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October 1783
Gilbert could hardly believe it when the surrender came and Alfred, this lanky kid who could barely fire a musket just a few years ago, had gained independence. Of course, his own training of Alfred and his closest troops, plus some great diplomatic measures of getting French soldiers and ships, had helped. Gilbert was proud of this now new nation. The United States of America. He hoped it would last.
Just the other night, Alfred had come by his temporary housing, drunk and whooping like he didn’t know any better. And maybe he didn’t. He’d never been his own country. And, across the ocean, he was largely alone. He had his brother, Mathieu, and there was a neighbor to the south that Antonio had a tight hold on, but it wasn’t like being in Europe. Not where many had been around for over a millennia at this point. They just knew how to act proper. Gilbert had failed to instill this in Alfred. But, even now, sitting in his study, quill in hand to send a letter to his King, Gilbert found the youthfulness of Alfred sweet. He reminded him of Holy Rome. If Holy Rome was ever able to get out from under the thumb of Austria…
Dipping the quill, Gilbert started in on a new letter. He was to leave to return to Prussia in a fortnight. He would leave his final thoughts in a letter to Alfred, how he was alone out here, how he would be scrutinized now. How independence was a foreign concept but he’s done it. Now was the time to celebrate. Tomorrow? Tomorrow he would learn to govern. And Gilbert would not be able to help him. He should take guidance from Francis. While a monarchy, France would be the United States’ closest ally in Europe. Although Gilbert would pass on these words of wisdom: It was better to keep a tight circle of trusted friends than be a friend to everyone.
Once he was done with his letter to Alfred, he looked out the window at the setting sun, and gave a small hum. What was freedom? Not like he was subjugated, but Ludovic… His little older brother was a perpetual child. Unlike Alfred, who he had seen grow physically as the war had gone on, Ludovic stayed small and meek. It wasn’t fair. Maybe… Maybe he could help his brother to grow. Maybe his own lesson here in the New World could be brought back to Europe, to Holy Rome. Maybe he could help his brother grow…
Summer 1864
Dear Alfred,
News of your ongoing internal conflict has reached me. I apologize that I cannot be there for you, nor offer any solace. Upon the end of the war with Napoleon, I disappeared from my duties at large. I am still in contact with the royal family of Prussia, but I am also working behind the scenes to do something I wished to have done a long time ago: I wish to unite the German kingdoms into one German Empire. And I have the ability to do so.
I don’t recall if I ever told you about Ludovic, the representative of the Holy Roman Empire. He was my elder brother. Francis saw to his destruction in 1806 and, ever since then, I have been planning. These plans led me to an orphanage in the Alsace region where I stumbled upon a young boy. As luck would have it, I get a second chance at raising Ludovic, this time as my protege. His name is now Ludwig. I can tell from the nightmares that he is Ludovic reborn. Though he seemingly has no waking recollections of who he used to be.
I have you to thank for this. This plan to unite into a German empire. Had it not been your war against England, I might never have conceived of such a notion. But I have. It will take more time. The kingdoms are stubborn, but not as stubborn as me. I will not go into my plans. I would like you to remember me as a firm but just mentor. There is no need for you to learn otherwise.
With the news of Ludwig, can we keep that between us? I am raising him outside of the courts until I know he’s ready to shoulder what is to come. Again, inspired by you.
I welcome your coming letter that says you have finished your internal war and have come back stronger for it.
Your friend,
Gilbert M. Beilschmidt
January 1871
Dear Alfred,
I did it. I succeeded in uniting the kingdoms. In three days, Ludwig will make his debut as the German Empire. I continue to be amazed at his growth. Already, he is the size you were when you became a country. He’s not a small child anymore. I am a proud brother. I am heartened by your last letter that you continue to expand across the continent. I am hoping to meet again in the coming years, once Germany is stable and rebellion is quashed.
All of this seems to be a dream turned reality. Is this how you felt that fateful day of the final surrender? I recall your many days of celebration, of the alcohol flowing and you passing out on my couch for days on end. Whooping and cheering before you got to work.
