FP Day: Seasons of Our Love

Spring

Spring was often depicted as a wonderful and happy time of the year, when the hard vicelike grip of winter loosened and the flowers began to bloom again and the birds were starting to sing. The days were warmer and longer and brighter, filled with the promise of a fresh start to the year. People smiled to each other and were generally in better spirits, which was natural considering that the snow and cold had finally gone. Fritz certainly loved it because it meant that he could return to his dear Sanssouci and spend time among his beloved gardens that he enjoyed so much.

Prussia hated it with a passion.

And there was only one reason that he hated it. It seemed that when the earth shifted, everyone went absolutely nuts. There was more energy in the people and the land, as if all throughout the winter they had been storing up their energy so they could release it all in one explosive burst when springtime came around. He could feel the happiness of his people and sense the farms and grasses growing as if in a race. It felt awesome, like being reborn, but at the same time it gave him the most debilitating migraines he could ever imagine. He couldn't count the amount of times he had been forced to simply lay on a couch all day with a cold cloth over his forehead, shivering as spasms of pain shot up and down his body like lightning.

It happened every year, but it was never something he could just "get used to," as the saying went. How the hell were you supposed to "get used to" the feeling of a red-hot knife slowly impaling itself through your temple? Not that anyone ever told him that, because they feared his reaction, but he was well aware of the odd (and sometimes resentful) looks that he got from others. As if they were asking why he was just lazing about when there was work to do. Most of the time however he was quite alone, stuck lying down with only Gilbird to keep him company as an unholy pain ripped apart his head bit by bit.

Frederick never said anything about his migraines. He just gave him the occasional puzzled look, mainly because he wondered how in the world a simple headache could keep his nation down. Nonetheless he let Gilbert lie on his couch and gave the albino anything he requested. "Just get some rest," he murmured quietly, with a gentle smile. "It will pass eventually."

On that particular day Prussia didn't even have the strength to nod his head in reply, and just kept his arm thrown over his eyes to block any light. He felt a kiss on his cheek and footsteps leaving, and then he was all alone. It hurt, but he knew that as his king Fritz was constantly busy and he couldn't put off his work even if he wanted to. The nation simply swallowed the lump in his throat and pressed his face into the back of the couch.

Hours passed, with the occasional footsteps coming and going, and he felt evening draw near without even opening his eyes. He slept in short fits, the pain in his head usually too great to allow him to drift off. Suddenly, he felt the hairs of his neck rise, and he lifted his arm up a tiny fraction to squint at the room. It seemed unusually dark for the time (the clock had chimed 5 o' clock not too long ago, driving another nail of pain through his eyes with each clang) and he could sense his people becoming quieter. He wondered why, and then he was answered when an earsplitting crash of thunder broke the silence and caused him to scream as white spots of pain flashed across his vision. Was there no merciful god in the universe?

Another damn spring storm, he thought fuzzily to himself, in a murderous humor as rain began to pound the windows. Is there not one moment when a man can get a bit of peace?

As if to mock him further, the doors swung open to spill light and noise in from the outer halls, making him whimper and cringe in pain. In came Frederick, looking only slightly annoyed with the weather, shooing servants away with a dismissive gesture. They scurried about, arms loaded with firewood, and started to build up the fireplace. Little did they know that every dull clunk of a log was like Thor's almighty hammer coming down upon his brain and each scrape was nails on a chalkboard. It didn't take them very long to get a fire started, and then they bowed and left.

He heard Fritz's footsteps pacing the room, but on their third turn they stopped abruptly. "Gilbert?" the shocked voice of his king asked, as if surprised to still find him there.

He was so shocked at being noticed that he immediately answered: "Yeah?" He winced as he heard his own voice claw its way out of his throat. It vibrated through his skull and sent little sparks of agony dancing across his nerves.

There was a pause. "Are you still. . . feeling unwell?" Frederick asked, lowering his voice some.

