You've built your lies
Above this sin
You hold my hand
Before the end comes
Forgiving me for what I've done till the end of days

…

The sky is dark again.

But that's nothing new; it's usually always dark on this side. There are those rare moments where the clouds part, where I can actually see the sun, but as soon as that spark of hope burns, it is snuffed. Far too quickly.

I live in fear.

I have never lived in fear before.

I'm sitting on the edge, waiting, always waiting. I'm trapped behind this thick curtain, a curtain of iron. A curtain of iron that smothers my sense of time, my grasp on reality, my ability to grasp my identity.

I'm used to being caged, shut down, degraded. No one gives a damn that it doesn't work for me. No one understands that I'm a free spirit; I'm meant to run, to yell, to shout, to scream, to fight. But since when has anyone actually cared?

And now, here I am. On the ground, on all fours, my breaths coming out in uneven intervals, my vision blurring, the blood and sweat intertwining as it drips continuously, forming a splotchy mess around my trembling limbs. I can feel the sharp gravel dig into the skin of my palms. I'm surrounded by it; I'm nothing but a small demerit, surrounded by the vast bleakness that separates me from potential freedom.

But I don't cry.

I never cry.

I would never let myself succumb to such self-pity. I've trained myself far too much; it would be a dishonor for me to start crying now, after everything I've been through.

So I just breathe in and breathe out, trying so desperately to keep a steady rhythm, despite the pulsing pain that penetrates every cell in my body; it rips and snarls like fire, chills and freezes like ice, and cuts ruthlessly like the blade of a knife.

And I just wait; I plan to wait. Let's see how I can last before my limbs give in, before they crack under the trembling pressure, and I completely collapse. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I applaud you; that was quite the fight you put up."

The rhythm of my breathing breaks as I let out a small choked gasp. I don't have to look up to see who it is; I already know what I will see.

A man. A man with snow white hair, piercing red eyes, and skin covered in sickening patterns of bruises and scars. A man whose grim smile is the shadow of what it once used to be before his nationhood was ruthlessly stripped. A man who is suffering more than I am, who, like I, is completely cut off from the rest of the evolving world.

A man who has always been there for as long as I can remember.

It's sad really...how I have to be on the brink of breaking to realize how much I have taken Gilbert Beilschmidt for granted.

How many times have I insulted him? Hurt him? Fought with him? Shut him out? Undermined him?

Am I really that heartless to only just truly appreciate the fact that he's been there with me, living through it all right when I feel like it's the end? When I feel like I'm truly going to die?

I guess I can apologize, but I know there's no use. I can't redeem myself at this point. It would be damn pitiful on my part to even try. Plus, I know that he'd forgive me anyways…even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

So I keep my mouth shut, and my head down.

My limbs will crack any second now. Just wait.

…

Cause I belong to you
Cause I am part of you
I am dying in your arms
It's time to go; I can't make it through

…

There is an eerie silence, only broken by the uneven intervals of my breaths. I dig my palms further into the ground, gritting my teeth as the pressure causes the sharp gravel to penetrate further into my skin. I don't have to see to know that the scarlet is spilling.

I don't know what I feel. Anger? Sadness? Denial? Dissapointment? Bitterness? Hopelessness?

"It was an admirable attempt, Liz. Better than anything I could've done."

But that's what it was. An attempt. His voice shoots through me and shatters my already crumbling resolve. My body feels heavier than usual, but I'm still an intact structure; trembling, but not ruined. Yet.

Why couldn't Alfred help me? How can he aid others in their fight for communism, but completely ignore me? For the first time in my life, I put all my faith in another nation; to think that because I tried to break through the curtain that America would hear the voice of my people and do something about it? I cannot believe how much of a damn fool I was for putting every ounce of my reliance on a nation so young, so rebellious, so wrapped up in itself.

I am now paying for my recklessness.

I'm telling you now. Ivan's pipe…it really hurts.

Only a few people really know that for a fact.

There comes a point where one just gives up. Where she wishes more than anything to be a human so that she could just die easily. As a nation, dying, though possible, is very tedious, difficult, and painful. It takes years of degradation, wounding, corruption.

I was never one to yearn for death; I lived for the open air, the freedom, the smiles, the memories, the vibrant rays of light.

It's amazing how fast something can change.

