I, Deutschland

6. An Old Friend

It wasn't too long before I dozed off again. This time, I awoke on an armchair at the back of the library which I hadn't noticed the previous night, still in the clothes of the previous day. Yawning rather uncomfortably, I stood up, wandering around the heavenly room and re-ordering the stacks of novels based on their size and colour. The result made my brain feel fuzzy, like I'd created a masterpiece and I was surrounded by a wall of my own pride and joy; it just looked so... perfect, I suppose.

In hindsight, I now see why Russia used to call me 'East's weird brother'.

Anyway, only a minute or so after I had completed Operation Organisieren, I heard those familiar footsteps approaching me. Unafraid this time, I turned to the UK, smiling shyly and observing the pile of laundry that she had tucked beneath her arm. I recognised them immediately as my old garments from home: the black formal shirt I'd worn to the last Olympics, my favourite blue jeans with a tear just above the left knee, my three best t-shirts (each exactly the same, but in a different combination of white, red and black), my winter fur coat... Almost everything was there within her hands, but a thousand times cleaner than I had last seen them.

"Good morning, West," Britain smiled at me, handing me the pile.

"Guten Morgen, Frau Groβbritannien" I muttered, staring down at my old clothes in utter disbelief, "Where... Where did you get these?"

"I was given them this morning," she winked, "I gave them a quick wash for you, so I'm hoping they're alright..."

"Someone... Gave you them?"

"Yes," she nodded, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "Would you like to see him? He's been waiting for you!"

Stunned at the prospect of a visitor, I followed Britain unquestioningly into the living room, where a truly wonderful surprise awaited me.

"Berlin!" I gasped, racing towards the city and curling up in his arms instantly. Neither of us were usually affectionate people, especially not in front of others, but his hazel eyes were the most comforting thing I'd ever seen and his strong, protective arms made me feel as if I was that little child curled up in his lap learning the alphabet again. For once, it felt like everything would be ok (and I dearly hope that he felt the same).

It took me a minute or seven to notice the woman sat beside him through my excitement. I glanced questioningly from her to Berlin, acknowledging her snow-white hair and her eyes that looked an imposing stormy blue, like a rain cloud. She smiled at me, though in a way that made it seem as though she hadn't smiled in a very long time and had forgotten how to do it. I recognised her fairly quickly as the woman who had placed the biscuits in the UN's office the day I'd been taken here, but that didn't really tell me anything about her identity except that she had a slight obsession with sweets and the like.

"I'm not allowed into the West on my own," Berlin explained. "And since you're staying with Miss Britain, it seemed logical to have her choose who escorted me."

Blinking, the woman muttered, "Aren't you going to-?"

"You can introduce yourself, can't you?" Berlin smirked, causing her pale cheeks to glow a shade of raspberry.

"Yes!" she sniffed, finally raising her voice and extending a hand out towards me. "Hello. My name is London... I assume you're West Germany?"

"No, he's a sheep," Berlin scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. "Obviously he's West."

"I didn't know you could do sarcasm."

"I learned it from you."

"You're rather good at it," London murmured, "It's quite annoying."

"That's the nicest thing you've said to me in forty years!" Berlin smiled, genuinely this time.

I couldn't help but laugh at the pair, which widened Berlin's smile as he ruffled my hair. Meanwhile, London looked absolutely mortified. Now, I had no idea that anyone could look so embarrassed yet terrifying at the same time, but apparently it was perfectly possible. Needless to say, I didn't warm to London nearly as quickly as I did to her country, though I could never place exactly what made me feel so uneasy. Berlin seemed to like her though (he still does, perhaps even more than he did back then) and that reassured me a bit.

The next hour flew by: me and Berlin sat talking endlessly, just happy in each other's company, while London and the UK exchanged pleasantries, occasionally joining in with our conversation. I was rather sad to see the two capitals go, but I was assured that I'd see them both again. The only thing that concerned me was the blood left on the sofa and on the upper portion of London's light blue jeans as she stood up, and she flushed a bright red and wouldn't answer when I asked her about it (which I took as her not knowing), so I proudly offered to call her an ambulance while making siren noises. It took me three more years to understand what had happened or why she refused my medical assistance, and I'm now mortified every time I picture the incident.

If you're reading this, I'm extremely sorry London.

This continued for the next six or seven months: I'd spend at least an hour a day in the library, I'd compose music in my room, then I'd join Britain for lunch. Once a week, Berlin visited with London (who was actually rather nice once she let down her guard a little and I'd forgotten to intertogate her about the jeans incident), and on those days, I'd either read with Berlin in my room, or all four of us would go out for dinner somewhere. On other days, my afternoons were spent helping Britain with chores or talking to the clouds, imagining that the wind would carry my messages to East. Soon, I began to see Britain as my guardian in just the same way that I'd always seen Berlin. Would I call her my mother yet? No, but it wasn't a world away; even in that first week, she'd been more of a parent to me than Reich ever had, for which I'll be eternally grateful.