I must admit, in that time, I thought you uncouth. However, seeing Ludwig be all stoic and unsmiling at his coming coronation, I wonder if perhaps you had the right reaction. I must wonder if I’ve been more firm than familial these last few decades raising the boy. He has a strong head on his shoulders. He will be everything I ever dreamed of for Ludovic. I feel a sense of trepidation, however, as the coronation comes closer. Should I have been more fair? Taught him more philosophy and classics? Time will tell. With the trepidation is a surge of pride for what he is to become.
I will send a letter again in the summer. Perhaps, by then, you can take a break and come to Germany and meet Ludwig. I believe you two would be fast friends. And he sorely needs more friends. I believe your energetic ways would be beneficial to his social growth.
I await your letter affirming a friendly trip this summer.
Your friend,
Gilbert M. Beilschmidt
Autumn 1925
Gilbert wiped sweat off his brow as the unusual warmth of the day seeped into his body. The windows of the Stag offices were open, but he couldn’t shake the heat. It was mid-day and he was reviewing the reparation payments he’d forced Ludwig to agree to after the end of the Great War. It was causing so much financial strife, but there was peace.
Ludwig had lost some weight and muscle since 1918, but he was still a formidable opponent at meetings. Tall with broad shoulders. He now slicked his hair back, making him look older. Gilbert wondered if this was because he didn’t think he was taken seriously enough. Which was a possibility.
He and Ludwig lived in the mansion together, joined by Berlin and an ever revolving set of states. They were all struggling. But German unity was stronger than ever it seemed. Except in Bavaria. As usual, Konrad was stirring the pot, calling for his own, independent, state. Even though he needed Germany as much as the rest of them did.
Gilbert put his pen down and packed up his papers into his briefcase. As a state of Germany himself, Gilbert did his best to support his brother, which was why he was a permanent fixture at the Stag and the mansion.
Today, though, he was leaving work early to meet with his former protege who had turned the tide in the Great War.
He and Alfred had been exchanging letters every few months for well over a century now. Though they had become scarce since 1914. So it had surprised Gilbert to receive a telegram from his friend saying he was in Berlin and wanted to meet up. It wasn’t a diplomatic mission, and he hadn’t shared with Ludwig that Alfred was in the city, he’d just told his secretary he was leaving and left it at that.
Alfred had picked a family run restaurant near downtown to eat. Gilbert was familiar with it. It had been around for a few generations at this point. It had great German food and somehow it was surviving these trials they were under.
It wasn’t hard to find the American when he arrived. He had grown even more since 1920, which was the last time he’d seen him.
For a moment, he looked over the blond, wondering what was going on to be meeting like this. He already had a coffee and bread at the table. And he was reading a book while waiting for Gilbert to join him. He looked smart in his suit and his hair was tamed compared to the last time he’d seen him.
Going to the table, Gilbert put on one of his more cocky smiles and took a seat across from his protege. “Alfred Jones in the flesh. You didn’t give much information in your telegram. Did you miss me?” He greeted in his accented English.
Alfred looked up, wide eyed for a moment, before there was a small flush to his cheeks like he’d been caught looking at girls. Then he put a mark in his book and closed it.
“Was it that obvious?” He didn’t seem so sure of that question and then looked anywhere other than Gilbert. It was as if he was catching up to his wild thoughts. “It’s been, what, five years since we last met? You’re looking good for someone who started, and lost, a war that included the entire world.” Alfred seemed to settle on as his own form of greeting.
The cocky smile left Gilbert’s face and he scowled for a moment. “Roderich started it and he barely got into trouble. Please tell me this isn’t why you’re here. We’re making our payments. We’re starving our people and working them to the bone. If that’s all you had to say, I will take my leave.” And he moved to stand once again, even though he had just been seated.
Sky blue eyes went wide, and a large hand reached out to him. “No! I’m sorry. I’m not sure I know how to talk to you anymore. I’m here as a friend. Please, stay.”
Gilbert thought for a moment before nodding and retaking his seat. “I could tell. You haven’t responded to my letters in a year.” He tried to not sound hurt, but he was hurt. Certainly they hadn’t strained their friendship that much…
Alfred, for his part, gave a guilty look. “Things have been busy at home. And the people still distrust Germany. It’s difficult to separate my own feelings from the feelings of the people. I know you understand that. You’re the one who warned me about how the pull could be.”