He raised his arm a little so he could see his king. "Y-Yeah, a little bit." Hah. A little bit. The understatement of the century. A "little bit" didn't even cover a tenth of what he was feeling, it was a drop in an ocean. A bitter smile crossed his face, but he felt his lips trembling from the exertion.

Frederick watched him for a few moments, no doubt taking in his trembling shoulders and twitching fingers, every little hitch of his breath when another jab of pain pierced the back of his skull. Then he lifted his eyes, cold, clear, and light as aquamarine, to Gilbert's own: swollen, watery, and even redder from all of the bloodshot vessels. Without another word he turned and left, disappearing into his bedchambers.

An unexpected lump formed in his throat from Fritz's cold departure. What had he expected, some sort of pity? Well, kind of. A tiny "sorry" would have been good, but apparently that was too much to ask for. He turned his face back into the couch, tears burning in his eyes and his head pounding worse than before. It might have been the combination of misery and agony, but he did not hear Fritz come back into the room. He did not hear him stoke the fire. To him, the flute came out of nowhere and in his shock he lifted up his arm to see Frederick standing right in front of him, blocking out most of the firelight. His eyes were half-lidded and his fingers gently swept over the keys, coaxing a low, warm sound from the instrument. He would have thought that any music would have been the most unbearable of tortures, but this fell upon his ears like a caress and soothed him like a lullaby.

"Fritz. . ." he whispered when there came a pause in the music.

"Hush, liebling," Frederick replied and then launched into the next part of the song.

In his amazement, Prussia did just that. He felt the music reaching deep into him, relaxing his tense muscles and calming his nerves. He had no idea what the name of the song was, but he had no doubt that it was something of Frederick's own composition. He sank deeper into the couch and simply listened to the notes. When the song finally came to its end he had almost fallen asleep, and the sudden silence brought him back to full awareness. The couch dipped as someone sat beside him.

A marvelously cool hand started to stroke his face. He lifted his arm the tiniest bit to look at Fritz. "Was that good?" the king asked almost shyly. "Did that. . . help, in any way?"

He smiled again, although it was much wider this time. "Yes, it did," he said, his voice just a murmur. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Fritz said with a matching smile. The back of his hand pressed against his temple. "You feel a little warm." He frowned a little in worry, and then bent down and gently kissed him. "I hope you feel better," he whispered against his lips.

Laughing hurt, so Gilbert just smiled even wider. "I already do," he replied, laying  his hand across the side of Fritz's face and bringing him back down for another kiss.

Well now, he supposed that spring wasn't too unawesome, not if he was going to get this sort of treatment on a regular basis.


Summer

The warm, rolling tides of summer was the best time of year to be in Sanssouci. Not that that was much of a shocker or anything, it was a summer palace after all. But the beautiful terraced vineyards bloomed a lush dark green and the gardens regained their full splendor and dappled the grounds with roses that glowed a myriad of colors in the sunlight. The scent of flowers was always heavy in the air and the sparkling fountains dampened the plants just enough so the smell was never too overpowering and lay just beneath the surface of one's senses.

The gardens were so large that a stranger could easily get lost in them. To those who knew the palace well (such as, say, the person who designed it) the gardens were a sanctuary where one could go off for a moment of privacy. No one would come looking for you because no one knew where you were.

With all of the headaches and pain of spring gone, Prussia was left to bask in the warmth and laziness of summer. And he did just that, lying on his back under the shade of a fig tree with his head pillowed in Fritz's lap. The empty air was being filled with a gentle song from the flute; the notes were played so softly that you couldn't hear the music if you were more than twenty paces away. Despite the soft and dappled light in the trees and the gentle sweep of the hedges that gave a watcher a wonderful view of his surroundings, Prussia's eyes were closed and his attention was focused solely on the rhythmic breathing above his ear and the cadences of the music. It was not the first time he had heard this particular song, but he was the only one aside from Fritz who knew that it even existed. It was not a song for concerts and performances, but a gift that was shared between them, something that was played only when they were alone.

