Hetalia kink meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:33 pm
hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:33 pm
Past Part Fills Part 2 -- CLOSED
This Past-Part Fills post is now closed to new fills.
Fresh past-part fills post HERE
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Ricette d'amore [3a/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-04-06 04:42 am (UTC)(link)For a moment his heart stopped, although Ludwig knew that was an exaggeration. Because if his heart had really stopped, then he would be dead and not standing in the bright white hallway of a busy hospital, talking to a nurse wearing scrubs patterned with chicks and bunnies.
"Oh, excuse my choice of words, Mr. Beilschmidt. It's been a long night... You are Ludwig Beilschmidt, correct?"
"The message said he was in critical care, but stable" was rightly taken for a 'yes'.
"If you’re Gilbert’s brother then that’s true. Or was true, several hours ago.” Ludwig’s heart… “Your brother has been released to a quieter ward; he was released from surgery a few hours ago."
So Gilbert was alright? Ludwig's face didn't betray how relieved he was. Gilbert had probably just done something stupid, maybe he'd gotten his head stuck in a banister again. Ludwig's older brother was at the heart of every disturbance of Ludwig's life; this would be no different. "Gilbert was annoying the other patients, wasn't he?"
The nurse laughed, and motioned down the hallway. "I suppose that's one way to put it, Mr. Beilschmidt." The man's smile faded as his pager let out a small series of beeps. "I have to go. Your brother is just down there, the second room from the end." The nurse began to walk away. "Someone will be in to see the both of you soon, Mr. Beilschmidt. Have a good day."
And Ludwig was left alone.
The hallway was slightly cool, as well as clean and bright. Three things that Ludwig normally greatly approved of. Three things that at the moment, really weren’t helping. But there was no turning back now, so Ludwig took careful, measured steps toward the second room from the end of the hallway. He made it all the way to the fourth room from the end before a woman stopped him. Her coat and clipboard revealed her to be another doctor.
“Oh, are you here for Mr. Beilschmidt?” How could she tell? Did doctors just know these things, like Ludwig knew when the blend of spices in his sauces was just right? Or was it so obvious that he was the brother of an incorrigible troublemaker?
“Yes. I am his brother.”
The doctor sighed and motioned Ludwig away from his destination. “I know everyone’s so busy these days, but I really wish you had gotten here sooner.”
“I was busy, yes. But I am here now. And the nurse told me Gilbert’s room was that,” he pointed behind them, “way.”
“You can’t visit your brother just yet, Mr. Beilschmidt, although I promise you will be able to. Right now I’ll have to ask you to wait in my office for a moment before the authorities return.”
“The authorities? What did Gilbert do?”
The doctor blinked at him and then patted him on the shoulder. “I see. The nurse didn’t tell you, then.” She didn’t say anything else until Ludwig was safely sitting down on the spare chair in her office. And then she spoke.
About a man that had been drinking and driving and driving so fast that he drove into another car before he could realize it.
About a couple that had been driving back from their trip to have lunch with an old professor.
About an accident.
About two ambulance rides, one racing, speeding, fast.
One slow.
And then the doctor, after asking Ludwig if he was going to be alright, picked up her phone and called downstairs to the morgue to see if they were ready for Mr. Beilschmidt to come and identify the body.
It was colder in the morgue. It was cleaner too, practically sterile. It was well lit and the walls were white. Ludwig didn’t understand how such sensible things could come together to form something so horrible (The kitchen staff at The Black Magic had quickly gotten used to walking in on their head chef just sitting in the cold storage. He did it to relax. They still looked at him strangely. Now he could see why).
There were three people waiting for Ludwig when he arrived. And a body.
“Mr. Beilschmidt?”
“…please.”
The officer nodded and pulled back the sheet. “Is this Elizaveta Beilschmidt?”
“Yes.” The body had been. Once.
Ludwig felt a tear run down his cheek. It hit his nose and ran down his lips. The salt mingled with the bile that rose in his throat. His sister-in-law was dead.
Ricette d'amore [3b/13]
(Anonymous) 2010-04-06 05:49 am (UTC)(link)But when Ludwig finally reached the open doorway of the second room from the end of the hallway, Gilbert was not asleep. In fact, he was already sitting up, and if there wasn’t the matter of his legs (one in a cast, one missing) then Ludwig might not have been able to tell why Gilbert needed to be in the hospital at all.
He looked like he always did. All smirks and laughter and irresponsibility.