And, the thing was, that Gilbert did understand the predicament. Even with his plans for a German Empire, he’d been swayed by the will of the people, and he saw Ludwig swayed differently than himself. It worried Gilbert. He was uncertain for the future. But he would do anything he needed to do to ensure the survival of Germany.
“I did warn you. So, tell me, what have you been up to since our last letter? We can share stories of home together.”
And then they would spend the remainder of the afternoon swapping stories, and Gilbert would return home, a funny feeling in his stomach and thoughts of a certain blond on his mind.
February 1947
It had been decreed and the days were ticking down. Prussia would officially cease to exist, though it hadn’t existed since 1933. This was the Allies’ final punishment. Gilbert knew his death was impending. He had barely healed in the nearly two years since the war had ended in Europe. They’d kept him separate from Ludwig. Prussia was the big bad guy. Hell, Prussia had been the Big Bad of Europe for centuries now. Constantly at war. Of course he would raise Germany to be a warmonger as well.
The punishment would have been handed to Ludwig if Gilbert hadn’t seen his days nearing their end. Upon the fall of Berlin, he’d made sure to play up the bad guy angle. Ludwig would survive this in his stead. And the Allies were more than happy to believe him over the “impressionable” Ludwig. Good. That ensured German survival.
Gilbert was writing the final letters in his cell when he heard the door unlock. Looking up, he saw the Golden Boy himself, Alfred F. Jones, walk in. The Prussian quickly added a paper on top of the one he was writing on. Which was his last letter. Going to Alfred.
“Alfred? Or the United States?” He asked firmly.
“Alfred. Just Alfred.” Came a tired reply and Gilbert motioned for him to sit.
“You… Look like someone bombed you.”
“Well I was bombed, thank you. Königsberg and Berlin were bombed. And I felt that pain. I still feel that pain. Thanks for pointing that out.” He meant to have a rude tone, but he just sounded tired. He’d done and seen enough. He was ready to die. Maybe Alfred would put him out of his misery as the new leader of the free world.
Alfred, for his part, looked like he felt bad. Then his eyes drifted to the desk Gilbert was at. “Journal entries?” He asked cautiously.
“Something like that. What can I do for you, Alfred?”
“I came to see if you would reconsider your position.”
“My position?” A white brow raised.
Alfred nodded, so sure of himself. “Let Ludwig take the fall. I know this war was more him than you. Say it was his idea, that you followed along because he had you by the throat. There’s no need to die for him.”
Gilbert gave a rueful laugh and he shook his head. “Now what kind of example would I be, Mr. Jones, if I let you talk me into that? No, I will not let him take the fall for this. But… could you do something for me?” He asked, touching the pile of letters, “keep him safe? Help him grow, learn, thrive in this new world you’re all building. He’s going to be without me. This will be my last failure to him.”
Alfred looked for a moment like he was going to argue, to fight, but then he nodded with watery eyes. “I can do that, as a final gift to you, Gilbert. I’ll take care of him.”
“Thank you. Now, please leave. I need to finish my final entries and I don’t need you seeing what I have to say.”
And then he turned away, not wanting to watch Alfred go for the final time. It crushed him. He might have given into the request if Alfred had fought him on this. But no, he heard the sound of Alfred getting up and then there was a pause when the door opened, and then there was a final click of the door and click of the lock and Gilbert knew he was alone. And that’s when he felt the tears for the first time in a long time.
June 1985
It was hot out in East Berlin. The sun was beating down on Gilbert as he stood there, thinking about what had transpired just two days before. Where he had declared himself the real Germany. Did he believe it? No. But Ivan had been watching. Ivan had been watching very carefully these last few years. Gilbert knew things were going to crumble, it was only a matter of time. Oh, but the look on Ludwig’s face when he’d called the blond a fake, a poser, a dog to the West…
Which had set off Alfred. The former Prussian had watched, fascinated by how the American had defended Germany. Did that final conversation between them all those years ago mean something? The thought made Gilbert’s stomach flutter. Stupid American, making him weak like that. It was weird, in all honesty. He didn’t do the whole “butterflies in stomach, knees weak” thing. Maybe it was simply because Alfred was like the sun, and he’d been defending Gilbert’s brother from the lies Gilbert had spread.