A love song, as Gilbert had once described it. Fritz had blushed terribly when he said that and tried to ration and make some bullshit explanation for him, and Prussia had laughed and said that it was the sissiest thing his king could ever have done for him. There had been no venom in his words and quite a bit of softness to his eyes when he said it, so Fritz knew his nation didn't mind a bit. Ironically enough it was one of Prussia's favorite songs, and not just because he knew what it was about.

The ending was marked by a downward spiral of notes that reminded him of rain and one long, low note that eventually faded into silence. C sharp. Prussia didn't like the ending. There was a sort of sadness to it, as if the world was being deprived of something. The drowsy warmth chased away most of it, but the feeling still remained.

His eyes were still closed, but he could hear Fritz putting his flute away. He was always so fastidious with it, treating the thing as if it were his own child. The case clicked shut and then all was calm and quiet. Two birds sang a duet somewhere in the distance, but they were barely audible. Suddenly a hand was on his head, gently stroking his hair. He felt fingers brushing his forehead, skimming across his eyelids and traveling down his cheekbones. He smiled under the fingertips that tenderly traced his lips. "A groschen for your thoughts," Frederick murmured, tickling him under his jaw.

He allowed his eyes to part halfway so he could view his beloved's face. The smile he was wearing suddenly morphed into a grin. "Pay up," he said, holding out of his hands expectantly.

"It's a figure of speech," Fritz replied in amazement.

"Thoughts can be dangerous things sometimes," Gilbert said, closing one of his eyes as if threatening to fall asleep. "If you want to let loose such things then you better be willing to pay for it."

Frederick scoffed and rolled his eyes in a long suffering manner. "So dramatic," he said but dug into one of his pockets anyway. He found a groschen and placed it in Gilbert's palm. "Moneygrubber."

"Miser," Prussia retorted, holding the coin up to the light. He turned it this way and that, and then tucked it into Frederick's coat pocket. "There, a reward for the wonderful music." He laughed as Fritz rolled his eyes again.

"So what were you thinking?" Frederick prompted.

"Absolutely nothing," Gilbert said, stretching out and pressing his head deeper into his makeshift pillow.

A chuckle. "The usual, then," Fritz teased.

Prussia whined and smacked is arm lightly. "Hey, I just gave you a compliment and now you go and—" Two fingers pressed against his lips, shushing him.

"Oh relax, you silly thing. You're worse than a girl."

"Well you were the one who said that 'more feminine' crap that one time—"

"So are you finally accepting that?"

"No!" He tried to sit up, but a hand on his shoulder restrained him. He was pushed back down, much against his will. "Hey, let me up d—" Lips pressed against his fiercely, swallowing his complaints. It was Frederick's favorite and most effective way of shutting him up. He tried to pull away—because he was still mad and all—but Fritz's hand wound its way into the back of his head and pressed him closer.

When he was finally let go their faces were inches apart. "You are such a child," Fritz said affectionately, playing with a lock of his hair.

He smiled despite himself. "And because I'm a child I'm still mad at you. We children love to hold grudges."

His face was pulled closer. "Would my love forgive me? Perhaps accept an apology?" Frederick kissed his ear lightly.

"You'll have to do a lot more than apologize if you want to be forgiven so quickly." Oh, his little king was going to have to do a lot.

"Tell me."

He let his eyes slide closed. "Well, for starters for can continue what you were doing. I'll think of something in a minute."

There was another laugh and his mouth was captured again, hands pulling him ever closer. He parted his lips lazily and let Fritz explore his mouth, gently sucking on his tongue to encourage him. Summer was officially awesome.


