Author's Notes: This tale takes place in the same universe as In the name of Family.
This is not historically accurate, though it hints at world events, and was inspired by the song February by Dar Williams.
Disclaimer: Do I really need to tell you that I don't own these characters? Because I don't...
The first time Prussia knew that he loved best friend Hungary, he sneezed and the discovery was forgotten.
The second time Prussia knew he loved Hungary, he had groped the boy's soft chest muscles. In that moment Gilbert knew he was really a she.
The revelation was swiftly lost at the realization that as a knight married to the church he had just committed the sin above all sins. All he felt for her was forgotten save the memory of how her muscles felt beneath his hands.
Hungary was all that stood between him and all that he believed.
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The first time Hungary realized she loved Prussia he opened his mouth and the thought was immediately buried beneath a storm of rage.
The second time Hungary knew she loved Prussia she still believed that she was a boy. Her body had betrayed her for the first time and he, of all nations was witness to it. Prussia's obnoxious antics and insults was expected, his listening ear and support was not.
With enemies swiftly approaching the discovery was lost. The fact he never exploited her vulnerability or shared her secret, was not forgotten.
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The third time Prussia knew he loved Hungary they were caught in a vicious fight. A dance of words, a clash of blades and the world entire was forgotten, save for the vicious beauty who sought to destroy him.
Her green eyes were wild and her hair untamed, Hungary was never more beautiful than when she was caught in the heat of battle. She was a passionate goddess of war, and she never let him forget that.
His latest revelation and victory was short lived as immediately after Prussia collapsed to the force of Hungary's frying pan colliding against his cheek.
The fourth time Prussia knew he loved Hungary he had been Christened with a warrior's name and given a holy title. No longer called the Teutonic Knights, he was now the great Prussian Empire, and the world would soon fear him.
Hungary had witnessed him groaning of haunted food, while relieving himself on a bush. Soon after, Prussia spotted her wounded and battle worn falling from a tree. Their vulnerability was never exploited to their allies, it was an unspoken mutual agreement; a secret only they shared.
She mocked and teased him for his childish fears, while he threatened to shame her by using the material of his cloak that covered his loins to mend her wounds. Prussia never loved her more than he did in that moment, but he was a creature of habit and Hungary was forbidden fruit.
When his eyes fell to her torn shirt he caught a glimpse of her pale perfect muscles and immediately his sin was remembered. Hungary's innocence furthered his shame leaving the revelation of his heart's desire to be lost in a wave of rare nobility.
A knight was meant to respect and honour a lady, not defile her name.
Hungary returned home with her dignity intact, shielded by the warmth of his favorite cloak. Prussia returned home with his pride broken and honour intact; fully exposed for all to see in the form of his under garments.
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The third time Hungary knew she loved Prussia it was the second war and she was at the crossroads of her life. She studied her pale reflection in the mirror, as all while Prussia watched her adjust the starchy material of his brother's accursed nationalist uniform.
Prussia spoke of ill fitting uniforms and the price of loyalty to family; a simple statement that held a thousand meanings, the sort neither could ever discuss.
"May God have mercy on our souls," he whispered as he turned to leave. In his eyes she saw the sorrow, fear and guilt that mirrored her own; another revelation that left the previous one to be forgotten.
The fourth time Hungary knew she loved Prussia they were little more than shadows of the empires they once were. Germany had been captured by the western powers and Russia had invaded their homes. Becoming one with the Soviet Union was never an option, it was a punishment.
Prussia, betrayed years ago by his own brother was battered and broken, when Russia found him in the death camps. Hungary fared little better as she too found herself at the mercy of a mad man's nation.
With the fate of her people no longer in her hands, and the weight of the world on her shoulders, Hungary never felt more alone. Even her former husband Austria would not acknowledge her; she was tainted by communism.
"Looks like we're in trouble again." Prussia whispered to Hungary.
"Just like old times," she said as their captors forced them into Russia's house.
"Wouldn't want it any other way," he replied with a wry smile and sad eyes that held her captive.
The world believed Prussia's sacrifice was for his brother Germany, but in his gaze Hungary saw the truth, his 'surrender' was meant for her. She never loved him more than she did in that moment.
Prussia departed, bony hands clapped in irons, while Russia's boss led him away. The insane country then grabbed Hungary by the arms and carried her to a place where she forgot it all.
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When Hungary and Prussia realized their love for one another, the never ending winter had long since descended upon the lands of the Soviet Union.
Outside the blowing storm perfectly mirrored the oppression of their homes. Politically and socially, it was Hungary's darkest hour. Prussia's house too, suffered beneath the madness that was communism.
"I remember nothing," Hungary murmured to the blowing snow beyond the window of Russia's home.
"I feel nothing," Prussia softly replied.
Hungary's hand reached out to catch Prussia's own palm. The warmth of her fingers intertwined with his own digit's awoke emotions long forgotten and with it came solace.
Together, yet alone, they both faced and endured a thousand hells; what was one more?
In the darkness of the unlit room, and the night sky beyond the ageless nation began to reminisce of the old days, when the light of the sun was taken for granted and the warmth of summer never ended. Softly he spoke of flowers, the kind he used to grow in the vast gardens of Old Fritz's home; of great battles, legends and the victories of the forgotten days. He spoke of all they shared, and all they had long since lost.
Prussia spoke until he could speak no more, and then he fell silent. Crimson eyes stared ahead to the storm beyond the windows, as green eyes stared at him, watching and waiting.
Just when it seemed the long hours of night, and the raging storms would never end the wind began to slow and the sun began to rise.
As Prussia's fingers gently squeezed her hand their eyes met. A slow smile crept onto their features for in that moment they both remembered. Without a word spoken their lips met and everything else faded away.
Their love was never forgotten again.