Author's Note:

This fic is based off the RussiaxPrussia (well, RussiaxEast Germany technically) fan fiction Perfect Enemy by LeriaCossato which can be read here http:/ www. fanfiction. net/s/ 5588584/1/ (remove the spaces.) LeriaCossato gave me the permission to post this, and I offer my profuse thanks for that. Please go read the original before this; I reference a few things in Perfect Enemy, and it should clear up most confusion. For everything that Perfect Enemy doesn't clear up, I offer these helpful(ish) notes:

The "GDR" was the official name for the socialist state East Germany. It stands for German Democratic Republic (Deutsche Demokratische Republik in German.)

As with At Rest, I tried to mimic the original author's writing style (namely in her use of the horizontal ruler.)

There Goes My Love is a song by Blue Van which reminds me strongly of RussiaxPrussia.

Ja means 'yes' in German.

Ludwig and Feliciano gave Gilbert the space he needed. They avoided him as best they could and spoke in hushed tones when he was around. He hadn't been the same since he returned from Ivan's house, understandably, and the winter months had made him even more pensive.

East Germany had been sitting in the same position at West Germany's kitchen table. He sat still, barely moving, gazing out the window for most of the day ever since his younger brother came to tell him he was planning a trip to Kaliningrad. East immediately refused, but after West insisted, he let the matter drop, which West took as consent.

Gilbert stood abruptly and walked towards the door, brushing past Feliciano on his way. Italy turned and frowned. "East?" He called. Gilbert paused. "Where you going?"

"Out for a walk." He muttered, taking his scarf from a shelf. East wrapped the length of black cloth around his neck and pulled on his gloves. He paused slightly to brace against an icy wind before shutting the door sharply.

Italy winced at the noise and let out a sigh. East…

Gilbert walked through the streets, his boots clicking gently on the cobblestones. It was silent save for his hushed breaths and the wind. No one would be caught out in a storm like this. No one except him.

But something cut through the silence – a breath, just out of sync with his own, accompanied by a foul but all too familiar smell, the harsh stench of hard alcohol.

Gilbert paused and shrugged his shoulders against another oncoming wind. He grinned, shaking his head. "Damn Bragsinski." Even after all this time, I still remember –

Footsteps…a faint thumping rhythm a beat off from his own leisurely gait.

Gilbert glanced around. Still, the streets were empty. The only prints in the snow were his own. He frowned, but his expression lightened quickly. "Echo." He laughed gently. In the chilling stillness, his voice resounded off the buildings. "Heh."

"Italy?" West Germany called.

Feliciano glanced up from his sketch. "Eh?"

Germany looked around. "Where's East?"

Italy set down his pencil and stretched slightly. "He said he wanted to go for a walk."

He looked at Germany and cocked his head. "Ve…Why do you ask?"

Germany ran a hand through his hair. "It's nothing. I'm just...worried about him." He sighed.

Stop being so nervous, damn it. You're way too awesome to let anything happen to you.

Gilbert nodded to himself and looked up at the sky.

Then why can't I believe it?

"Because the GDR begs to differ."

Gilbert tensed.

"Are you not even brave enough to face me?"

He felt a hand grip his shoulder.

"You really are pathetic."

Gilbert gritted his teeth and took off, bolting through the city as fast as he could. He didn't care if the giant truly was there or not, he needed to get out of the claustrophobic streets. His scarf flapped behind him, whipping back and forth in the wind. Snowflakes raked across his face, turning his skin red and raw.

An oddly placed cobblestone sent Gilbert sprawling as his boot caught on its edge. He smashed into the ground painfully and attempted to get up. The streets were slick with damp snow under his boots and he slammed into the ground again.

He could almost taste it now – the acrid stench that was as much a part of Ivan Bragsinski as his old-fashioned clothes or blood-splattered pipe. It was that mixture of blood and alcohol that brought to mind burning corpses, or, for Gilbert, forty years of torture and humiliation.

And there stood Russia, pipe in hand, scarf flailing in the breeze.

"Hello, comrade." He smiled.

East Germany backed away, still on the ground, his hands and feet slipping from lack of traction. His eyes flickered to the snow. There was, in fact, another, larger set of footprints behind his. He met Russia's gaze again, staring into the cold violet eyes boring into him, petrified. His inertness only lasted a moment, and his hand moved to his right thigh, fumbling briefly with the clasps on his leg holster. Russia tilted his head, a smile still playing on his face as he looked on. Doing his best to steady his trembling hands, East drew his pistol from the holster and raised it. He loosed off one shot suddenly and it spun off into the distance, far off from his target.

"East –" Ivan began, but Gilbert didn't allow him the luxury of finishing. He fired three more times, hitting Ivan in the shoulder, chest and side.

There was an eerie silence as the wind dropped, filled only by Gilbert's hysterical panting.

Ivan stepped forward. No blood poured from his wounds. Save for the holes in his uniform, the giant seemed to have suffered no damage from Gilbert's attack.

Gilbert dropped the gun, his eyes wide with shock as Ivan dropped to his knees over him.

"I couldn't wait." Russia murmured, kissing him.

East almost gagged and shrank away.

Almost.

It was as though he was slowly suffocating, smothered by his taste and smell, and yet…he tilted his head slightly, and kissed back.

For some immeasurable amount of time, Gilbert sat in the snow with Ivan. His hands turned numb from the cold, and his ears turned scarlet. Ivan pulled away slightly and smiled. Gilbert looked up at him, frowning slightly. "What…?"

"Gilbert!"

He turned. Ludwig was running towards him looking concerned.

"What's wrong?" Ludwig demanded, glancing around. "I heard gunshots."

Gilbert turned back to face Ivan, or where Ivan should have been.

"East?" Germany asked, taking a few cautious steps forward.

Gilbert grinned and stood slowly. "Don't look so worried, bro." He laughed, staring at the sky. "I am the awesome Prussia, after all." He barked a few hesitant laughs, but didn't face his brother.

Ludwig gripped Gilbert's shoulder. Gilbert fought the impulse to pull away.

"We don't have to go to Kaliningrad."

He sighed and shifted his arm, slinging it around Gilbert's shoulder.

"Let's just go home, ja?"

Ludwig tugged at Gilbert, urging him to move. After a few gentle pulls, the red-eyed man finally turned, dragging his frozen feet through the layer of accumulating snow. Italy sprang up as the two walked in the door, but his cheery greeting was stifled by a somber look from Germany. Gilbert shrugged off his brother's arm and trudged upstairs to his room. His fingers traced the cross at his throat and he leaned against his door, his eyes staring vacantly out his window until the snow-covered buildings turned to a gleaming haze of white.

And then he stared some more.