This was originally a story I wrote for Higher English in 5th Year (which would be, um...like... my 13th year of school?) and I've edited it to fit Hetalia, which is why there are variations on the usual 'appearance' of Prussia
Saying that, it wasn't exactly fabby, but I've gone through and added some bits here and there so hopefully you enjoy it :)
Recently, I've been planning a story involving demons and Reapers, the first part of which I will probably be publishing on Saturday, but I'm not really sure if I should expand on it. If I do, this one shot will slightly tie in with it.

Anyway, enough from me. Hope you enjoy :)

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Gilbert Beilschmidt exited the police station and sighed as he raised his head to his next destination: the roof of the high rise hotel twenty yards across the street owned by one Elizabeta Héderváry. He had just spent the last three hours going over her private files and learning everything about her, from her fondest childhood memories to the most recent event that had put her in this situation. He hated the rich-kid types, especially the billionaire orphans who inherited their father's hotel chains when they died in 'mysterious' accidents.

As he stepped out from the door way, he lit himself a new cigarette, knowing that this was probably gonna be a long night.

...xXx...

Elizabeta stood, her listless gaze directed at the street below, the continuous flow of cars and people appeared as a fiery river of street lamps and car lights. Though she had only just positioned herself on the edge, she felt as if she'd been there forever. Her eyes blurred as the harsh icy wind bit her skin, swaying her body and wrapping her hair around her throat.

This was it. This was the only way she could be free. She raised her head, looking out upon the bright city through the darkness of the night, and focused on the low moon. The Christmas lights twinkled to the tune of the excited city. The sounds, smells and emotions she had experienced every day became guilt as she sunk further into her depression.

It was all her fault.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep a breath and flitted through the list in her head of the most important things she had needed to do before climbing to the rooftop. She'd left a will, leaving all her assets to her ex-husband, Roderich and a note for her butler explaining what she was doing and why. She'd contacted the bank, set up an automated email to be sent to all her internet friends and left a message on every one of the social networking sites she frequented on.

She moved her weight to her right leg and extended her left, testing the air in front of her. She gave a small, dry sob before finally leaning forward, finally ready to be accepted into death's arms.

A long whistle came from her left. "That's a long way down." She managed to catch the tip of a cigarette as felt herself tilt forward and she screamed in shock.

"Ah!" the male voice shouted, alarmed. Time slowed, her body twisted and glowing eyes stared as she began to fall. Panic and fear exploded through her and she instinctively reached out a hand. Her shoulder cried in pain as he caught her wrist and her ears filled with the pounding of her heart.

As she finally managed to catch her bearings, she raised her head to meet the eyes of the person clutching her wrist. Angel, was her first thought as she stared into his blood red eyes, framed by a mane of silver curling around his shoulders and gently swaying out to the left as the wind caressed it. His eyes, his hair and the small curve of his mouth in the glow of his cigarette were only things she could see as her eyes vision became hazed with fear.

"Alright?" His casualness shocked her. He gave a large grin as he began to pull her up.

"W-What are you doing?"

"I'm pulling you up," he replied, his brow furrowing at the obviousness of the statement. He used his free hand to blow out the smoke that had built up in his mouth.

"Let me go…" she said quietly.

"Hey, you're the one who reached out for help." He's right. I'm terrified.

"Are you sure?" he spoke again, sounding serious. "I really don't want more blood on my hands." Her eyes widened at his words and she bowed her head, avoiding his eyes.

She was silent for too long and the strain on his arm was becoming too much. A mixture of that and the fact someone as awesome as him didn't do awkward silences made him pull her up. He was quiet as she knelt on her hands, panting heavily as fear and adrenalin raced through her. He waited respectfully as the rush left her.

From the reports, ever since the event she hadn't shed a single tear for them. First he needed her to let go of those tears before she could actually move on. "You okay?" he said when she finally sat up.

She shocked him completely when she scowled and glared "Elizabeta Héderváry." Offering him a trembling hand.

"Yeah…I know." he said, smirking at her politeness.

"H-How? Who are you?" He imagined her thoughts must be pretty chaotic at that moment.

"You want the truth, or what I usually tell people?" This might be good. If he could keep her talking, he could stop her from jumping.

It was quite entertaining, watching her face as he explained what he was and where he was from. There had never been a single human who believed him when he said "Reaper" and "Hell." Though, he did leave out the fact that the only reason he wanted to save her was due to the sudden influx of Reapers* making his life a living hell (no pun intended.)

Stupid job.

The silence began again and he struggled to find a topic. "So, Liz you - "

"It's Elizabeta." She cut him off snootily, scowling. He already knew she hated any shortening of her name, but he had already decided before he met her that she might be fun to tease.

"Liz." He pressed, flashing her a wide grin. "You wanna tell me why you were gonna throw yourself off this roof?" Being rude never usually worked, but it was an effort to find something to talk about when you knew absolutely everything about them.

And then suddenly she started talking. On and on and on and on, every single annoying detail about the crash that she believed to be her fault. It wasn't like he didn't care, but she really was making a big deal about it. Sure, the 23 children in the bus died, and, he guessed, from her point of view, it was a terrible tragedy, but he really didn't understand how killing herself would help.

And then they stared at each other. She seemed to be in some sort of daze, so he curved his middle finger into his thumb and flicked her in the centre of her forehead. She jumped and it was fairly amusing, until she made a weird snorting noise and burst into tears, suddenly launching herself into his chest and crying. He tried not to sigh in irritation as she covered his designer shirt with snot and tears.

He had no idea how long she was crying, but by the time she had finished the moon was directly above them. She finally withdrew herself from his chest and he offered her a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, clearing his throat to banish the awkwardness that he was sure only he felt.

"Stand up." he said. She followed his command without meeting his eyes. She seemed exhausted, the flood of tears doing nothing for her already terrible appearance.

"Good. Take up your original position. Now…Look down." She felt like she wasn't in control of her own body as her chin automatically dipped to stare back down at the street. He was quiet, allowing her to once again take in the view. She could swear that his voice took a rough tone as he began to talk again. "Think about it." He said, pausing to take another draw. "All those people down there, out enjoying their short, happy lives, and you come crashing down in the middle of it, most likely exploding on impact, raining blood and guts down on them." Her eyes suddenly focused on the tiny heads of each individual person below her. Horror flowed through her as it finally sunk in. "Not only will you traumatise them, but you'll be a massive nuisance. They'll have to shut off the road while they scrub your innards off the pavement." Her head snapped back to face him, eyes flaring in shame.

"Well…Off you go." He patted her bum softly twice and grinned.

Her eyes widened. No matter what happened now she knew she couldn't jump. She wouldn't give the Reaper the satisfaction of taking her, not when he smiled like that. Anger surged through her and she opened her mouth to shout at him, but the door to the roof slammed open, two police officers bursting through, shouting: "We've found her!" They seemed cautious as they stepped out.

"Oy!" She lost focus on the officers, confused as to why they would show up, and looked to him. He was lighting a new cigarette and she saw a weary scowl in the dancing flame of his lighter. "You didn't happen to leave a suicide note?"

"Yes… Why?"

He sighed deeply. "No reason."

Yeah, it was definitely gonna be a long night.

*Reapers are born from souls who have committed suicide.

A/N: This one shot ties in with 'Soul Trading for Beginners': Chapter One