Autumn

"Is something troubling you?" Frederick asked as they quietly explored the woods of Silesia, examining their new territory and the benefits they would reap from it. It was the middle of autumn and the trees had long ago turned a brilliant scarlet and gold, blocking out the evergreens like children isolating others of their kind for being too different. Even though the colors were warm and inviting to the eye, a chill wind whistled between the trunks, nipping away at any exposed skin. Ruler and country were the only two souls around, having slipped away from the army with their horses to go sightseeing.

Prussia was gently tugged out of his daydream and he blinked in confusion. "What?" he asked, turning to look at Fritz.

The monarch sighed and tugged on his reins a little, bringing his horse up besides Gilbert's black Friesian. It was an odd sight, the smaller white horse riding next to the massive black warhorse. "You looked a little peculiar just now," Fritz said. "Tired, I guess. Are you still injured and haven't told me?"

He smiled and shook his head, still touched by this commander who actually seemed to care for his wellbeing. "I'm just fine," he said. He could tell that Fritz didn't quite believe him and he fought down the urge to laugh. Seeing his king turn into such a worrywort over him was too cute, not to mention incredibly flattering. "Would you understand if I said that I'm just being the non-human that I am?"

Frederick raised an eyebrow. "I cannot, since I am just a human myself." He tilted his head a little, pondering over a question. "Would you care to educate me?"

Gilbert pursed his lips in thought, glancing at their surroundings as if looking for inspiration. "I can try," he said. "You know how I'm not only empathic to my people, but my land and culture as well?"

"Yes."

"Look around you right now. What's happening?"

He was given a look, as if he was being asked, "Are you serious?" However, his monarch obediently did as he was told, his long braid whipping his back as he swung his head. After a few moments of quiet observation Fritz spoke. "Well, obviously autumn is arriving. The leaves on the trees are dying."

"Ah, there's the keyword: dying." He saw Fritz look at him in alarm and really did laugh this time. "Oh no, no! You have the wrong idea there." He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not dying, nothing of the sort. However, you see everything winding down, how everything seems to be getting slower?" A nod. "I feel it too. It makes me sleepy. That's why you said I looked tired."

Frederick nodded again, his insatiable curiosity returning. "Does this always happen to you when the seasons change?" he asked. "I remember how you get those terrible headaches in the spring."

He was already figuring things out. Prussia loved having such a shrewd man as his king. "Sometimes it's not that bad, sometimes it's unbearable. Usually I just feel it around major climate changes, like winter to spring and summer to autumn. It's just something you have to get used to when you're a nation." As they spoke they came across a small stream that cut right across the trail. The sound of bubbling water added a sort of tranquility to the scene, something you usually didn't see while marching with an army. "No bridge," Prussia said, frowning. "We'll just have to walk across, then."

"No," Fritz replied and he dismounted. "I like it here. Let's give the poor horses a rest and we can stay here for a while."

Gilbert shrugged and slid off his horse, stretching his cramped muscles. The Friesian whickered and turned to look at him questioningly. He smiled and patted its head. "How long do you plan to stay here?" he asked, starting to tether the beast. "We don't want Schwerin throwing a fit because His Royal Majesty has vanished."

"Schwerin can just worry all he wants," Fritz said carelessly, pacing among the trees. "He knows that you are with me. I am in no danger."He didn't see Prussia's surprised look, mainly because he was busy picking out the leaves that had already fallen into his hat. When he turned back around he was holding up a bright red leaf, squinting at it. "Hmm, too bright," he murmured, holding it up to Gilbert's eyes.

The albino smiled a very tiny smile. His bookish lover was in a bit of a playful mood, it seemed. "Please, I'm far too awesome to be compared to dead leaves," he said, plucking one of the falling pieces of foliage from the air. He scrutinized it with a suspicious air. It was a pale yellow shot through with streaks of red, like a flame.

Fritz raised an eyebrow. "You're so pessimistic. Is dying all you see around here?" He gestured to their surroundings.

"Mainly," he said, mirroring the expression. "I assume you're trying to make some sort of point?"

