Broken Berlin - Part 7 by RedWolfErik on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

With Germany all cleared up, I gently lead him back to the spare room – now his room, I guess – and sit him down onto the bed. Quietly, I walk over to the dresser and pull out a pair of Ludwig's jeans and a black turtle-neck top, I assume that Harrison took the liberty in unpacking our bags... I must remember to give him a sizeable Christmas bonus, and place the folded clothes onto his lap. I run a hand through his hair and watch as it falls back to into place over his forehead.
"Hurry up and get dress Ludwig" I say to him, a small smile playing on my face as I walk to the door. "... That is unless you want me to make dinner" he shudders at the thought, I'm not sure whether I should be amused or insulted by this, and nods at me. I close the door behind me and walk down the stair and through the living room to the kitchen. I pull out two beers and the packet of wurst that Harrison had mentioned out of the pantry and onto the granite top. As I open both the bottles, I turn the oven on to warm up. Taking a long drag from one of the bottles, I hear soft footsteps pad down the stairs, getting closer to where I am.
"There's a bottle of beer here for you Ludwig" pulling the bottle from my mouth, I mention at the other bottle as Ludwig walks in.
"Danke" he grabs the bottle then looks at the pack of wurst, gasping quietly in astonishment "Mein gott! These are gut wurst Eng- Arthur. How did you get zem?" He turns to look at me.
"Oh... I have my ways, my friend" I smile and wink at him.

I watch him cook our dinner from my perch atop one of the counter-tops. Every move he makes is precise and with a decisive purpose. He is as efficient in the kitchen as he is on the battlefield... such fluidity, yet with the same sterilized go-by-the-book attitude fuelling every movement. It will take time for me to fully trust him again, even if in the bottom of my heart and in my very soul I know that he only did the things he did in the war because of his maniacal boss... the wounds on my body and on my country can't be expected to heal straight away, it's going to take time; I just hope that I have time to pull myself back together, especially if America and Russia – the USSR – keep on heading where they are at the moment.
"Arthur, dinner is done" I look up to see Germany's face inches away from mine. We both stop dead still, staring at the other, neither daring to move. I feel my face grow hot as one half of my brain, the pirate/empire side of me, order me to "plunder" my German friend's mouth. The other half of my brain, the more rational side, telling me to punch him in the face and run. Before I can do anything, Ludwig has already stumbled backwards, letting me melt to the floor.

An awkward silence falls.
"... We should eat before the food gets cold, ja?"
"... y-yes"