Finally, he moved, checking his watch. This was the change-over he’d been waiting for. His long legs carried him effortlessly through the crowd. He used the crowd in case he had a tail. No need to get caught after the last fifteen years of working this hard. Once he was certain he was in the clear, he slipped down an alley, disappearing into a door that was only open for a moment before it closed behind him.
Tomas waited for him. A human on the right side of history. No one would ever know as long as they didn’t get caught.
“Are you ready?” Gilbert asked.
“We are. All of us are.” Tomas had been skeptical of Gilbert. They’d known each other for a few years, and only one of them aged. Gilbert said it was because he stayed out of the sun. Tomas was not convinced. But, today was the day. The day Tomas and his family, along with three other families, would cross into freedom. They’d been working on carving out a section in the basement that led to some old tunnels, tunnels Gilbert didn't explain how he knew they were there. And Tomas eventually trusted him after enough safe crossings.
“Good. I arrived without a trailer. Let’s get you to the other side safe, okay?” Gilbert smiled and they opened a secret hatch. In they went. Tomas had a few flashlights for them to use and off they went down the passage. Less than a minute later, they came into a room with about twenty people in it. More than Gilbert had expected.
“Were any of you followed?” He inquired. No one spoke, but wide, scared eyes, looked at him as they all shook their heads. “Alright. We’ve been using this passage for a few years now. This will be the last time this one is used. Tomas can lead you through, I’ll be staying behind.” Gilbert explained.
That had been a conversation he and Tomas had had a few weeks ago. Tomas said Gilbert deserved freedom. Gilbert said not while he still had work to do. And all of this under the nose of Ivan. There had been a few close calls, but Gilbert had largely been left to his own devices in East Berlin. This would be fine.
What he hadn’t explained was the method in which he would conceal the tunnel if they were caught before he could clear out. The hatch hiding the entrance was hard to find. But, should it be found, he had the ability to make it crumble. He would probably do that anyway. No need for things to lead back here.
“Gilbert, please, reconsider. Think of all you have done.” Tomas protested one last time.
“No. It’s because of all I’ve done that I continue to do this and stay behind. Remember, don’t turn back, no matter what you hear.”
Tomas nodded and a few minutes later, everyone was gone from the room. Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief and headed back to the basement.
Something was eating away at his mind. He thought back to Alfred and his fierce defense of Ludwig. That had been fine. What was it that was eating away at him?...
Coming back to the hatch, he pulled over a box and pulled out some explosives. He had smuggled them here before that last world meeting. His plan was working out. Gilbert placed them strategically and started unwinding the cord so he could get to a safe place and then… KABOOM.
As he made his way backwards to the stairs, there was… a sound. And he knew he wasn’t alone.
“My little rabbit. What do you have?” Oh that voice was way too sweet.
“Ivan… What brings you to East Berlin? I thought you were in Moscow…” There was no use in hiding the cord and detonator, Ivan had surely seen it.
“That was the plan. Until a little birdie told me my rabbit was planning on hopping away.”
Gilbert turned to look at Ivan, a grin on his face. “Does it look like I’m running? No, I’m staying put.” He affirmed.
Ivan stepped forward, purple eyes glinting in the dull light coming in through the basement windows.
Gilbert stepped back and shook his head. “No. You stay back.”
“Or what, little rabbit?”
“Or I-” He had no real answer. If Ivan wanted to take him, he would. The Soviet Union was vast, and the representative of the Union was also vast, and strong, and had a mean streak like a toddler.
“Come home. Tolys misses you-” Which was a lie. They’d been off and on fighting for centuries. “Felyks-” Gilbert just rolled his eyes at the mention of his actual friend. Sure, he’d decimated Poland a time or two, but they’d gotten close since becoming Soviet enclaves.
“Okay Ivan… Just let me do one thing first…” And, with a grin that would surely lead to punishment later, he activated the detonator, and the force of the explosion threw them all. Gilbert probably would have been fine if he hadn’t been so close to the explosion. Something hit his head and then his world went black. His last thoughts in the second it took to pass out were about Ludwig… And Alfred, one of the few constants of his past.
October 15, 1992
It was all quiet in the estate in Berlin. The Fest was over, autumn had fully set in, and Ludwig was enjoying a morning coffee while Roderich sat across from him, reading the paper. It was very domestic, something Ludwig wasn’t sure he’d get until Reunification had happened. A lot had happened after that day to get to where they were now.
