Guys! I finally finished my oneshot! Aren't you proud of me?

So, anyway, this is a bit of a step away from my usual work. It's much, much less lighthearted, not to mention…THERE ARE ONLY STRAIGHT PAIRINGS! OMG!

Actually, there are only like two pairings. Each of them involving Hungary. EVEN WEIRDER.

Anyway, enjoy!

WARNINGS- cancer, OOC Ludwig, angst by the gallon, Gilbert is Ludwig's father (what?), badhusband!Austria, separation of twins, children had at young ages, sickly Lovino, attempt to make a life lesson that FAILS, PruHun, AusHun

DISCLAIMER- I own the plot, but none of the characters are mine. I only wish that they were.

EDIT (12/9/11)- Fixed some passages that were bothering me. Nothing major.

…

I push open the glass door, heavy bag slung over my shoulder. This place has gotten far more familiar than I ever wanted it to. In the past six months, I have been here every day, rescheduling my regular training with Coach to later in the evening and doing my homework in the wee hours of the morning. It's not the best arrangement, but it gets me here.

The nurse at the front desk waves to me. They all know my name by now; they all know why I'm here. I smooth my blond hair back and give her a small smile in return, the least she deserves the hard work that she and her hospital are putting into…into everything.

I shake my head, repressing a sigh. Visiting hours aren't for another thirty minutes, but I had brought a book, and nobody minded me reading in one of the hard chairs in the waiting area, as long as I didn't get in anyone's way. So, I make my way across the room and sits across from a woman, the only other figure in the chairs. She is clutching her purse, hair done up in a severe bun and overlarge shades covering half of her face. I have never seen her before. Odd. Usually the same people come to visit always. Maybe there's a new addition in the hospital, but being here so often I almost always know when they come in, and I hadn't been aware of any changes lately. She looks rich. She doesn't seem like the type of person to know anyone in this dingy rundown hospital. I cannot figure out what she could possibly be here for.

She doesn't look like she knows either.

…

Gilbert and Elizaveta met when they were six on a rusty old playground. She had just moved in and was exploring. He had lived there all his life and was avoiding his parents. They didn't particularly have anything in common. Yet, somehow, they had managed to hit it off, as much as two six year olds of the opposite gender could. Their tentative companionship eventually escalated into a game of triple-dog-dare-you.

"I dare you to do a back flip off the castle roof!" she laughed. She, in her small six year old mind, had not expected him to do it. He, in his small six year old mind, had not seen any reason not to. He broke his leg. It was lucky he didn't break his neck, trying to do back flips, the doctor said later.

She never quite managed to apologize for that.

…

It is hard to focus on my book when she's shifting around like that. I finally gather the nerve to speak up "Ma'am? Are you alright?"

She starts, looks at me, cringes back. "No. I mean, yes. Yes, I'm fine."

"If you're sure."

…

Elizaveta had come up to Gilbert two days after the incident, shyly asking if she could sign his cast. He'd gladly agreed. Somehow, it seemed that he had almost totally forgotten that she had been the one to suggest the stunt in the first place, and for that she was grateful. Gilbert was already her best friend, and she liked to think that she was his as well.

She was, although he would never say so.

As the years past, they never grew apart like so many friends of different genders. If anything, they grew closer, attached at the hip wherever they went. They had their fair share of arguments, more than their fair share in Gilbert's opinion. But it was never anything serious. Every argument was forgotten only a few days afterwards, stinging wounds caused by thoughtless words stitched up and healed just like their skinned knees after falling from their bikes. Sometimes they would apologize; sometimes they would just forget that they had ever fought at all. It never particularly mattered to them.

Lately, Gilbert had found himself wanting to take her hand. Snatch it up from beside her and link their fingers against the cold of the winter and the heat of the summer. He imagined Elizaveta would smile up at him and squeeze back. He imagined that maybe he'd kiss her cheek then. He imagined that maybe he'd be happy then. He imagined…But he never did it. And she didn't either.

And then came high school.

…

I close my book quietly, resigning myself to the fact that I am never going to get any reading done with such a distracting presence in the room with me. I raise my eyes to look at her again. There are frown lines at the corners of her mouth and her lower lip has been trembling since I first saw her. Even her shades can't cover the shiny tear marks on her cheeks which she hasn't bothered to rinse off. My heart constricts in pity. I see something of myself in her, the myself of three months ago, when this whole ordeal started.

"Who are you here to see today, ma'am?" I ask, sitting up straight in my chair. She starts, but does not answer. I continue instead. "I'm here to see my father. He's been sick for awhile now. I'd guess he's about your age."