Another agonizing moment passes before I feel fingers intertwine gently into my hair, palms resting against my scalp. Only he knows that I find comfort in having someone touch my hair; I don't know why he's the only one, but that's the way it is, and I am suddenly grateful for it.

So I collapse.

I let the structure crumble as my body finally breaks, shatters. But I don't feel my head hit the hard jagged concrete. No. My skull makes contact with something softer, something surprisingly warm and steady. I squeeze my eyes shut as I automatically fling my trembling arms around Gilbert's waist, my nails digging through the thin cloth of his back; I can feel his skin. I don't move my head from his thigh as I grit my teeth, trying to fight back the violent tremors that wrack my body.

We're both in an uncomfortable position; I haven't been this physically close to him in a very long time. I'm clinging onto him as if there were no tomorrow; I'm probably getting smearing blood all over him. But he doesn't protest, and I don't care.

He just gently strokes my hair, his movements hesitant, slow, yet constant.

"I…I can't do it, Gil…"

"Shh…shh… you're fine."

"It hurts."

"I know, Lizzie."

It's nice to have someone to lean against, especially someone you know you can rely on, despite the fact that the two of us haven't always been on the best of terms.

Having him here is enough; if I'm really going to die, than I wouldn't want it any other way. Maybe I am done for.

I mean… I'm nothing but a useless piece of shit covered in blood right now with no other wish than to just fade away. I thought that my spirit was shattered a long time ago, but this is so much worse. Maybe I always had spirit, life, vigor… maybe here and right now is when it truly has been shattered.

Maybe it's time to go.

"Gilbert…"

"What, Liz?"

"I-I can't."

"You can't what?"

"I can't make it through."

…

I've come to realize

Tonight my dear, the end of time

Is not so far away

We cannot pray to save our lives

…

You know those silences that dig uneasily into your skin? Those silences that are long, drawn out, and eerie? Those unbearable periods of absolute quiet?

Gilbert doesn't say a word, but his stroking is constant. I release the pressure on my eyes, but leave them closed, taking deep shallow breaths.

I just realize how hard it is to breathe.

In and out.

It hurts.

The pain in my chest burns, snaking around like twirling flames, burning a hole through my skin.

My words echo aimlessly around us, sweeping around in the dead of this starless night.

I can't make it through.

My trembling intensifies and I do my best to tighten my grip on him, but I feel my arms growing slack. But I can't let go. I don't want to let go. If I let go, I might lose everything.

Gilbert is the only real thing for me right now.

He is proof that there were good times in my life; that it wasn't all just an illusion that my brain had somehow invented.

The physical contact acts as a stimulant to those memories that give me hope; the ones where I swung a sword, rose horses, lived the life of a man, secretly looking forward to having the regular spat with the small, fiery albino child…being treated as an equal.

He didn't always treat me like a princess, but he sure as hell treated me like an equal.

I remember finally settling down, marrying Roderich, thinking that I was the happiest woman in the world; my country would be stable under the union, and the Austrian was a delightful, handsome, gentlemanly man. I was so enamored with him, under a spell that prevented me from actually opening my eyes.

I always saw how upset Gilbert was, how he would always denounce his hatred of being alone; I saw right through it, yet I didn't say anything.

I remember watching him falter slowly through the years as his vigor drained from him; the sparkle of nationhood abandoning him. Yet, I never said anything…and neither did he.

Never did I once break.

Never did I fully open up to him; despite the fact that he deserves to see me at my most vulnerable.

He deserves to see me like this, and he has every right to leave me here without another thought.

Because I've seen him break, over and over again. I didn't even bother to open my mouth.

"P-Please say something," I choke out.

He takes a deep breath.

"I'm not good at saying things."

"W-Will you stay here?"

"Always."

"Why?"

"I don't need to answer that question, Eliza."

And I know that he doesn't.

It's so strange isn't it? How emotions and memories intertwine into a plethora of unspeakable chaos. Words halt the flow; they can't properly form the deeper parts, because there's always so much more to everything.

Sometimes you just understand it through the deafening silence.

And I understand him.

So I don't say a word.

All I know is that he's telling the truth.

He will always be here.

Because…because…

Just because.

"It feels like the end, doesn't it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, yet containing so many hidden meanings, a maze of hidden emotions that want so desperately to come out.