Gilbert had come home. A shell of a man, really. He didn’t talk about what happened after that meeting in 1985. Any time there was a question about his disappearance from the world stage, he clammed up, and the subject changed.
Within two months of 3 October, Gilbert disappeared, but not before destroying a few things in a rage. Ludwig had been nervous, maybe even scared. He made some calls. No one in Europe knew where the former Prussian was. A week later, after nerves were far beyond rattled, a call came from Jett. Apparently, Gilbert had shown up in Sydney. There were many promises to keep him safe. Jett would house him as long as he wanted to be there.
Almost an entire year passed before two calls came. One from Jett, saying Gilbert was on the move and had been for a few days. And, another, from Roderich saying a certain albino warmonger had turned up in Vienna.
And now, ten months later, they were all in Berlin. With a changed Gilbert and an Austrian who fretted over Ludwig for working too much. And that’s how, whatever they were now, had started.
“When does Alfred arrive?” Roderich asked after having a sip of his own, very sweet, coffee.
“This afternoon.”
Roderich nodded and folded the paper down, smoothing it out on the table as he set it down. He had a serious face on, which made Ludwig focus on him, rather than the talk-radio on in the background.
“Does Gilbert know he’s staying here?”
“No. They’ve always been friendly…”
“They have been. But think of the last few decades. They haven’t spoken in a long time. Is it wise to spring this on Gilbert?”
Ludwig hummed, thinking. He’d been torn about it, in all honesty. He’d told Gilbert that Alfred was visiting, and his guardian just nodded and said he’d have a letter for him by the time he arrived. As far as the German knew, their letter correspondence had stopped in 1939. What an odd thing to do rather than sit and have a conversation. But, this was Gilbert, and they didn’t know who he was anymore. Before everything happened, he’d have been the life of the party. Now? He was much more quiet, on edge, and Ludwig wished he could help.
A gentle clearing of Roderich’s throat made Ludwig sigh softly.
“I’m worried that if I tell him, he’ll disappear again. He still might. But maybe he can see Alfred first, you know?”
Roderich gave a small, understanding smile, and nodded. “You care for Gilbert.”
“Of course I do.”
“I’m going to start preparing food for the arrival of the man who never stops eating.” Roderich said. He seemed to be thinking about… something. Ludwig was no good at reading the Austrian. He never had been.
Over the next few hours, Roderich prepared and cooked food, and Ludwig finished up on some paperwork. Only the Austrian got to see Gilbert seemingly materialize into the kitchen to get coffee and steal a few finger sandwiches before he was off again. That was something they all noticed: how quietly Gilbert moved. More than once, Roderich had threatened to put bells on the Prussian. He’d just get a cackle and then silence as Gilbert moved on.
At just after 15:00, there was a knock at the door, and then a few moments later, the golden ray of sunshine that was Alfred came into the kitchen, followed by Ludwig.
“Howdy!” A too-loud greeting.
“Alfred, it is good to see you again. There is food for you to have.” Roderich said, going to the fridge to pull out the spread of sandwiches.
“Dude. Thank you! I haven’t eaten since I got on the plane in the middle of the night. You’re a life-saver, Roddy!” And he grabbed a sandwich to eat, either not realizing - or ignoring - the frown cast his way for the nickname.
After some food, Alfred was shown to his room by Ludwig. It was spacious and soft bedding was used. This was a particularly American room, with an imported bed and everything. Alfred said he’d clean up and join them soon for fun and games.
It was as Ludwig was moving through the sprawling estate that Gilbert appeared.
“Is Alfred staying here?” He asked, a bit accusatory.
“Ack- Yes- I should have told you.”
Gilbert pursed his lips and then shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll meet you downstairs soon.” A promise to join in on the fun Ludwig assumed.
As they parted ways, Ludwig noticed a letter in Gilbert’s hand, and he almost asked about it but didn’t. Whatever kept Gilbert happy and home was all that mattered. And he didn’t have to worry about some letter… Right?…
December 31, 1999
Alfred was sitting in his bunker. He knew everything would be fine, but there were still nerves about things changing over into a new century. How calamity would strike and things would go “boom”.Not that it would last. Not with how he healed.