She remains silent for a few second more, and I almost abandon hope for an answer. But then her mouth opens, forming silent shapes, until her head shakes and she smiles a bit.

"An old friend. I'm here to see an old friend."

…

Nothing happened freshman year. Nothing happened sophomore year. Gilbert still did not stop imagining. Gilbert still did not stop not doing.

Gilbert was never very good in English class.

But junior year, he was going to do it. A week before Christmas, in the days before winter break, he invited Elizaveta to go on a walk in the park with him, saying he had something to tell her. She smiled and agreed. She had something to tell him too, and even though he was not allowing himself to get his hopes up…well, he hoped that she that what she wanted to tell him was the same as what he wanted to tell her.

Yes, he loved her. Any broken legs were beside the point.

His hand twitched. It reached for hers, grasping and grabbing for acceptance. But before it landed at its destination, she unveiled her news. She had a boyfriend. The new, rich, transfer student from Austria, she described him. Handsome and sweet and gentlemanly, and oh, wasn't Gilbert so happy for her?

His hand retreated back to his pocket.

What was it he wanted to tell her again?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

…

"If it's not too prying a question, may I ask what your old friend is ill with?" I ask her, setting my book back inside my bag. She smiles again, shakes her head again. Her hands twist in her lap.

"Lung cancer. For a while now it seems," she says quietly. She takes off her shades and folds them in her lap. Her eyes are green. "I only just found out he was sick at all."

I am silent. Lung cancer. Dad…

"I should have been a better friend," she says again, even quieter. It still sounds like she's screaming it, screaming it with tears flying from her eyes, but her self-control won't let her go like that. "I should have been there for him through all these years. I didn't even know…I didn't…"

…

Elizaveta dated the Austrian all through high school, all through college. Gilbert was still her best friend, her confidant, and, even with his traitorous feelings tearing his heart to shreds, he cannot deny her this. Having her and hurting is better than not having her at all.

Elizaveta did not know what she was putting Gilbert through. She thought that nothing had changed, that their relationship was not straining at the seams. She did notice that, occasionally, Roderick would send Gilbert a superior look which the other man would practically growl at, and it bothered her. She did notice that the feelings she had first held when she dated the Austrian were gone, the giddy skipping in her chest and the fire in her cheeks dissolved into nothing. But she deluded herself into just thinking it meant that her love had matured into something great, something life lasting.

Roderick did not approve of Gilbert. And on her twenty-first birthday, he gave her a choice. Either she could marry him and leave Gilbert behind, or she could leave him and have Gilbert. Thinking herself in love, she made her choice.

They had an argument that night. Her and Gilbert, that is. It got heated, more than any before. It ended up with her running out of his apartment, his hateful, hurt, voice still echoing behind her. No cuff to the head could solve this. No broken legs, no apologies, no walk in the park could ever fix the things she had said to him, and she hadn't even meant a word of it.

That night, Elizaveta cried silently in her new bed, trying not to shake for Roderick's arm around her. That night, Gilbert drank his memories all away and twisted around a brown haired slut.

…

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault," I say softly, not really knowing what else to do. I have never been good with emotional outbursts, something that my father had despaired over. Being a very emotional person himself, bouncing from happy to crushed to terrified in an instant, he had always wondered how he could have produced such a stoic boy.

He is still a boy at heart. The age difference between us is not very great, and sometimes I have trouble remembering he is my father and not my brother.

"I was given a choice," she replies, "And I made the wrong decision."

…

Gilbert got her pregnant, that brunette from his night of shame. When she showed up at his door, this nameless girl, a whole three months later, he considered slamming the door in her face. But her eyes were green and her hair was long and brown and she was crying, so he opened it wider instead and ushered her in.

At her confession, he merely stared. Scared of an abortion, untrusting of adoption agencies, unable to take it in, she begged him. He's the father, take the child, love it, care for it, apologize that she won't be here for it. Tell it the truth when it asked, leave nothing out, just please…don't abandon it. Her voice had been up to a yell, desperation leaking around the edges. He felt sorry for her.

Because of that, and because she looked like Elizaveta, and because he couldn't just abandon his own flesh and blood, he agreed.

Elizaveta got pregnant, almost immediately after the marriage. She ran to Roderick in joy when she found out, face shining in happiness that dissipated when his nose turned up. He hoped it was a boy. That was all he had to say on the matter.

