Mecklinger looked disapprovingly at Bittenfeld, drinking his tea in silence.
“It was mostly your fault.”
“Ernest you have got to be kidding me! That bastard insulted the Kaiser!” If there was anything that Mecklinger knew about Oberstein, he knew that as despicable a man he could be, his actions always followed a rigid code of internal ethics. He supposed that in his own way, the man was as much a work of art as Kaiser Lohengramm himself.
“Don't misunderstand me, I'm not going to say Oberstein was right. But you assaulted him. Now the Kaiser wants you to reconcile, and it's your job to apologize!” He furrowed his brows. “ If you're too prideful to simply apologize, it's all over for you.”
Bittenfeld's anger, ever burning, was just about doused. He didn't want to lose his place in the Neue Reich just because of some internal scuffle, he would much rather face death on the battlefield thank you very much. He cringed at the thought of bowing his head to that sinister, always plotting fox. It was probably the most shameful thing he'd have to do in his whole life, even more than facing the Kaiser after Fahrenheit's death.
Mecklinger knew that Bittenfeld was probably going through some idiotic exaggerations of the task he had to complete, so he caught his friend's attention with some well placed coughing.
“You're turning this into more of an issue than it has to be, honestly. Stop being such a baby and go apologize to our revered Chief Minister of Military Affairs.” He gave him a wry grin.
“You little shit, I'll get you back for this later, you just watch!” Bittenfeld poured himself a drink and downed it in one go. Without even saying goodbye, he stormed out of the High Admiral's lounge, leaving behind a highly amused Mecklinger.

On the stairs to the Minister of Military Affair's office, Bittenfeld ran into Anton Ferner. Unfortunately for Ferner, he was skillfully conducting a delicate balancing act of carrying both case files for a ridiculously large amount of cases, and a cup of coffee. The force from the collision scattered the files all over the staircase, but the cup was barely saved with Bittenfeld's fast reflexes.
Ferner turned around to glare at the person who had caused such a mess, but quickly regained his composure.
“High Admiral Bittenfeld, thank you for saving the Chief Minister's coffee.” He said without much joy. Bittenfeld handed him the cup, then stooped down to gather up the papers.
“Admiral please! I can handle that-”
“I like to clean up my own messes whenever I can, it's alright.” Bittenfeld said. He straightened up the mess as best he could. “Why don't you hand these over to me? I have to visit Oberstein anyways.”
Reluctantly, Ferner handed Bittenfeld the coffee back. “Thank you Admiral Bittenfeld! If you'll excuse me...” he hurried down the stairs, his mind already on the next task that needed to be completed.
Bittenfeld sighed at the irony of the situation. Not only did he have to apologize to the man he perhaps hated most in this universe, but now he was doing subordinate work for him. He knocked on the Chief Minster's office and entered without waiting for a reply.
“Ferner, I asked for my coffee twenty minutes ago, where have you been.” Oberstein didn't even bother to look up from his screen.
“Give the poor guy a break, I'm surprised he's lasted this long with all your slave-driving!.” At the unexpected voice, Oberstein raised his head. Although he wasn't prone to showing much emotion, his eyes widened.
“What can I do for you, High Admiral?” Bittenfeld closed the door and rapidly crossed the vast distance to his desk. Paul von Oberstein failed to flinch, despite the precedent set by Bittenfeld.
Bittenfeld set down the coffee and papers gently, raising his hands up in mock surrender.
“I came here on other business, but I accidentally ran into the poor Rear Admiral.” After a pause, he added “The coffee's not poisoned, I just brought whatever Ferner made.”
Oberstein took the cup in his hands, taking a sip gratefully. Bittenfeld cleared his throat and positioned himself farther away from the front of the desk.
“The business that I'm here on is-” Bittenfeld paused and looked at the drapes before continuing. “I, High Admiral Fritz Josef Bittenfeld, would like to issue a formal apology to the Chief Minister of Military Affairs for thoughtlessly assaulting him when I should have merely voiced my disdain for his foreign policy.”
Oberstein assumed that it was probably Mecklinger's doing that Bittenfeld was apologizing at all. How else would someone so crass use human words of regret and sincerity when the word 'retreat' wasn't even in their vocabulary to begin with?
He calmly leveled as amicable a look as he could at the orange-haired man.
“I appreciate the thought, High Admiral. If that'll be all, I have work to return to.”