Gilbert noticed him standing there. It was only a matter of time. “…Ludwig? Is that really you Wessie?” his brother chuckled to himself. “Oh, I get it now. It takes a car accident for little Wessie to visit big brother Gilbert. Some little brother you are.”
He didn’t know.
Ludwig entered the room and choked out a greeting. He wasn’t sure which, but it was probably something very polite and unnecessary, like “Good evening” or “How are you doing?” The same old phrases that always seemed to annoy Gilbert.
Apparently they didn’t bother him today. “They told me I shouldn’t be awake yet, but when have I ever done the things I was supposed to do?”
He didn’t know.
“You shouldn’t be sitting up already.”
“Heh, yeah. That’s what the nurse said.”
“You should have listened to him.”
There. Gilbert rolled his eyes at him and for a moment it was normal. Ludwig and Gilbert were young again, bickering. Gilbert wasn’t listening. Ludwig was preaching. It was just like it always was between the two of them, which was one of the main reasons that they hadn’t spoken in years. But then Ludwig remembered the body in the morgue. The body that Gilbert didn’t know about. That Ludwig was supposed to be telling him about.
The doctor had thought that it would be best if Ludwig was the one to break the news to Gilbert. Ludwig had no idea why; weren’t doctors trained to let families know about a loved one’s passing? But Gilbert had asked for him, when he had first woken up. Ludwig had not expected that. He still didn’t know what it meant. It had given the doctor the impression that they were close, which was false.
They hadn’t spoken in over two years.
He didn’t know.
“So where’s Veta? No one would tell me if she’s still in surgery or if she was even hurt badly enough to need to be in here or what.” Ludwig didn’t say anything. He just stood next to Gilbert’s bed, hands by his sides. “You know what, Wessi? I bet she’s the one that complained and made me get transferred over here. It’d be just like her.” It would have. “Or maybe she’s out there chatting up some doctors. Tsch, woman needs to remember that she’s married already. It’s been long enough.”
“It… yes. You were married five years ago.”
“Five years in June, yeah.”
He didn’t know.
Ludwig couldn’t do this; he didn’t know how the doctor ever thought he could. He needed help, a doctor, a book, anything. He needed Dr. Zwingli. She always knew what to say, and she knew just the right way to make people understand. It was what she’d gone to school for (But had Dr. Zwingli ever needed to tell someone the person he loved was dead?).
“Hey, Wessi, what’re you spacing out for?” Gilbert’s hand was in his face. “Can’t stand being in the same room as so much awesome as me? I bet your resistance to it’s faded over time, huh?” He laughed again, “Get it? Get it? Can’t stand,” and gestured to his leg and the air where his other leg should have been. “God, I’m a riot.”
“We will speak to the doctor about physical therapy and prosthetics, brother. Medicine is very advanced now. I’m sure you will be able to stand again.” Good. Every second that Gilbert was preoccupied with his leg, every second where he was laughing (his already pathetic laugh), was a blessing.
“You can’t take a joke, Wessi. Why are you so serious all the time?”
He didn’t know.
Ricette d'amore [3c/13]
(Anonymous) 2010-04-06 06:38 am (UTC)(link)He did.
Gilbert stopped laughing. “Veta better have paid you to say that to me, Wessi, or else I’m not gonna hold her back when she finds out.”
Ludwig shook his head and found that he had started crying again. This was strange; he was not a crier. No one in their family was, the Beilschmidts just weren’t like that. But by the time it settled in, both men were sobbing, alone. Elizaveta was gone. Not spending the summer in Budapest gone. Gone gone. Forever gone.
Ten minutes later when the physical therapist entered the room, Ludwig and Gilbert weren’t speaking and weren’t even facing the same direction. Ludwig couldn’t look at Gilbert. Gilbert couldn’t look at anything; he had closed his eyes and was pretending to be sleeping again.
“Asleep? The nurses told me the patient in 233 was heckling the daylights out of everybody, aru.”
Both brothers turned at the sound of the stranger’s voice; it was surprisingly loud and strong for the man’s slight frame. “What’s this? So you’re awake now Mr. Beilschmidt?”
Gilbert glared with red, puffy eyes. “No. I’m not.”
The stranger frowned and jabbed a pen in Gilbert’s direction. “Awake or asleep: pick one.”
“I said I’m not awake, so leave me alone!”
Ludwig tried to make his brother see reason. This man was probably there to help them. “Gilbert, please. He’s a doctor, listen to him.”
“You shut up.”
“Aren’t you two supposed to be adults? I just came from a children’s ward that had more sense than either of you two. Than of both of you combined! Don’t make me give you the ‘Importance of Family’ speech, aru.”