She hardly saw him after that. He was so busy at his job, already CEO of an important company at the young age of twenty two, due to his father's untimely death.

Gilbert's memory was closest to her heart during this time, and she missed him so much it hurt. But she loved the warm body growing inside of her too, and because of that she did not leave in search of him.

…

"And then it was too late."

"We're only human, ma'am, we can make mistakes."

"But this one was inexcusable."

…

It was twin boys, Elizaveta discovered soon after. She had thought that Roderick would be happy, but instead his face pinched even farther at the mention of it. Twins would only cause difficulties. Who would inherit the company and such. He would have to come up with a solution.

She had never expected that solution would be handing the elder, the sicklier one, over to an unwilling associate. It was apparently either take it or condemn it to the orphanages. She had not known this until only one was handed to her.

She cried into the warm baby body that night-Feliciano. He cried with her. Lovino…oh, Lovino…

She missed him so much it hurt, taking the light from her eyes and the silk from her hair. Feliciano was the perfect child. But every time she looked at him, her heart was only half-full. But she never went looking for the rest.

The woman stayed with Gilbert until the baby came. And then, as soon as she was discharged, she was gone, leaving him the legal guardian of a little blond boy, who smiled up at him with trusting blue eyes. He didn't know what to do. The Dr. Bonnefoy-Francis- from the hospital became invaluable, and his best friend since…her…

He still cried for her sometimes at night. He named his child after her favorite composer, the middle name for his real mother's father. Ludwig James Beilschmidt. His son, at twenty two.

Sometimes, he will gather Ludwig to his chest during the night and sleep with his baby beside him. Those are the only nights he does not dream.

…

She does not speak again for awhile. I nervously attempt to fill the silence with stories of my father. "It's really weird, you know. He has all this hard rock and screamo on his iPod, and yet he's also got almost every piece that Beethoven ever wrote. And I asked him once if he even liked Beethoven, and he said that he didn't. Can you imagine? He even named me after him. Ludwig."

"Your father sounds like a nice man," she says softly. I smile.

"He is."

…

Gilbert took up smoking around this point. Francis warned him against it, but it was the only thing that helped him to cope; that and Beethoven music. He never smoked around Ludwig though. He at least had enough sense for that. Ludwig was his life now. His reason for existence. Without Ludwig, he would be nothing. Dear little Luddy, growing up into the world much too fast for Gilbert's tastes. It seemed only yesterday that he was still a newborn.

He still missed her. Sometime he wondered if he should date, find Ludwig a mother figure. However, he listened to Francis on this point. Ludwig didn't need it. Gilbert didn't want it. And really, Francis was mother enough for the both of them.

He took a puff, grey skies above him and closed his eyes. Later, he would go inside and gather Luddy to his chest, hardly three years old now. Ludwig would stare down at him with that serious worried expression that was always on his face, and tentatively stroke the white strands of his hair. And those little moments were the ones that he lived for.

Ludwig always knew what he needed.

On Feliciano's second birthday, Antonio showed up at their door, fuming. He was the one that Roderick had forced Lovino onto, and Elizaveta's heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him.

She hunched outside the door to Roderick's office, holding little Feli close to her chest. She rested one hand lightly over his mouth to indicate that he should be quiet, her little baby staring up at her with confused eyes. The argument between her husband and Antonio drifted out to their ears.

Antonio sounded desperately worried. The hospital bills were stacking up and Lovino was only getting worse. If Roderick would just give him more money-

But he was none of Roderick's concern. Antonio was dismissed with a brush of the hand, and no amount of yelling and screaming could get him to change his mind. Lovino was not his son anymore. He didn't have money to spare. Every word that left her husband's mouth made Elizaveta's blood boil in her veins. She drew away from the door, clutching her little boy to her even tighter until he started to cry.

She stopped Antonio at the gate, pressing some of her personal money into his hand and asking for his address. She visited Lovino every Sunday after that, bringing Feliciano along with her. She never told Roderick.

Lovino would never hug her back.

…

"I have two sons," she says quietly. "A little younger than you, but both darlings. I think that you'd like them very much."

"I'm sure I would, ma'am."

"I'll bring them next time," she says, desperation in her voice. "I'll bring them."

"That'd be lovely, ma'am."

…

Gilbert was diagnosed with lung cancer on his thirty-eighth birthday. Ludwig, sixteen now, had been beside himself; it was one of the few times that Gilbert had ever seen his son upset. He had merely reached out to take his hand, eyes closing in resignation. Francis had yelled, screamed that he should have listened to him when he said not to smoke, he was a doctor for god's sake.