Without any other work to occupy him, Bittenfeld returned to his quarters. Although they were modest in comparison to His Majesty's palace, they suited him just fine. Without a family, the condominium was merely too empty and big to maintain without the help of the servants. He shed his uniform in the parlor of his house, and collapsed on the couch. A cheerful Labrador puppy jumped into Bittenfeld's arms, licking his face affectionately.
“Hey Frigga, down!” Bittenfeld struggled to get the hyperactive puppy to stay still so he could pet her. Frigga nuzzled his chest before bounding off the couch and leaving the room. Bittenfeld laughed at the sudden change, and laid down to take a nap. His eyes closed and sleep came to him easily; this past week had been harsh on his sleeping schedule with all the commotion over the recent terrorist attacks on Phezzan.
A low whining and scratching sound woke Bittenfeld. He yawned and opened his eyes slowly, the late afternoon sun was bright and warm in livingroom. He stretched languidly, then straightened up his shirt and slacks before investigating the sound.
Frigga was pawing at the door, leash in mouth. He had slept through her afternoon walk. Bittenfeld scratched Frigga behind the ears, just where she liked it, in apology before tying the leash to her collar. After putting on some shoes, he called for the butler.
“Sebastian!?”
Contrary to the image of an old, humble man serving as a butler, a man younger than Bittenfeld appeared in the walkway.
“Could you have dinner ready for me in about an hour? I'll be gone to take Frigga for a walk at the dog park.”
Sebastian nodded, and opened the door for his master. “Will that be all Mr. Bittenfeld? Do you have any preferences for dinner?”
Frigga bolted past the door, tugging at the end of the leash. She yearned for the fresh air and new things to smell outside, not paying attention to her owner's dinner plans at all. Bittenfeld was dragged outside by the small fur ball of energy, already inching towards the yard gate.
“Surprise me! Thanks again for your hard work, see you in an hour!” He waved enthusiastically, already jogging to keep up with Frigga who was making a bee line for the dog park.
A slight flush came to Sebastian's face. Although he hadn't worked as a butler for long, he was sure that the easy affection and friendliness that his master displayed was uncommon, especially towards his own servants. He treated them more like family, really. He supposed he was lucky that he worked for a master like Mr. Bittenfeld.
Bittenfeld had planned on going to the Hydrangea Dog Park closest to his house (it was only four minutes away), but Frigga pulled west instead of east. Going towards the sunset, he acquiesced, figuring it would be nice to take a longer walk today anyways. They could even visit the big dog park!
He didn't often choose to go to the Magnolia park because it was twenty minutes away, but it was worth it every once in a while. It was three times as big, had an elaborate fake pond with a river system, and even a doggie playground. It was pretty well maintained, and usually quite busy during the weekends. However, seeing as it was a weekday, he could make a pretty good bet that it wouldn't be so hectic today.
Bittenfeld was starting to get a little winded because they had been “jogging” (mostly just Frigga tugging on the leash and him fast-walking to keep up) the whole way there. He opened the gate to the dog park and let go of the leash.
As he thought, there weren't so many people today. Most of the dogs there were lazing around in the warm sun as their owners talked. Frigga rushed around, jumping and barking in circles. Bittenfeld picked up a small stick, waving it in front of her. She wagged her tail in anticipation.
“Frigga, be a good girl and … CATCH!” He threw it as far as he could, and the stick sailed through the air unceremoniously, landing right next to an old Dalmatian. The excitable puppy rushed forward, running at the location full force. She managed to get the stick, but also collided into the poor spotted dog.
“Shit!” Bittenfeld uttered as he ran towards the Dalmatian. He grabbed Frigga and kneeled, offering his hand for the dog to lick. The old dog sniffed hesitantly, before licking his hand gingerly. Bittenfeld petted him softly, looking around for the owner to apologize.
“I've just been getting into trouble lately, I could probably teach an apologizing class!” he said out loud to nobody in particular. Frigga wiggled around in his arms before she freed herself and approached the old Dalmatian.
“I hardly think so, the act of apologizing means that one needs to have the feeling of remorse, High Admiral.”
A cold shiver ran up Bittenfeld's spine. He stood up promptly and turned around, somehow still expecting to see the Chief Minister of Military Affairs in all his military regalia. However, Paul von Oberstein was standing there in slacks and a dress shirt with a bag of treats and a red ball in hand.
“What are you doing here!?” Bittenfeld said, more astonished than anything else. He didn't really have the capacity to get angry for having to meet Oberstein a second time today, especially under such unusual circumstances.
