Libelle Hall (an Unexpected Love Story in Three Movements)

Part Two

Roderich could not move. Dozens of protestors stood outside the hall today, angrier and louder than previous demonstrations, shouting deafening words he could not make out. Roderich folded his arms to his chest, trying to make himself smaller as the crowd crushed in around him. The atmosphere was heavy and frantic; the workers behind the barrier kept their distance. The slogans the crowd shouted were not even about the hall anymore, but about the people, and the establishment, and other vague terms Roderich did not understand. It seemed, to them, this really was just an excuse to riot.

But to Roderich, this was more than an excuse. It was more than a political platform. This hall was important, yes; it had cultural value, certainly - but more than anything, this hall held an important part of Roderich's memory, and an intimate part of his heart. If he lost this, when this was all he had left to remember...

But Roderich could not think of that now. "Elizaveta, I think we should..." Roderich trailed into anxious silence when he realised Elizaveta was no longer beside him. He turned around frantically, scanning the crowd, but she was nowhere to be seen. The cold anxiety in his gut began to build. And Roderich realised, with a sick stab of fear, that he was trapped. He couldn't get out. A small group rushed the barrier, and that was it. The entire crowd rushed forward, a swarming tide that Roderich was helpless to fight against. He tried to back out, but the mob was like a brick wall behind him. He was pushed one way, then the other, then he stumbled and fell heavily to his knees. He could not get up. He could not breathe. Roderich's head turned light as one mad thought flashed bright and sharp through the rushing noise: he was going to die here.

The hand came from nowhere. Roderich felt it grip his arm, felt it pull him upwards and drag him through the crowd. Light and colour and noise swam around him; it all went so fast, and everything faded but that firm grip on his arm. It wasn't until he stood on the street curb, breathing the open air, that Roderich saw who had pulled him from the mob. His chest leapt and his jaw dropped. "You!"

The German narrowed his eyes and dusted off his hands. "You're welcome." He was dressed in his work uniform, complete with bright orange vest and pony-emblazoned hard hat. He also sent Roderich's already struggling emotions into overdrive.

Roderich's heart pounded furiously, and it wasn't from fear anymore. Despite his spinning head and his constricted lungs, Roderich could only remember the feel of this man's lips against his ear the night before. He quickly shook the unwelcome memory away. "Where did you..."

"What were you doing in there?" the German interrupted forcefully.

Roderich broke off at the words. Was this man actually... concerned? But that was ridiculous! "I've already told you why I'm here," Roderich managed to choke out. "To protect this hall..."

"Austrian, none of them are here for that reason." The German sounded exasperated, his expression plainly frustrated as he pointed at the protestors. "Look at them. They're just waiting for the riot police to turn up. They don't give a damn about this place."

Roderich looked at the mob shaking the barrier. "No." He lowered his eyes, all other emotions drowned by a sudden, crushing sadness. "It seems I am the only one who does."

Silence fell between them for a moment. Roderich's heart jumped when the German said his name. "Roderich..."

But he got no further, interrupted by wailing sirens and squealing tires. A fleet of police cars tore down the street, coming to a screeching halt beside the protestors. The first car door swung open and an officer with long, white hair emerged swiftly, a radio transmitter in his hand.

"Shit." The German turned his back, pulled his hard hat down, and glanced sideways at Roderich. Those red eyes blazed into him. "Get out of here, Austrian."