunate employees into thinking he couldn't understand their language.

After a bit, though, that became kind of repetitive, so, grabbing a coffee at the nearest stand, he settled down in a chair and observed the hordes of people.

Most people were speaking Danish, of course, and Gilbert listened in, happy that he could put his multilingual talents to use in an environment that wasn't illegal. He could pick out snippets of other languages thrown in as well. He smiled, letting the words flow over him. He might not seem like the kind of person to appreciate these things, but Gilbert had a deep respect and interest in history and languages.

He really was a lot smarter than people expected, as he looked like a dropout who strayed to the wrong side of the law, but even though he did walk on the illegal side, it was only because it was necessary. It did not mean he was a dropout, and it certainly did not mean he was stupid. Life on the streets did require some wisdom to survive, and Gilbert prided himself for being one of the wisest.

A boarding call for his plane jerked him out of his reverie, and he hauled himself out of his chair to stand in line. One verified plane ticket later, and he was back in a new seat, settled for a much longer flight.

The plane was significantly larger than the last one. Actually, in Gilbert's opinion, it was fucking huge. An Airbus A340, it had three sections of seats. There was a section on each side of the aircraft containing rows of two seats across. The middle section, however, had rows that contained two, three, or four seats across. This time, though, he didn't get anything close to a window seat; instead, he sat in the awkward middle section, though he was fortunate enough to get the end seat.

The huge interior of the plane did make sense. More people boarded the plane this time around, and Gilbert found the two other seats in his row were soon occupied.

"Hey," Gilbert greeted his neighbors with a grin, "I'm Gilbert."

The man beside him turned from his companion, who was sitting on the other side of him, and beamed back at him. He had blond hair and blue eyes, much like his brother's, but he was obviously much more laid back than Ludwig could ever be.

"Hey! I'm Matthias. Nice to meet you." Matthias held out his hand for Gilbert to shake. "And this here is Norge," he continued, elbowing the stoic man to his right.

"Norge" sighed. "My name is actually Lukas," he corrected, also shaking Gilbert's hand, "I don't know why he insists on calling me by my birth country."

Gilbert was intrigued. Norway was a beautiful country with an equally beautiful language. "Oh? You're from Norway?"

Lukas nodded. "Matthias dragged me here on a trip to visit some of his relatives who apparently wanted to meet me."

"He barely got through the month without strangling me," Matthias added.

Gilbert wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he settled with, "So you guys live in Canada?" he asked, even though it was kind of a given, considering they were flying an airline called Air Canada.

"Yeah, in a little development in the very southern part of Ottawa."

Gilbert hummed in acknowledgement. "I'm not sure where I'm going yet. Maybe some angel'll pick me up off the street."

Matthias raised an eyebrow. "Or a policeman will throw you in jail. Dude, why're you flying to another country with nowhere to stay planned out? That's pretty damn stupid, in my opinion."

Gilbert sighed slightly. "It's a long story, but basically, I just needed far away from my shitty wreck called a house."

Matthias peered at him in concern. "Do you need a place to stay? Norge and my place is open if you need it," he offered as Lukas elbowed him with a hissed, "We have enough people living in our house."

"Nah," Gilbert said, shaking his head, "I'll find somewhere, a motel or something. It'll be fine."

Matthias snorted a little in disbelief, but let the matter drop. The trio soon fell into a comfortable silence, during which Gilbert drifted off to sleep again.

When he came back to consciousness, flight attendants were coming around with carts of refreshments. Gilbert flipped through the complementary flight magazine to see what they had to order. He was pleased to see that they offered some alcoholic beverages. Though the drinks were probably some cheap, shitty brand, Gilbert order a beer to celebrate his escape from Germany and from his past. Of course, he would have a proper celebratory drink later, but for now, this would do.

One transatlantic flight and one quick hop north later, Gilbert was standing outside of the airport in Ottawa, his bags on the ground beside him. He was alone, as Matthias and Lukas had gotten a ride home from an intimidating monster of a man. It was almost seven o'clock, and Gilbert was exhausted. Who knew that sitting on an airplane could be so tiring? He gazed blearily around and was hit with the sudden and grounding realization that he had no fucking idea where he was.

Shrugging, he took a shuttle bus away from the airport, a bundle of brochures jammed in his pocket. Maybe the maps on them would help him out. Once he was off the bus, he picked a random direction and started walking.

Two hours later, he conceded to himself that the plan seemed to work out better in his head. By now, it was past dark, and his limbs felt like they were going to give out on him as jet lag caught up with him. Sighing, he made his way over to a small park in a last ditch attempt to find shelter, as there seemed to be no hotels nearby.