If Ludwig was miffed by the reprimand, then Gilbert was furious. “You!” He pointed at the newcomer. “Who the hell do you think you are, and what do you think you’re doing here!?”
“I am making a note on your chart, Mr. Beilschmidt. ‘Cranky, put low on list for PT, he’ll be too busy mouthing off to notice.’ I’m marking it in pencil right now, but I have a pen in my pocket and it’s got your name all over it, aru, if you don’t calm down.”
Gilbert crossed his arms and kept glaring. “Fine. Fucking fine. What do you want?”
The doctor turned the clipboard he had been holding around. All he’d really done was date the page and sign his name. Dr. Yao Wang. “I am going to be your physical therapist for a very long time, aru, so let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “My name is Dr. Wang. I will be helping you with your PT, which we will be beginning as soon as we possibly can. You’ve proved yourself to be freakishly resilient.” He said it like it was something to be proud of.
Ludwig held his breath. Gilbert normally would be proud of being called freakishly resilient. In any other circumstance he might have warmed up to Dr. Wang's frank good humor.
But it was still too soon. “I don’t care.”
“Brother…”
“Mr. Beilschmidt, it’s completely up to you what you want to do at this point, but let me remind you that you are still very young, aru. You’ve got a long life ahead of you if you play your cards right. Don’t squander the second chance that so many other people don’t get to have.”
Eventually the doctor left.
Ludwig stayed, in silence. And through the soft background noise of a busy hospital, the brothers Beilschmidt thought to themselves about chances, and those who would never be able to have them again.
That’s enough for now. I have excuses for why I seemingly dropped off the face of the internet, but none of them are particularly interesting so I'll leave it there. I’ll try to get at this more regularly from now on. Man this was draining.
I hope this part wasn’t too much? I don’t know. Writing it made me start to feel really sad (and angry, when one of my suitemates started laughing. I felt like ‘how could you be happy right now!’ before I realized that the only reason I was getting emotional was a story. That I was writing).
To OP: no USUK, yes Old Fritz. You’ll see more of him.
To cookingnon: any general hints or tips I could just throw in the story to make it sound more believable?
Re: Ricette d'amore [3c/13]
(Anonymous) 2010-04-06 06:54 pm (UTC)(link)About cooking: you're doing well, until now. My father had a restaurant for a while (noting fancy, more like a trattoria) and the description of the kitchen works imo. Chefs are usually really anal about their instruments of work, especially knives (good sets are pricey, and hard to come by!).
Anything more specific? Recipes, etc.
Author here
(Anonymous) 2010-04-07 01:31 am (UTC)(link)I'm so used to writing funny that sad isn't really in my comfort zone, so I'm really happy to hear that the sad bits worked for you.
Ah, specifics. I guess I have to reveal my embarrassing secret: I don't even know what to ask because I can barely manage warming up Eggo waffles in the toaster (they're on par with cockroaches, on a live-through-nuclear-winter scale. And I still manage to ruin them). I guess... is there a restaurant quality dish that you really like? Frankly, if I asked you for a specific recipe it'd be because I browsed through a google search of "italian dishes that are difficult to make" right beforehand. (My cooking fail is a large part as to why I was hesitant to take this prompt)
Re: Author here
(Anonymous) 2010-04-08 02:15 pm (UTC)(link)Hmmm... Lemme see... Some basics!
- Base for sauces (battuto): carrot, onion, garlic, parsley, celery, everything cut in pieces (not minced!), let it cook in olive oil (a couple spoons every two people) until the onion and the garlic are golden. You can fish the pieces out then, they're just for flavor and not for eating. Then pour the rest of the ingredients in the oil (eg. passata). Watch out, boiling oil hurts! With passata, don't use garlic. Garlic and onion need to have the 'skin' peeled off.
- To take the edge off the taste of garlic: cut it in half and cut the green part off. Or: cover it in milk and boil it. Or: cover it in water, boil it, change the water, repeat five more times (always start 'a freddo', with the water cold). Or use shallot ;) (but if you use shallot, don't use onion!).
- Meat: in a nonstick pan with a drop of olive oil (or butter, but I don't like it). If it's 'fat' meat (bacon, sausages) no need for oil. When it's warm enough, pour some wine (red for red meat - pork, beef, white for white - chicken, turkey). Cooking wine need not be 'good' wine - a mediocre one is ok. The wine makes the fat in the meat evaporate.
