Work Text:
Berlin, June 1940
The corridor was too quiet for comfort; long, pale, and smelling faintly of dust and ink. Gilbert had walked this stretch of hallway a hundred times, but tonight every sound seemed sharper. The hum of the lights, the tap of shoes on tile, even the echo of his own heartbeat.
Feli was coming towards him, head down, papers clutched to his chest. As they got closer Feli looked up and Gilbert caught his eyes.
“Did they give you the pills?” His voice low and urgent.
“Yeah,” Feli said quietly, shuffling uncomfortably.
“Switch them with these.”
A small, amber bottle arced through the air toward Feli. He caught it without thinking, the brown plastic rattling softly in his palm.
Feli leaned closer and asked in a whisper: ”What about Ludwig?”
Gilbert’s jaw tightened. “I’ll… think of something.” He glanced around before continuing. “Whatever you do, don’t give him those.” He motioned to the bottle. “They’re for your epilepsy.”
Feli nodded once, pocketed the bottle, and turned to leave.
Gilbert watched him for a heartbeat, too long, probably. Then he called after him, tone rougher than he meant it to be.
“And don’t you dare take the other ones.”
Feli didn’t look back. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he said jokingly, but Gilbert could hear the bitterness underneath.