It had been a while since he’d been down here. It was more of a museum of things he cared to keep. Jackets from the early days, books, a desk that was older than Clinton. And, on a shelf, a box. It was a special box. It seemed inconspicuous, but it held probably the most important things Alfred had, and those were centuries worth of letters from Gilbert. And, tonight, Alfred was going to reread them.
Settling at his desk with the box, he put on special gloves, and started through the letters.
Gilbert’s neat, curvy lettering. His signature looked fine and dainty even though the man himself was a fearsome warrior. At least he had been at the time.
Alfred had never not read a letter, but some he’d never responded to, or hadn’t had the chance. One
of those was that damn letter from 1947. The letter that supported Alfred. The letter that told the truth of it all. The letter that crushed his heart because damn Gilbert, and damn Ludwig for what happened. And then damn Gilbert again for taking the fall for his brother. Alfred didn’t get a letter again after that until 1992. When he visited for a week. He’d been given the letter and then Gilbert didn’t return to the house.
That letter had been an apology for asking so much of Alfred. An apology for putting pressure on him to save Ludwig. And a thank you for rising to the challenge and becoming such a great man.
Alfred had wanted to talk with Gilbert about it. But he didn’t get to in person. He’d left his own letter behind. And then they had started writing these letters again. And those were different. They were lighter. Especially as his friend started coming back out of whatever shell he had been in.
The last letter had come in to the American in time for Christmas. It had polaroids of life in Germany. Of Ludwig and Roderich cooking together. Of the cats Gilbert had adopted. Of his new horse that Saxony, the old man he was, bred for him. Alfred smiled seeing them and they would be saved elsewhere for
him to enjoy.
Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, Alfred started in on the first letter of the new century. Or, it would be, after he mailed it.
Dear Gilbert,
My man. My dude. My homeslice. You hate that slang so I thought I’d get it out of the way before I riddled the letter with it. Anything to get you to smile and scold me. This will be the first letter of the new century. I’m feeling hopeful, even as I sit in my bunker for the end of the world. Ha ha! I’m kidding.
You know, you could call me. I know I could call you more frequently. But letters are soooo 20th century! Our governments would pay that bill for us! Even though I know you’re loaded. And so am I, let’s be real. Ludwig did you a solid knowing you’d come back someday. He invested what he could and man, the stock market is flourishing! But enough about money. I’m just saying we can afford to talk on the phone more.
So, here’s the deal. I have a massive crush on you. I want to see how this friendship can grow, you know? So, I have a proposal. I spend time in Germany, letting you show me around, and you come to the States, and I show you around. It would be killer! We could come up with themes for visiting! Like, I take you bowling every night of a trip, and you take me to your favorite restaurants that I promise not to eat their entire stock of food! What do you say? Maybe you could tell me by giving me a call?
I await your next contact.
Faithfully yours,
Alfred F. Jones
January 20, 2009
It was cold that morning but Gilbert couldn’t be happier to be cold as he sat next to Ludwig as a guest to this historic inauguration. Alfred had said he wasn’t allowed to pick favorite candidates or presidents, but Alfred had called Gilbert hours after Obama had been elected, cheering and whooping and promising things would get better. And then, not long after, three tickets to the inauguration showed up. Roderich, Ludwig, and himself would be there to watch this happen.
And it had happened so gloriously. What a show of democracy! Gilbert had hung back, watching the crowds disperse, watching Alfred as he mingled. And then their eyes had locked, and Alfred seemed to glow more as he excused himself from the conversation and came over to Gilbert.
“Hey! Where are Ludwig and Roderich?”
“Roderich was cold so they went in.”
“Why didn’t you? You look like you’re freezing!” Alfred took off his gloves, offering them to Gilbert.
Gilbert laughed, pulling them on, wondering what it would be like to hold Alfred’s hand. “My knight in shining armor~” A light flirt. Their cheeks were already red enough a blush wouldn’t be noticed.
Alfred just gave him a cricked smile and shrugged. “Only for you. I’d let the others freeze.”
“Alfred!” A laugh and Gilbert moved in closer, feeling the heat Alfred radiated even in the summer.
“What?! It’s true!” Another laugh from the American. “Hey. Want to go to the Inaugural Ball with me?”