What was done was done. Now he just had to deal with the consequences.

The hospital itself wasn't so bad. The doctors and nurses were kind to him and the food was not nearly as terrible as books and television made it out to be. The treatments weren't exactly of the spa retreat kind, but he could even deal with that.

Ludwig came into visit him every day, spilling details of the events at school, bringing in all of his test grades to show him, A's and high B's as always. He ruffled his slick backed hair, to which his son would lose his dignity and squawk, trying to fix it. If the scene wasn't taking place in a hospital, it would have been just like normal. But it was. And there was that sad look in Ludwig's eyes that Gilbert would do anything to wipe away.

He wasn't going to die here. He wasn't.

Elizaveta had found out through Antonio, surprisingly enough. He had called her cell to tell her that his friend, Francis Bonnefoy, would be present at their weekly meeting. He was distraught about his friend, he told her. Just been diagnosed with lung cancer. The sick man's son was staying with Francis now. Only sixteen.

The poor man, she had sympathized. Who is his friend?

Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Her voice had abandoned her. Antonio had gone on, but she could not hear him. She could not see anything but Gilbert, red eyes shining, white hair tucked under a cap, snow sticking to his eyelashes. Lung cancer. Lung cancer.

A son?

She had interrupted him finally to whisper out a question.

What hospital?

And that brought them here

…

The nurse at the front desk calls over to us. "Visiting time has started. You can go ahead in now."

I stand up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I reach down a hand for her. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, ma'am. I'm sure we'll see each other soon. I'm very much looking forward to your sons next time you visit."

She doesn't take it. "Haven't you realized yet, Ludwig? We're going to the same place."

She stands, leaving me frozen, my hand still outstretched before me. She is already gone around the corner, heading for my father's room, before I can move again, hand falling to my side. I don't know whether to follow her, or to wait for her. I take a few steps towards the hallway. A compromise, I think. I'll walk slowly.

Who is this woman?

…

She makes it to his room, hardly able to hold back her tears. His son was such a nice boy, so polite and kind to ask about the health of strangers. Feliciano would like him. Lovino probably wouldn't. She smiles at the thought of her sons, so different in nature, but so similar in face. For the entire world she would not give them up. But Gilbert…

She still wishes she had made the right choice. Gilbert would have never given Lovino up. Her sick little boy…

He is staring at the ceiling when she arrives, red eyes contemplative. He does not notice her at first when she enters the room, and she cannot muster up the will to say anything. He looks older than he did the last time she saw him. How long ago was that? Fifteen, sixteen, twenty years? More? Her whole life is nothing but a blur before her eyes and she questions if she ever knew him at all. There's a beanie on his head, but hair pokes out from underneath. His bones poke out from his collar bone, from the thin wrists emerging from his sleeves.

He finally looks over to her. His eyes widen in surprise and he sits up suddenly, lapsing into a coughing fit. She starts to go to him, but falters. Her hands reach uncertainly for him. She doesn't know what to do. She fidgets with her hair, her bun coming undone in her hands.

When he finally regains control, he offers her a wan smile. "Well. You're not Ludwig."

"No," she says, tears in her voice. "No, I'm not."

"It's been awhile."

"Yes. You have a son."

"And you?"

"I have two."

"Never knew that Austrian had it in him."

That brings a tiny smile to her lips. She does not love her husband anymore. There was a time where he loved her, she thinks, there was a time where he truly believed that they would be happy together. But then he started work. And it all went away. It's both their faults. He didn't try because he loved his work too much, and she didn't try because she loved…

He's not smiling anymore. "And how are you, Lizzie? Are you happy?"

She does not respond, but he reads the answer in her face. She backs towards the door, memories overwhelming her until her hands shake. "Are you going to live?"

"I have a pretty good chance with surgery, they think," he answers, smiling again. "Besides, I'm not leaving Luddy behind so soon. He may seem independent, but he still needs me. And Francis has no idea how to deal with teenagers. I could never forgive myself if I left him behind."

"Gilbert," she whispers. She doesn't know what else to say. "Gilbert."

"Elizaveta," he says quietly. It is uncharacteristic of him. Gilbert should never be quiet, she thinks. He should be loud and happy and healthy and- "Will you come back?"

She steps away, nods because she cannot speak. Her strength has failed her. The one thing that kept her going through all of these years is swept away by the emotion in his eyes and the timbre of his voice. How could she have ever left him?

"Elizaveta," he says again. "I love you more than he ever could have. I always have."