"Of course," Fritz said with a smile. "I find autumn very beautiful, myself. It might prelude a cold winter, but what a prelude it is! You say everything is dying, but everywhere I look I see life."

Gilbert paused the slightest bit before answering. Seeing Fritz in such a jovial and carefree mood was odd, to say the least. "How so?"

The king let the leaves slip from his fingers and tumble to the ground. "In the autumn everything ripens. Fruit, trees, women." He gave a sly smile as he said the latter. "Even though the leaves are wilting, they look so vibrant. It's as if everything is just giving out an explosion of life, a final act before the curtain falls." He crossed his arms and waited for a response.

Well, that was one way of looking at it. Prussia tapped his chin in thought, mulling the words over in his head. "I've never thought of it that way before," he admitted. "I think you might be right, in a sense. People are more active in the fall. Especially children, always jumping about in the leaves." A smile flickered across his face as he remembered how he used to do the exact same thing when he had been young.

Frederick nodded slightly. "Ah, that as well." He had the oddest expression on his face as he said this, and Prussia focused on it immediately.

"What? You never liked jumping in leaves?" He asked in disbelief. Surely his king could not be that stiff!

Now Fritz was definitely avoiding his eyes. "No, I never actually did that," he said.

Prussia's jaw fell open. "Never?" he repeated.

"No, never. I was not allowed to pursue the same childish activities of my friends. Father wouldn't permit it."

He let out a noise of sympathy in his throat. There were still times when he felt that familiar stir of pity for his dear king, for an innocence lost far too early in his life. "You missed a lot of fun times," he said, scraping his boot across the ground, pushing leaves into a pile.

"So I've been told," Fritz replied, still looking at the branches overhead. He sounded a little sad.

He would just have to fix that then. He stomped around in a wide circle, kicking and shoving leaves until he had a decent pile in front of him. It wasn't very large, but it would suffice. He went over to Frederick, who seemed to be lost in thought. He waved his hand in front of his face to catch his attention. "Come on, we can still make up for lost time," the soldier said, grabbing him by his wrist.

Fritz looked confused, and his eyes found the pile that Gilbert had scraped up. It took him a moment, but realization slowly dawned on him. "You can't be serious," he said, although his voice lacked any rebuke, just amazement.

"Am I laughing?" Gilbert asked quietly, stepping closer. He cupped Fritz's cheek with his free hand, turning his face to look at him. A delighted grin spread across his face as he saw a slight blush color his reagent's ears pink. "Trust me, you'll love it. It's fun."

"It's—just foolishness," Frederick replied, although he seemed to have trouble getting the words out.

"How would you know? You've never tried." Prussia was having none of these objections and stepped back, pulling Fritz with him. Despite his words, Fritz didn't protest that much and tugged half-heartedly at the hand holding him. He actually looked a little curious. "Now, watch," Prussia said, leaning close to him as if whispering a secret. Then without any warning he yanked Fritz around and pushed him, although not harshly. He took Fritz completely by surprise and the monarch stumbled back and fell, yelping in a rather undignified manner as he came down on the pile of leaves. Red and gold and brown exploded into the air, swirling around him and giving his blue uniform a stark appearance.

Prussia exploded into laughter. None of the sly chuckling or snickers that people were used to, but great hoots of mirth that echoed among the trees and made the horses snort in surprise. "Oh—my—gods, your face," he gasped inbetween breaths, holding his stomach and just barely standing up.

Fritz sputtered and sat up, feeling around for his hat, which he had lost in his fall. Amazingly, he was also laughing. "That's wasn't funny!" he yelled, trying to stand up. "What w—" He was only halfway to his feet when he saw Prussia leap at him and tackle him, bringing them both back into the leaves.

"Nu-uh! You're not supposed to get up!" Gilbert said, his grinning face inches away from Frederick's. "You're supposed to roll around. Have fun!"

"I am not about to do that!" Fritz gasped in shock.