The other man gave a quiet snort. “I would think it was obvious considering the objects that I am holding, but I guess I overestimated you.” He sat down on a bench, and the Dalmatian sauntered over to Oberstein's side, wagging its tail affectionately. Oberstein petted the dog with a confidence that only the owner could have. He even gave him a treat!
Bittenfeld face-palmed, and sat down at the other side of the bench. “I didn't think you were capable of human emotions! I guess only dogs can understand dogs.”
Oberstein's annoyance flared minutely. In retaliation, he held out a treat towards Frigga. The Labrador puppy jumped into Oberstein's arms happily, putting its paws up on the stoic man's chest and licking his face in earnest.
“Ah! Frigga you traitor!” Bittenfeld said. His exasperation lightened Oberstein's mood.
“I guess you must be lower than a dog, High Admiral, if you cannot even understand the basic wants and needs of a canine.”
Bittenfeld folded his arms and turned his face away, hiding his red face. His brows furrowed. “Whatever! Frigga is just a saintly and kind dog. I'm sure she's just trying to bestow some affection on your starved-for-love self! Be thankful that she's even-” When he moved to face Oberstein again, he was gone. The Dalmatian was once again taking a nap, but Oberstein had gone off to entertain the lively young puppy. She was currently running around with a red ball in her mouth.
Now that Bittenfeld thought about it, he had never seen Oberstein look so “joyful” (if that word could be used to describe him). Although he wasn't yet smiling, the features of his face relaxed, and he seemed less cold calculating robot and more human. It occurred to him that if Oberstein actually smiled like a regular person, he might actually be tolerable. Bittenfeld reached down to pet Oberstein's dog. Just like his owner, the dog was quite reserved; however, he leaned into the red-headed stranger's touch happily, panting and wagging his tail.
“Hey Oberstein! What's his name?” Bittenfeld said, pointing towards the sweet, old dog in question.
Oberstein wondered in silence for a few seconds before answering, “It's Faust.”
Bittenfeld looked down quizzically at the dog. “Faust huh? Your owner has an interesting naming sense. The original Faust was taken down to hell by demons because of his greed for knowledge about heaven and earth...” He slid across into the middle of the bench to get better access to Faust. Bittenfeld petted Faust with both of his hands in a display of embarrassing affection. Frigga, noticing her owner's attention towards the “other” dog, ran up to Bittenfeld, barking and jumping up for attention. Sighing, Oberstein came back to the bench.
“Your dog learned some terrible habits from you.” he said nonplussed.
Bittenfeld laughed. “Hardly! Here, watch this...” he got up and started to issue commands. Sit. Stand. Roll-over. High-five. Paw. Hush. Frigga consistently did the commands perfectly, ceasing all barking and whining with the last one. Bittenfeld looked over at Oberstein triumphantly before sitting down.
“See? My dog is excellently behaved. Frigga, come here!” he said. The Labrador puppy leaped up from the ground into Bittenfeld's lap, resting after an exciting playtime and walk. He grinned at her, extremely proud of his dear little Frigga. Oberstein could say what he wanted about him, but he wouldn't stand for someone insulting such a good companion!
Much to his surprise, Oberstein talked. “Did you train her yourself?”
“Indeed I did, though I got the help of a friend who worked at the shelter where I adopted her.” The conversation flowed freely between the hot-blooded High Admiral and the stoic Chief Minister of Military Affairs. Although they couldn't see eye to eye on issues of war and politics, their love for their dogs was something uncontroversial and common between the two of them.
After that incident, Bittenfeld would often go out of his way to visit Magnolia Dog Park, sometimes running into Oberstein and sometimes not. However, when they did meet each other, they often talked about inane topics such as the weather, or the Kaiser's torture upon the High Admirals by making them go to ballets and operas with him. Bittenfeld couldn't say that he was friends with Oberstein, but perhaps he understood a little bit more of the man than before. He could understand his hatred towards the Goldenbaum Empire, and his sense of duty to the stability of the Neue Reich.
At the same time, Oberstein saw more of Bittenfeld's personality beyond the fight-hungry, ever straightforward High Admiral. He began to see Fritz Josef Bittenfeld, a man who had risen through the ranks with hard work, who acknowledged his own mistakes and shortcomings and understood that although it wasn't the smartest thing to do, his own pride as a warrior in the battlefield was something very dear not only to him, but the Bittenfeld family.