"Me too," she chokes out, before turning and running from the room. But this time, for the first time in a long time, she feels like she's running to something, not away from it.

…

I reach the room just as the woman runs out of it. Her tears are real now, not just suggestions behind her eyes. She almost knocks me over, but instead stops and grabs my shoulder, green eyes boring into my own.

"Tell him I'll be back tomorrow," she says forcefully. "And that I'll bring Feli and Lovi with me. Antonio and Francis too. Can you tell him that for me?"

"S-Sure," I stutter out, taken back by the fire behind her eyes. She smiles at me, pats my cheeks, and resumes her sprint down the hallway. I watch her go, more confused than I was before. Shaking my head, I enter the room.

My father is staring at the doorway, looking lost. I walk quietly to the chair beside him, sit down, wait for him to speak. He finally turns to look at me. "I suppose you want to know who that is, don't you, Luddy?"

"Yes."

"Always the curious one. Ever since you were born. I think you got that from your mother. I didn't know her very long, you know, but she was the most curious creature that I've ever met. She wanted to travel the world," his gaze is far off and wistful. "I like to think that she was able to. She deserved everything she wanted and more after what I put her through."

"It wasn't just your fault," I say. I know the story of my mother. I asked on my fourteenth birthday, and my father told me an honest, unabridged version. It was something I didn't appreciate until later.

"It was mostly my fault," he laughs. "I shouldn't have let my longing for Lizzie obscure my judgment."

"Was that Lizzie?" I ask. I think I already know the answer.

"That was Elizaveta," my father says back, grinning at me. There is a pain behind his smile that I've seen before, on those days that he cooped himself up in his room and read his many diaries from years and years before. I had always wanted to read them. But they were so raw and so personal to him, that I never was able to bring myself to do it. And now I guess I know why. "That was Elizaveta. That was the reason I never got married. I remember, when you were four, you thought I was married to Francis. Did I tell you about that?"

"Yeah, you've mentioned it," I say, a hint of a smile on my face. Dad loved to tell stories about my childhood. At every possible occasion he would bring them up, his voice always gleeful at the recollection. "Francis got upset, right?"

He laughs again, hoarse. "Yup, sure did. He still freaks out when I mention it."

He is silent for a moment, before he reaches out to ruffle my hair. I don't get upset about it this time. "You're the most important. You know that too?"

"Yeah, Dad," I say quietly. "I know."

"Good."

"She said she's coming back though. Tomorrow, with Feli and Lovi and Antonio and Francis."

"Good."

And then.

"I'm sorry, who?"

I stifle a smile. He's still my father even after of that.

…

She tells her husband she wants a divorce as soon as she gets back from the hospital. He is unwilling, thinking that it would look bad for the company to get a divorce, but he eventually agrees. She thinks that maybe, for that one second, he remembered that he loved her once. That he loved her enough to not deny her the ability to leave. Thinking this redeems him in her eyes. And she wants to remember him fondly, not tinged with bitterness. He lets her take Feliciano too, on the provision that he still gets visits with him. As the years have passed, it has gotten less important to him to have an heir. Feliciano would have never been a CEO anyway.

The two of them pack up and leave for Antonio's. He is surprised, but takes them in with open arms. She still has enough money to support herself for awhile, and she will find a job. It will be hard, but she will find one. She did go to college after all.

Lovino does not shy away from her hug this time. It makes her happier than she could ever express.

Gilbert has hope now. Hope for him, for his son, for Elizaveta. He's going to live for them both. No. For himself as well. Cancer can't keep someone like him down for long. He's too awesome to die of some silly illness while he's still got years to spend with them both. And, in the case of Elizaveta, seventeen years to make up for as well.

He has a dream that night. He is sixteen again, walking in the park with Elizaveta beside him. Her ears are tucked into her cap, gloved hands relaxed by her side. She's talking about her news, and he realizes that this is the day he found out about Roderick. It's the same dream he has almost every night. But, this time, he doesn't listen to her words. Instead, he contemplates the hand, open invitingly by her side. If he had taken it, his life would have been different. But…perhaps…It was better the way it turned out. He leaves it empty and it soon slips into her pocket.

They'll be plenty of time for that when he awakes.

…

So…That was fun!

Leave a review for me and I'll love you forever. Even if you say something like 'kyaa!' or something like 'boo!' I'll still love you.

Anyway, I've got to go work on GEMINI now! Ugh… There's so much more to write. I don't wanna do iiiiiiittt!

But I will, just for you. Wish me luck!