I don't answer; I just grit my teeth against the pain, trying so hard not to completely break in his arms. I'm consciously aware of the blood that coats my skin.

"If this is your end, Liz, I can't stop you. If you really are ready to just leave, then leave. It's your call," he says, his hand gently moving locks of my hair to the side so that he could tenderly graze his fingers along my neck. I shiver at his touch.

I process his words; it is my call. There's no use for praying for salvation. The fact is, is that I'm here and I'm hurting, and I have the choice to give up.

So what's stopping me?

Why can't I just let go?

Maybe it's the fact that I've fought so hard to get to where I was before I became nothing but an abused animal stuck behind a cage. Maybe it's because I always put my full effort into something, always thought that I was unstoppable.

Maybe it's because I have a small piece of me that still holds on to the hope that I can get out. That things can go back to normal. That I can go back to those times where I would run through forests and ride horses, wield my sword, look forward to seeing the fire in the albino boy's eyes as we both smiled in mutual agreement to always fight, but never fade away.

And here we are, both hurt, both stuck. He's holding me, willing to let me go if I so desire. I can hear the raw pain in his voice, almost see the treasured memories flash before his eyes…those memories he keeps buried in his heart.

But I know that he'll let me go without protest. He'll let me fade in his arms.

…

I can feel you and I think

That everything you wanted to make

Was the mirror of your dreams

But I couldn't believe what you take

Cause I belong to you

My flesh and blood in you

I am burning in this fire

It's time to go

I can't make it through

…

"G-Gil…" I choke out, my chest constricting violently. I try to open my eyes, but I just can't. My grip on him intensifies; I long to melt into him, to feel him, to become a part of him. I don't want to be separate from him; I want to stay here, in his arms. Always.

"Please…t-talk to me," I whimper. If I am going to fade, then I want to fade to the sound of his voice. I want to hear him speak, to know that he is here, and that he'll always be here, forever. He's always been there before, through the smiles and the anger and the pain and the blood. I know that he won't be leaving anytime soon.

"Liz...I don't…" he says, his voice coated with uncertainty.

"Anything. T-Talk about anything…please."

Please.

Take me away from this place.

It's silent for a moment, and a bitter lump forms in my throat. No. I don't cry. I never cry. I will not cry.

Then he speaks, "Remember when you beat me up because I tried to claim all of Burzenland?"

I can sense the nostalgic amusement in his voice. I relax my muscles as I feel his hand caressing the top of my spine.

And I'm immediately taken back…back to those times of glory, of determination, of adrenaline, of freedom, of competition, of rolling green hills, fields, forests…when the castles were still active, when I would sit and watch the sunset fall below the horizon, when I would strip of my battle gear and just jump into the nearest stream during those summer days.

The sharp concrete and dark, menacing sky slips away as I'm taken back.

"Or…when I found out that you really a girl," he says. A small chuckle follows and my lips tilt up into a faint smile. "I always had a clue, you know. I knew you were different…but I never understood until you complained about your chest pains. Dear God, I never felt so uncomfortable in my life."

If I die now, truly fade away…I guess it wouldn't be so bad. If I can just stay here, with Gilbert Beilschmidt, thinking of the happiest times of my life, then I can go.

Do I want to go?

"We were a relentless couple of kinder weren't we? Always fighting, always competing, always giving each other nasty wounds; although, in the end, I always tended to yours; it would be unawesome for me to not help a girl after all," he said, the amusement still present in his soothing voice.

He was right. Whenever he left me bleeding, or in pain, he'd walk away momentarily…but he'd always come back. Always. I was always so confused as a young girl as to why he would bend down to meet me at eye level, his face fixed with concentration as he wiped away at the blood and wrapped my wounds. Then he would always stand up, give me a nod, and walk away.

Until next time. That's the cycle.

"Even then, you were special to me. I always felt this obligation to protect you, to uphold your decency. I didn't really comprehend it at the time; I was still quite young. Plus, I always knew you were an independent spirit. You were strong, relentless, brave. You never cried. You didn't need me to protect you. But…I was always there anyways."

Again, he is right. But what he doesn't know is that I've always liked the idea of leaning on someone, to have someone defend me, protect me. I loved the idea of being loved. I was always searching for my Prince Charming. My knight in shining armor. But I would've rather died than admit that to anyone. No Hungary didn't need a man. She didn't need to be held and kissed and loved and doted upon.

