I know I haven't been writing that much. Here's a little drabble-oneshot for you dearies. I'm getting into a TV series called Supernatural. It's so awesome and amazing and wonderful. Anyway, If you would like me to write more, please review, this or any of my stories. If I don't get reviews I don't feel motivated to write. Alright carry on, enjoy~

Elizaveta sat up in bed. It was raining. She winced at the sound of thunder. The small droplets of water trickled down the glass. The Hungarian bit her bottom lip. "Gil…where are you?" She hated this. She was in a strange bed, in a strange house, with a strange thunderstorm raging outside. Her divorce was still a fresh wound, only about a year ago she'd be sleeping comfortably in Vienna. Now she was waiting on a man who was more interested in conquering new territories than anything to do with her. So she stared at the rain.

"F-Frauline Ungarn?"

She turned to the small voice. It was Gilbert's adorable younger brother, Germany was his name. "Hey kiddo, can't sleep?"

He nodded. "C-can I…?" He was too embarrassed to finish that sentence.

Elizaveta smiled and beckoned him over. He wasted no time in crawling under the covers and hugging her slim waist. The silky fabric of her night dress did little to protect her from his cold face, but she didn't mind. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I hate thunderstorms too."

Strange how that became their ritual. The rain would poor down. Elizaveta would be alone, probably because Gilbert had left on some urgent business. And Ludwig would come in, cold and trying to hide that he was scared. When he got older she'd even say he was protecting her, it wasn't completely a lie.

And then she and Gilbert broke up. It was inevitable really. When you've lived through the crusades, ten years isn't exactly short, but it's not a long time either. Either way Ludwig was devastated. She didn't know if he hated her, but every time there was a thunderstorm she looked out the window and thought of him. She wondered if he still cringed at the sound of thunder. He was only a child…and yet there was something in his eyes, a sort of strength, even when he was afraid. She couldn't help but admire him.

The nineteenth century came around the corner, and before she knew it, Elizaveta had been sucked into a war she'd never intended to enter. The first time she saw Ludwig again she barely recognized him. As a child he'd been sickly, as a teenager he'd been gangly, but now he was tall and strong. He was taller even than his brother, something that made Gilbert furious. He wore his hair slicked back, and he trained all the time. Elizaveta couldn't help it, he made her heart race. At first she felt like a perverted old woman but then she didn't care. Content just to look, however, she never said a word. He didn't come around that often anyway.

World War II was different. He was different. His boss had twisted him into something dark. Oddly enough he still made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat. And when she tried to negotiate peace with America and England, she looked into his eyes and saw that flash of pain and betrayal; she couldn't continue the peace talks. By the end of the war, she knew it was deeper than physical attraction, she loved him. But she never told him before she disappeared behind that heavy iron curtain.

Finally the wall came down. Gilbert didn't make it out, her best friend, his older brother. It seemed natural they would meet every now and then. Ludwig was different again, and she couldn't help but love him more and more. They became friends. He told her about how Italy had left him as soon as the wars were over. She told him about the things she's suffered under Russian rule. And during storms she called him, and they talked for hours, the sound of his voice drowned out the thunder.

On one of her visits to his house she woke up in the guest room to the sound of lightening. He was there in the doorway. Soon his arms were wrapped around her and his lips were on every inch of her skin. And in the morning she woke up in his arms.

"You know," He would say later with a smile, "When I was younger, I missed you the most when I heard thunder. Gilbert never took care of me like you did."

She would smile back, and sometimes she'd reply, "I'm still taking care of you." Other times she would just smile and kiss him. And when she was really very happy she would grin and say, "All it took for me to think of you was the sound of rain."