The question took Gilbert aback. A ball? With Alfred? It was hard not to show how giddy he was. “You’re lucky that I was told to bring a tuxedo. As a just in case. Yes, I will go to the ball with you.”
Alfred cheered before covering his mouth and trying to contain his excitement. It was sweet. And Gilbert was finding he was sweet on this man. Oh, there would definitely be a letter after this. Even though they mostly just talked on the phone these days. But, this deserved a letter, and another set of polaroid pictures since Gilbert never stopped taking them.
January 18, 2016
It was a cold morning in New York and Gilbert blindly reached over for his personal bed warmer and only found emptiness on the other side of the bed. Cracking his eyes open, he turned his head to find nothing there. Odd. Alfred never got out of bed before him.
Sitting up, he stretched and threw the blankets off himself, not bothering with making the bed as he put on his slippers and crossed the room to get his robe. Wrapping himself in his warm robe, he made his way through the penthouse, hearing the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen.
Gilbert paused as he entered the kitchen. Alfred’s back was to him. He had moments to decide if he was going back to bed now that he knew where his heater was, or shoving his cold hands under his American’s shirt and making him cold momentarily.
Apparently, he paused too long, because he heard a “you’re supposed to be in bed” without Alfred having turned to see him.
“I was cold.” Came his lame reply. And Alfred gave one of those laughs that sounded like sunshine and turned to him.
“Then get over here. I’ll cook with one hand.” And he put out an inviting arm that Gilbert only hesitated a moment before going over and leeching onto Alfred’s side.
“Are you making pancakes?”
“Yes. And I have bacon in the oven. You were supposed to wake up to breakfast in bed.”
“In bed? What’s the occasion?” He asked, very serious. “Wait, it’s Monday, why aren’t you already on your way down to DC?”
Alfred laughed, the rumble vibrating Gilbert, who put his head on the taller man’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around the American.
“Gilbie. It’s your birthday!” Alfred exclaimed: squeezing him gently.
And Gilbert just blinked. It was his birthday. It had been a while since he’d acknowledged this day. He’d tried to forget it. What with all the baggage that came with this day. In the five years they’d been dating, he was sure they’d never celebrated his birthday. They always celebrated Alfred’s and then celebrated Reunification Day in October. Good holidays to celebrate.
“Gilbie?” Alfred inquired gently and he looked up at his boyfriend.
“Since when do we celebrate my actual birthday?”
“Since I found out from Ludwig that you think you don’t deserve to celebrate this day. I even took the day off. Just the two of us. Cuddling, playing games, reading, whatever you want to do, we’ll do.” Alfred declared and Gilbert turned his head to hide his face in his shoulder, though he was smiling.
Leave it to Ludwig to share that information. Blabber mouth. He and Alfred had been friends for decades now. The Marshall Plan and Alfred’s careful watch had helped mold Ludwig into the leader of Europe he was now. And they’d become best friends and only gotten closer since Gilbert and Alfred had started dating. It was sweet.
“Okay. You might have taken the day off, but I haven’t.”
“It’s taken care of.”
“Oh?” And he lifted his head to look at Alfred, curious to hear how it was taken care of.
“I told your boss it’s your birthday and she said you were all mine.”
His boss. The president of the European Union. Now that had been a shock when the Great Recession happened and they figured out he was actually the EU. There had been questions on how he had survived. First as the Teutonic Knights, then as Prussia, then as East Germany. All through the 1990s, they all silently wondered why Gilbert was alive when he had no country, no land, no people. And then the Great Recession had happened and he got sick. And then better. And then they realized his illnesses matched when EU countries were struggling. It all sort of came to an “ah-ha” moment.
And now, here he was, dating the United States, with his brother being the leader of Europe. Really, these days he was spoiled by those in his life. Not because he was a large trade-union, but because he’d made amends since the 90s. He’d lost the taste of war and just wanted a life where he could use his knowledge for good. And for good did he do all of his work.
“Okay. I’m all yours. Give me a kiss. I’m going to go back to bed so I get breakfast in bed and we can do this day right.”
One lingering kiss later, Gilbert was thinking of their long history together. Never did he imagine this man would be who he ended up with. But it was right. And he wouldn’t let this go.