I was so stupid to never realize that this so called "knight in shining armor" of mine was always there, protecting me, defending me, loving me unconditionally without saying a word.

And I didn't do anything about it.

No. I decided to subdue myself, become meek. Settle down, put away the sword, abandon the life I loved, and marry Roderich. I loved Roderich. I was so enamored with him…spellbound. I had finally found someone who could love me, Elizaveta Hedervary.

It wasn't until after the wedding that I realized that Gilbert was absent.

And that's when it hit me. His absence triggered the realization that it was him all along.

I cried that night.

That was one of the only times I've ever cried.

And I realized that I wanted to go back home.

Home was the familiarity of the sword in my hand, the wind whipping through my hair as I rode the horse, the scent of the trees, the feel of water.

Home was adrenaline of fighting, the laughter of the carefree summer nights, the competition, the wounds, the scars, the blood.

Home was the albino's fiery smile, his laugh, his constant desire to beat me, his rare tenderness as he wiped the blood away.

I wanted to go home.

I realize that I don't want to fade. I don't want to die. No…it's not my time.

What I want now, is to go home.

…

I'm coming home again

And now I know where I belong

Reeling from my instincts

Cause I realize I'm not alone

…

I feel his lips grazing my ear. My eyes are still closed as the lump in my throat builds.

I will not cry.

"I'll tell you something, Elizaveta," he whispers gently.

I know what he is going to say. I've known for a long time about this, but I've never heard him form it into words for me.

He never had to.

But I don't stop him.

Because I want to hear him say this. For me. Just once. Even if I'm not ready.

I'll never be ready to hear him say it.

It's just the way I am, and always will be.

And Gilbert Beilschmidt knows that.

"If you decide to give up, it's alright. I know how hard it is; I can't count the number of times I've almost faded away. Just know that if you do leave, I won't be able to follow you. But that doesn't matter, because the thing is… you'll always be the world to me…even if I'm not your world. You have no idea how much you really mean to me."

My world is home.

You are home to me Gilbert.

Do you understand how much you mean to me?

I love you.

And I'm coming home.

"I love you, Liz. I love you so much."

I open my eyes and shift my head so that I'm looking up at his face. Though my vision is hazy, he seems to be the only clear thing to me. His crimson eyes are tender, yet they are burning with the familiar, nostalgic fire that makes my heart accelerate. I can see the effects of abuse displayed on his face…the scars, the bags under his eyes, the general look of pain that coats his features.

But he's still there. And he's still Gilbert.

He gently places a hand on my bloodied cheek, and a jolt of electricity flows through my body as he bends down, and places his lips gently on mine.

The pain momentarily disperses, leaving me engulfed in a fiery, electrical haze.

We are both here. Right now.

I haven't left him. He hasn't left me.

He's still here. He's always been here.

And I'm here, in his arms.

And I'm coming home.

He places his forehead against mine, and I can hear my heartbeat pound at my ears. I can't form coherent words; I know that I don't have to.

"It's okay to cry, you know," he whispers soothingly.

And with those words, the tears automatically come. They fill my eyes, and spill down my cheeks.

I start to sob, my whole body shaking. I don't care about holding it all in. Sometimes, things aren't meant to be held in. No matter how weak or foolish you feel, sometimes, you just have to cry.

I'm crying because I'm in pain. I'm crying because I don't want to be trapped anymore. I'm crying because I've held it in for far too long. I'm crying because I don't know what else to do with my emotions. I'm crying because I know that he's hurting as well. I'm crying because I love him so damn much.

The tears take me into the peaceful silence of memories as they flicker through my head, clear, pristine, gentle, treasured.

The tears take me away from the cold darkness around me as I melt into Gilbert's arms, becoming a part of him.

The tears intertwine my soul with his. They speak all the unspoken words for me.

They keep falling until the silence comes; not the unsettling silence. Not the eerie silence.

No… it is the silence that suggests mutual understanding. An understanding that doesn't need to be expressed through spoken phrases.

It is the silence that gently reaches out toward the never-ending night and parts the clouds to reveal the early morning sun.

It is the silence that takes your breath away.

It is the silence that takes you back home.