- Pasta: salt the water, a small handful for person. The water should fill three-quarters of the pot and be enough to keep the pasta a couple centimeters under the surface. But don't put the pasta in the cold water! Wait until the water is boiling and then put the pasta in it, about 80-100 gr. for person. Quantity changes according to the type of pasta - short pasta like penne, mezze maniche etc. 'yields' better, so you need less. Stir it with a wooden spoon every once in a while. If you cook spaghetti, carefully push it under the water surface without breaking it. The cooking time is usually written on the pasta's box, but...
- ... Italians know it's often uncorrect. The only way to judge is to fish a sample out of the water and bite it. If it still has a 'soul' (anima), that is, there's a white part in the middle, it's undercooked. If it yields no resistance to the tooth or it breaks easily, it's overcooked. Al dente (lit. 'to the tooth') means it resists to the biting 'just enough'. It's a rather elusive concept.
- Pour the pasta in a colander, drain it, then put it in a bowl and pour the sauce of choice in it immediately! If the sauce is not done, pour some olive oil in it and stir! If you don't, the pasta will become glue!
- Basic pasta sauces: just olive oil and pepper. Or olive oil and butter. Or olive oil, butter and parmesan - I think Americans call that last one alfredo, but Italians don't use that name (and don't use that much butter!). With oil, parmesan and pepper you do a cacio e pepe - typically Roman sauce. Aglio, olio e peperoncino: cook garlic in oil until it's golden, then mix it with minced chilli peppers.
- Basic pasta sauces/2: carbonara. Cut some bacon in small cubes, cook it in a pan. Take a raw egg for every couple people, whisk, spray with salt, pepper and (if you want) nutmeg. When the pasta is done, put everything (bacon, egg, pasta) in a pan, stir, cook until the egg is a bright yellow and it's not runny anymore.
- Basic pasta sauce/3: battuto as described (no garlic!), pour passata, cook for a while (uncooked tomato is sour!), stir often (or it'll stick/burn), adjust for pepper and salt (always!), when done wash some basil leaves, rip them in big pieces (don't use a knife!) and mix it in. Don't cook the basil, cooked basil is bitter! If you want, add grated parmesan or mozzarella.
- Olive oil: use only 'extra-virgin'! Greek is good, Spanish is good, Tuscan or Southern Italian is better.
Hope it helps!
I should add...
(Anonymous) 2010-04-08 02:29 pm (UTC)(link)However, I could put together some more difficult recipes, but you have to give me (read: my mum ♥) a day or so. I hope it's ok for now!
Ok, mum says (whew, that was fast)...
(Anonymous) 2010-04-08 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)- long and elaborated. Eg. Ragù. This kind is not 'difficult' to make, but requires attention and long cooking times. I can make a good ragù and I'm no cook, but it takes at least three and an half hours.
Another type is pasta all'uovo, pasta with egg in the dough. You can buy it, but it's better home-made, and requires a long kneading (with strong arms, and sexy hips movements;)).
- elaborated and 'it-may-not-work'. The classic example is soufflé, which may not rise (or rise and then deflate!) if the doses aren't just right, the oven isn't at the exact right temperature, or, believe it or not, the room's windows are open!
Both kinds are def. restaurant recipes.
Sorry for multiple posting! I'm dumb sometimes >_>
Wow
(Anonymous) 2010-04-09 06:41 am (UTC)(link)Okay, back to work on the next part!
Never underestimate mothers when it comes to cooking.
(Anonymous) 2010-04-09 10:31 am (UTC)(link)with strong arms, and sexy hips movements;)
I am now imagining Ludwig doing that ._. this image won't leave my head. Ever. German!Anon feels ashamed.
To the author, because I don't want to post two comments:
In my eyes, this story is pretty much... perfection. I've never seen a fic with everyone so IC
(I kind of wish you'd, how do I say this... bring the Nordics in more because I'm sure you wouldn't mess up their characters like others do, but oh well)Re: Ricette d'amore [3c/13]
(Anonymous) 2010-04-07 03:13 am (UTC)(link)This is so perfectly IC. You rarely see fanfics that emphasize Ludwig's 'efficient' side (and by that I mean anal retentive) without making him into a caricature, but you managed to capture it perfectly while still keeping him believable.
So far, I really love the universe you've set up. I SO love your decision to replace the niece with Gilbert--mostly because I think kid characters are annoying, but also because I think that their brotherly relationship can be very, very interesting in this context.
I cannot wait to see what you do with Feliciano *_____* Keep up the good work, author!anon!
Re: Ricette d'amore [3c/13]
(Anonymous) 2010-04-08 05:42 am (UTC)(link)