Prussia laughed again and shook his head in amusement. He scooped up a double handful of leaves and dropped them right on Frederick's face. "Come on, little spoilsport. Have some fu—aaaaahhh!" He yelled as Fritz immediately grabbed leaves of his own and threw them in his face. There were hands on his shoulders and suddenly he was falling backwards with Fritz landing on top of him.

The king looked ridiculously pleased with himself as he shoved another handful of leaves down Gilbert's uniform. "Ha!" he shouted. "So now who's—" he was cut off when Gilbert grabbed him and pulled him into a rough kiss. For a moment he was stunned, but then all his previous thoughts drifted away and he returned it eagerly. Prussia's hands ran over his shoulders, gripping his uniform tightly. Suddenly his nation threw his whole body upwards, and the force of it sent them rolling over; red eyes hovered above him wickedly. "Much better," he heard Gilbert purr before he leaned back down and kissed him again, starting right back where he left off.

Alright, autumn could be awesome as well.


Winter

Autumn had died a peaceful, quiet death and had let winter come upon the land. First the earth was bare, and then the snow had fallen and had covered everthing in a blinding white sheet that warped one's sense of things. Everything was so bright and so still that it seemed as if the cold had frozen the flow of time itself.

People tended to stay indorrs, which was fine by Prussia.He liked being inside a palace with a mug of wine and a roaring fireplace to chase away the chill. Fritz disliked it because that palace could not be Sanssouci. He would have stayed there his entire life if he could, but the way the palace was constructed made it very susceptible to the cold and sickness was a common problem. Of course, Fritz would have stayed there anyway, being his stubborn self, if Prussia had not constantly berated him about it. They both moved to the royal palace in Berlin for the winter, where they were surrounded by the court.

It wasn't nearly as beautiful as Sanssouci, but something about the snow softened the look. Prussia loved it and often spent his time outside, playing in the snow with Gilbird and throwing snowballs at unsuspecting passersby. Something about the snow excited him, and it had nothing to do with the climate or his people or his lands, it was his own private pleasure. He often dragged Fritz out with him, and the man grumbled and complained because he did not like the cold very much, but he stayed out anyway. With all of the people flocking inside the palace, not to mention the Christmas decorations were going on, it was hard to find some peace and quiet. Of course with Prussia round it was hardly peaceful or quiet, but that was beside the point. He still enjoyed his time.

The only instances when they were truly alone and allowed to enjoy each other's company was when they were inside Fritz's apartments. No one except Gilbert and Wilhelmine were allowed inside and anyone who dared to contradict that faced the displeasure of the king. Even now, on Christmas Eve, the two of them were not a part of the ball that was being hosted to celebrate the holdiays and were more content with snuggling on one of the couches next to the fire. The dogs lay on the rug and Gilbird was asleep on his owner's shoulder.

It was almost midnight, and Frederick was trying not to fall asleep. That was a little difficult, since he had had nearly two glasses of wine and was currently pressed against Gilbert's side, his head resting on a broad shoulder (the one opposite to Gilbird.) Prussia's hand gently stroked his hair and the back of his neck, causing his thoughts to drift pleasantly. He felt the chest in front of him tremble as Prussia laughed softly. "Tired already, old man?" Gilbert asked, his voice filled with a gentle teasing.

He mumbled something inaudible and turned his head so he could bite down on sensitive skin of the albino's neck. Prussia squeaked and tried to squirm away and Fritz bit down harder. "Hush yourself," Fritz said, his words muffled. "Now tell me what time it is."

Gilbert managed to free himself and twisted around to look at the clock. "Five minutes until midnight," he said and settled back down. "Dunno why you're so excited about it."

"Because it's Christmas," Fritz replied, resting his chin on Gilbert's chest and smiling at him.

"So? You used to hate Christmas."

"Used to," Frederick said, laying his head back down. "I like it when I'm with you."

