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Ivan cherished the late evenings in his mansion the most.
It was quiet after nightfall. The hustle and bustle of the day had simmered down, and the other nations had either already retired to their rooms, or were well on their way to. It was silent. Peaceful.
Sleep was hard to come by for him, unfortunately; but that had much to do with simply being overwhelmed with work. More often than not, Ivan found himself hunched over his desk, tirelessly reading through papers and documents, trying to keep a handle on all the nations that made up the Soviet Union. There were so many of them, and all too often there was a revolt or some sort of uprising going on somewhere that needed attention.
Even if sleep eluded him most of the time, Ivan could at least take the time given to him to take his mind off of national affairs and focus on something a little more entertaining. So, he would make his way through the halls to the little library up on the second floor.
The halls were empty. All the doors shut and lights off. Nothing but the sound of the floorboards creaking under his feet and a grandfather clock ticking away somewhere in the house.
When he reached the library, however, a frown settled onto his features. The door was cracked open, and through the slit, Ivan could see the flicker of firelight dancing against the walls. Not all the nations were in their beds, it seemed.
Quietly, Ivan gave the door a little push, violet gaze peering inside curiously to find the trespasser.
A pair of red eyes slid up to meet his.
Of all the people to be sprawled out on the couch, Ivan did not expect to find Gilbert Beilschmidt there. The Albino had taken refuge on the sofa closest to the hearth, legs stretched out over the cushions and covered with a thick knitted afghan. He had a book in his hands, though Ivan couldn’t yet tell which one, and an unlit cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.
Ivan stood in the door way, perplexed. It was rather jarring seeing Gilbert in such a relaxed state. More often than not, the Albino was attending to business in his usual military fashion. Shirt tucked in, pants ironed, cuffs buttoned. Yet there he was, sprawled out in his sleepwear looking haggard and exhausted, hair tussled and sticking up in all different directions.
“Can’t sleep?” Gilbert spoke up first, breaking the silence and pulling Ivan back out of his thoughts.
“I…No. I usually do not sleep until late.” Ivan hesitantly stepped into the room, looking Gilbert over curiously. “You…?”
Gilbert rubbed absently at his left forearm, his gaze dropping back to the book in his hands. “Bad dream.” He mumbled, plucking the cigarette from his lips to roll it anxiously between his fingers.
“Not exactly rare with our kind, I’d think…” Ivan finally stepped in and closed the door behind him with a soft click before taking a seat in the chair closest to him.
“Not many people have as much nightmare fuel as I do.” Gilbert said dryly, flipping the page of his book rather roughly. “What do you want?”
“I was hoping to have a quiet evening alone, reading my favorite book.” Ivan relaxed back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Instead I found you’d already taken up my spot. And my book.” He added once he finally had a chance to glance at the title.
Gilbert gave him a rather dry look, taking a moment to flip over the cover to read the title before returning to his previous page. “That’s too damn bad, I guess,” he hummed, “I’m not moving.”
“Always a delight, you are.” Ivan said blandly, head tilted a bit. “You always did have a habit of taking things that didn’t belong to you.”
“And you never know when to shut your damn mouth.”
“Would you rather I leave?”
Gilbert looked up, lips already forming the affirmative, but after a moment he faltered. Gilbert shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping back to the book in hand. “Company would be nice…” He finally admitted.
“You have the books to keep you company.”
“I can’t read the damn books.” Gilbert snapped. “I never learned how to read cryllic.” He closed the book harshly, waving it in the air briefly before tossing it irately on the coffee table that separated them. “It was just something to do.”
“So you would rather my company.” Ivan deadpanned, looking incredulous.
“Honestly? I’d take Roderich’s company, even. I just-” Gilbert grimaced, knees drawing in a bit. Ivan took note of how he rubbed a little more irately at his left forearm, but kept quiet about it. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Ivan’s gaze flickered back up to Gilbert’s, a curious look on his face.
“Not after…” Again, Gilbert cut himself off, lifting the hand with the unlit cigarette still perched between his fingers to rub at his temple, “not after that…”
“Your bad dream, you mean…” Ivan said quietly.
“Yeah…”
“It was about the camps…wasn’t it…?” Ivan asked cautiously. Gilbert fell still for a moment, gaze off to the side until eventually his hand dropped back into his lap and he looked back toward Ivan, giving a mute nod. “You never told the others, did you?”
Gilbert shook his head. “Not even Lutz, but I’m sure he figured it out.” He waved absently to the spot where he’d been scratching. “Hard to miss the tattoo.” He fell quiet for a moment, gaze flickering back toward Ivan’s, brows furrowing. “You haven’t-”
“It is not my place to tell others about it,” Ivan said quietly, sitting up a bit straighter, “a promise is a promise. I haven’t told a soul.”
“I appreciate that…”
“Why are you so determined to keep it secret anyhow?” Ivan asked curiously. “I’m sure if the other allies had known, your trial would have ended quite differently. They’re still under the impression you ran like a coward.”
“They know me better than that.” Gilbert drew his knees in, folding his arms on top of them before resting his chin there. He mulled over his response to the question a moment or two before finally replying. “I was imprisoned and tortured by my own country. Pretty fuckin’ pathetic the way I see it.”
“It wouldn’t be the first instance a nation was abused by their boss,” Ivan said placidly, “I would know.”
Gilbert gave him a rather unimpressed stare, eyebrow quirked up. “They physically removed my eye while I was still conscious.”
“I’ve been decapitated on several occasions.” Ivan sniffed, unimpressed.
“It’s probably still sitting in a jar somewhere.” Gilbert continued.
“I was once used for javelin practice.”
Gilbert lifted his head, frowning. “They cut me open like some lab rat and didn’t bother with anesthesia.”
“His aim was rather poor, at first, but he found he could hit the target a lot better when it wasn’t in motion.” Ivan rested his cheek in his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair.
Gilbert let out a snort, shaking his head a bit. “That’s fucked up. This is all fucked up. Why are humans so fucking insane?” He ran his hands through his hair, letting out a frustrated snort. “God, it’s been over a decade and I still wake up in a cold sweat about it.”
“You were in that camp for two years, Gilbert,” Ivan frowned, “it leaves an impression, those sorts of things. We may be immortal, but we certainly aren’t immune to trauma.” He watched as Gilbert let out a sharp breath, bowing his head back into his knees once more. “I think what bothers you the most is that they were able to keep you there for so long.”
“What…?”
“We’re nations. We’re immortal, and most of us possess unnatural strength or abilities of some sort, even if it’s something as simple as impressive tactical insight.” Ivan shifted a bit, crossing his legs at the knee. “A majority of us hold ourselves above human kind. We think we’re better than them. After all, we live longer. Why shouldn’t we be?”
“Yeah…? And?”
“The problem is we’re just like them. At the root of it all, we’re only human, too. We’re perfectly capable of dying, even if only temporarily. We feel loss. We have nightmares. We fall in love. We may be a lot more sturdier than them, but at the end of the day, we’re only human, too.”
Gilbert eyed Ivan curiously for a moment or two before his gaze dropped to the couch cushions. “Still feels disgusting being compared to them at this point…”
Ivan stood, quietly meandering over to the bookshelf. “Even so…” He plucked a book from the shelf and turned to shuffle toward Gilbert. He tossed it onto the cushion in front of him. “It doesn’t change what we are.”
Gilbert reached forward to pick up the book, glancing at the cover title. “This is French.” He frowned.
“Of course. You think I’d keep your German garbage on my shelves?” Ivan offered a cool smile, which Gilbert responded to with an irritated snort. “Be sure to douse the fire before you leave.”