He set up camp under the jungle gym and hoped he wouldn't be woken by noisy kids. He quickly drifted off into a deep slumber.

. . . . .

Insomnia is a bitch, Matthew decided as he drove aimlessly around town. He guessed he was lucky that he only experienced it when he was really stressed or worried or, occasionally, for no reason whatsoever. Whenever that happened, he would usually do as he was now, drive or walk around and revel in the way the world was so different after the sun went to sleep. Everything was louder and quieter at the same time, the darkness emphasizing each and every noise and movement.

Matthew dimly noted that a police car was parked beside a children's playground. He squinted at the clock on his dash; it was barely after three in the morning.

It's probably a drunk, he thought, proud of his meager detective abilities.

He slowed as he went past the duo, trying to get a better view of what was going on. His headlights caught a bit of white, and he heard some arguing. Matthew slowed even further as he strained to see, even though he knew it was none of his business. Maybe it was because he got a little delirious whenever he got his occasional bout of insomnia, nothing serious, really, but he parked along the curb a few yards ahead of the police car.

Neither of the men noticed as he got out and started walking towards them as they continued arguing. In the dim of the streetlights, Matthew was greeted with the view of the most interesting man he had ever seen. (And he could tell you, he'd seen a lot of interesting men with the company that his brother would keep.)

The man was tall, about the same height as himself, maybe give or take a few centimeters, and pale. Smooth muscles rippled slightly under his skin as he gestured wildly, trying to prove some point or other. But the most striking thing about him were his eyes. They were red with hints of purple, distinguishable even in the dark of the early morning, and far deeper than one would expect eyes like that to be. They were eyes that had seen a lot of things, probably of a darker nature.

Matthew would blame it on the lateness of the night and pity for the poor officer, but in all truthfulness, it was the man's eyes that prompted him to walk up to the officer and enter into their conversation. Matthew took note of the bags gathered around the man's feet as he asked, "What's the matter?"

The officer simply glared at Matthew for interrupting. He was obviously irritated and tired and definitely not in the mood to deal with anybody.

Before the officer could tell Matthew off, the other man cut in, "I was just trying to find a place to stay. It isn't my fault this place is so goddamned confusing." His accent was distinctly German of some kind, Matthew noted with interest.

Curiosity prickled the back of his mind, and Matthew felt the words come out of his mouth before he had any mind to stop them. "Why didn't you just call me for directions?" A name on the man's guitar case proclaimed him as Gilbert. "God, Gil, you didn't have to act like some common vagrant. You did put me in your contacts, didn't you?"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, obviously unused to random people sticking up for him. "Well... you see, my phone is kind of dead. I thought you would pick me up at the airport, but instead you left me there to fend for myself."

Matthew rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "Whatever, why don't you just come back to my place for the night before we get you settled, okay?"

Gilbert hesitated, just for a moment, before resigning. "Sure. Is that alright with you, Officer?"

The policeman didn't look too convinced, but he left them go, with a simple, "Just, no more sleeping in public parks or I'm not letting you go free again."

Gilbert shot him an "okay" sign, and Matthew mentally sighed at the double meaning (Gilbert was German after all…). As if reading his thoughts, Gilbert smirked at Matthew before leaning down to grab his stuff. The officer slammed his cruiser's door and drove away. Gilbert turned to Matthew. "Thanks, dude. I won't hold you up any longer."

Matthew was surprised. "Hey, I really meant it when I ask you to come with me. You obviously need somewhere to stay, and I'm not feeling inclined to bail you out again."

"How do I know you're not a serial killer or something? Or I'm not some wanted criminal?"

"Hmm… well I don't really. I guess we'll just have to trust each other. I'm at a motel for the night before I move into my new place tomorrow, so it's not like you'll be inside my house." The pale man scrunched up his nose in consideration until Matthew turned and started walking away as he added, "Unless you want to stay out here. You wouldn't want a rabid polar bear coming to eat you, would you?"

"There are no rabid polar wandering southern Ottawa," Gilbert muttered, but, to Matthew, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. Smiling softly to himself, Matthew continued walking away.

"You never know… This is Canada, after all."

Gilbert scoffed, but followed his savior anyway. Rabid polar bears might not be a problem here in the suburbs, but other rabid animals might be. Or rabid policemen.

. . . . .

A/N: Hey, guys! I hope you guys like the story so far. I kinda have it planned out, but it still will take a while, probably. I'm not good at updating things on time…

Well, please review! Suggestions, questions, and criticism are welcome (though I hope there's not a lot of that last bit…).

Until next time~