Prussia laughed again, although not unkindly, and went back to messing with his hair. With his free hand he grabbed the rest of his wine and drained it in one gulp, then handed Fritz his own glass. The fire popped, sending flickering shadows across the furniture.

Fritz sat up, placing his empty glass back on the table. "What are you doing? Sit down," Prussia grumbled, hugging his across the waist and trying to pull him back down.

"In a moment," Fritz said, prying his hands off. He stodd up rather shakily (although he attributed that to the fact that he had been laying down for the past few hours)  and stepped around the couch. He glanced at the clock as he passed it. It was 11:57. Almost midnight, he had to be quick. He made his way over to a cabinet and opened it, revealing its contents to be a large bottle and a small box tied up with a ribbon. He grabbed both and came back to the couch. "Hand me the corkscrew please," he said as he sat back down.

Prussia squinted at the bottle. "Champagne?" he asked, handing the device over. "Honestly? We just had some wine."

"Are you turning down an opportunity to drink even more?" Fritz shot back, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "I know my precious Prussia better than that. Besides, it's custom to drink champagne on the stroke of midnight." The cork came out with a loud pop that made the dogs jump in fright.

"Says who?" Prussia demanded, frowning at him.

"Says me, and I'm King, so what I say is law." Fritz said, pouring the sparkling gold liquid into their glasses. He chuckled at Prussia's face and held out one of the glasses. The country mumbled something under his breath and took it. His crimson eyes fell on the box. "What's that?"'

"Your gift," Fritz replied, unable to keep the smile off his face.

Prussia had the oddest expression when he heard that. "My. . . what?" he asked, as if his king had just spoken something in a foreign tongue.

"Don't be silly, your Christmas gift," Fritz said. He patted Gilbert on the knee. However his smile began to disappear when he saw that Prussia's face did not change. "What's wrong?"

Prussia shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that I'm not used to getting gifts. No one has ever really given me a Christmas present before."

Fritz blinked in surprise. "No one? Surely you jest."

"I don't. I was more of the partying type, so I either held Christmas parties or went to them. No one ever gave me a gift."

"Well then, I'm honored to be one of the first." Frederick replied, his smile returning. Just then the clock struck midnight and the bell started tolling. Far off in another part of the palace a loud cheer went up. "Joyeux Noël, liebling," Fritz murmured and held out his glass.

Prussia smiled and clinked their glasses together. "Frohe Weihnachten, Schatzi." Then he threw back his head and drank, the long column of his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

Fritz sipped his own drink modestly, watching as Gilbert once again emptied his cup and set it down. Really, the man's tolerance was amazing at times. The pale man sat up fully and stretched, popping his neck and shoulders. To his surprise, Gilbert then plunged his hand between one of the couch cushions and felt around. Before Fritz could ask what he was doing he pulled out something that was wrapped in a thin cloth. "Here," Gilbert said, handing it to him without a flourish. "It's, um, your present." It was hard to tell in the firelight, but his cheeks seemed a bit more pink than before.

"You hid it in the couch?" Fritz asked, a secret delight warming his heart. He took it and started to peel off the cloth. From the way it felt he knew immediately that it was a sort of book. As the last swath of fabric fell away he saw Prussia pour himself some more champagne so his back was facing him. He smiled and at his nation's shyness and looked down at the cover. Zadig ou la Destinée. He frowned a little. That sounded awfully familiar. "I think Voltaire mentioned this to me in one of his letters," he said conversationally.

"It is Voltaire," Prussia replied quietly.

The king's eyes grew huge and he looked down and yes, there was the the poet's name under the title. This must have been the new book that his friend mentioned, the one that had only recently been published. He knew that Prussia disliked the man, and he had obviously swallowed his pride and bought the book—for him. For his pleasure. He thought his heart would burst out of his chest. "Thank you," he said, setting the book on the table, next to the box. "You're sweet." He saw the blush on Gilbert's face deepen, and he resisted the urge to laugh. He leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then tapped the box. "Now it's your turn."

Prussia tsked but reached for the box anyway. It was barely smaller than his palm. "Why is it so small?" he asked as he pulled at the ribbon.

"Because the gift is small," Frederick answered in amusement. He tapped his fingertips together nervously, his eyes never leaving Gilbert's face. Gilbert had of course gotten him something that he knew his king would like, but Frederick could not say the same. He knew that Prussia would certainly appreciate the gift, but he wondered if he would understand the full message he was trying to say.

Gilbert finally slipped the ribbon off and lifted the lid. His brows dipped a little and his countenance turned into a distant confusion. "What is this?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He gently took the object out, examining it in the firelight. It was an Iron Cross, black with a white trim, just as it was always depicted in history. It hung from a silver chain that was polished so brightly that the light winked off of it like stars. It rested comfortably in his hand, smooth and cool to the touch. He turned it over on the blank side and was even more surprised to see the Hohenzollern coat of arms engraved into the metal.

Frederick gulped his champagne and willed the right words to come to him. "I had it made for you," he said at last. "I know that this symbol was an important part of your history, and I thought that you would like to be able to carry some of your history around with you. The Iron Cross represents you, just like the black eagle does." He moved a little closer, pointing to the coat of arms. "And that is my family symbol. I want you to know that no matter what happens, you will always be a part of our family, and myself. I. . . " For a moment his words almost failed him. "I have no other way to show you just how precious you are to me. How you alone have my complete love." He knew he was being the "mushy romantic" that Gilbert always teased about, but Gilbert didn't seem to mind the slightest bit. In fact Gilbert's expression had softened quite a bit. He stared at the cross with some intense emotion that Fritz could not name and ran his thumbs along the points.

He was silent for so long that Fritz started to think that he had done something wrong, or said something that he had not meant to. He was on the verge of apologizing (for what he didn't even know) when Gilbert closed his fingers around the cross and looked up. Fritz was astonished to see that his eyes were filled with tears. He opened his mouth to speak, then had to stop and swallow before he could. "I—I don't know what to say," he managed to choke out before one of the tears rolled down his cheek. "Verdammt," he muttered angrily, wiping it away.

"Then don't say anything," Fritz gently teasing, wiping away the other tears with his thumb. "However, a 'thank you' would do just nicely."

Prussia made a sound that was something between a laugh and a sob. "Thank you," he said, turning to look at him. "You have no idea what this means to me." It was the most sincere thing Fritz had ever heard him say.

"On the contrary, I believe I do." Frederick replied and took the cross from his hands. "Here, it has a clasp on the back." He slipped his hands behind the albino's neck so he could clasp the chains together. The cross stood out starkly against his clothes, a splash of black against white, and rested right over his heart. When he went to pull his hands away Gilbert reached up and grabbed them tightly, holding them in place. He only saw a wicked smile before he was pulled into a soft kiss. It was Gilbert's own way of thanking him, of trying to convey all of the words he couldn't say. He tried to reach up so he could touch Prussia's face, but that tight grip on his wrists prevented him from going anywhere. Suddenly he was being pushed back into the couch and he felt Prussia's weight on top of him, holding him down. He heard Gilbird cheep in indignation as the sudden movement threw him off.

Now thoroughly on top of him, Prussia started to move downwards, trailing soft kisses to his neck and jaw. "My King, I do believe more than a simple thank you is in order. I believe I'll have to show you how grateful I am." The warm purr in his ear sent shivers running down his spine, something that didn't go unnoticed by Prussia.

"Then do it," Fritz purred back, trying to pull his hands free from Prussia's grip and failing.

The country chuckled and squeezed his arms tighter. "I shall. Now stop that squirming, or I'll have to tie you up." From his expression Fritz knew that he was being deadly serious, but when he bent down to kiss him again Fritz found out that he really didn't care.

Winter was—oh to hell with it. All of the seasons were awesome.