(We do not own Hetalia. Warning for Gilbert's mouth... Man, our other AU, Reincarnation, is giving us such a hard time. You should take a look, if you want—it's not historical like this but it's pretty cool. And the update for that will be out as soon as possible! Promise. Send us a review to let us know what you think!)


"Ah… mon ami," Francis began, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant, "...you 'ave not made any advances on Matthieu in ze name of l'amour, correct?"

Gilbert frowned. "...se hell are you asking me sat for?"

"Please, just answer ze question."

"But I don't understand vhy—"

"Answer ze question, Prusse!"

"NEIN!" Gilbert exploded, rage shining in his eyes against his friend. "Nein, I haven't! I never vould! Vhy se hell do you suddenly feel se need to ask me?"

Francis said nothing, and Gilbert growled.

"I thought you trusted me, France. Se fuck are you playing at?" he spat. The French personification looked away, clearly uncomfortable. He spoke his next words carefully.

"Matthieu, 'e 'as told me... ah, zat 'e loves you."

Silence. Gilbert could hear his own heartbeats and the echos of their words hanging in the air. He couldn't breathe, and nearly forgot to try. "Vhat."

"I believe you 'eard perfectly well what I said, cher."

Matthieu, he has told me… ah, that he loves you.

Matthieu loved him.

He loved him.

He—

"—Did he just answer 'yes' vhen you asked him or did he bring sis up by himself?" Gilbert demanded. It made a difference. If the boy had simply replied to his papa, then there was a chance he'd made the answer up in an effort to please him or some shit. If he'd offered it up on his own…

"I had nozing to do wiz it," the Frenchman said, watching his friend.

Matthieu loved him.

His head was spinning faster than he could comprehend. No one loved Prussia, and very few people—nations—loved Gilbert. His Vatti did, Toni and Francis sorta did… Elizabetha? ...that was complicated. None of his leaders had any special attachment to him, nor did even his citizens. Gilbert Beilschmidt was a loner, what could he say.

But now…

"Can—can I come talk to him?" he hated himself for stuttering but couldn't help it.

"Of course."

He and Francis went back to the Frenchman's house, where a human maid had been looking after the colony. Although she was adequate, Francis always preferred a nation to take care of him, just in case of any colonial growth or troubles that a human wouldn't understand. He dismissed her and then went out to the garden himself, leaving the Prussian alone with New France. Alone, despite the fact that the Frenchman was probably watching out of the corner of his eye. Damn Francis.

"Um, hallo," Gilbert said, weirdly nervous. Matthieu already had his violet eyes fixed on him. "Bonjour," he greeted, his small voice as soft as ever.

He loved him?

"Uh, vell—Francis told me somesing about you, ja? I vant to confirm sat it's true." The colony nodded—he was seemingly unaware of what was about to happen. Gilbert frowned again.

The man spoke slowly, as part of an effort to keep himself collected but also to delay the inevitable. He'd rather go into battle than do this!

"He told me sat you—you love me." Damn his hesitance! He was a Prussian soldier ; there should be no room in him for uncertainty!

But Matthieu's eyes widened, and the colony began to back away.

"Look, I, I know it's invading your personal privacy und shit, but…" the Prussian gulped and by that time New France was nearing the stairs.

"I-I love you too…!" Gilbert called in desperation. The boy raced up the steps, down the hall to his room; Gilbert heard the door close firmly.

Did he love him? Was it true? The number of people Gilbert had said those words to were extremely few and far between. So? What was he doing? Everything had changed, just because of some… some kid? No. Matthieu wasn't just a kid. Matthieu was… it was too hard to explain.

He decided he needed a drink before he seriously considered any course of action. You need a battle plan, Preußen. He entered Francis' kitchen and pulled out a beer from the cellar—in a moment of bad taste he downed most of it in one go, and took another. Then another, and soon he was on the couch drinking fancy wine (though not by choice. Apparently he'd run through Francis' miniscule beer supply). He sobered up slightly and stumbled up the stairs towards Matthieu's room.

He knocked.

"Hey, kid, open up, I vant to talk to you!"

No reply. He didn't say anything, but Gilbert he thought he heard some sobs from the inside. Oh...

"Look kid, birdie, I know this is hard und you're a colony but…" he tried not to slur his words as he leaned against the door, "but I-I promise never to forget you. Francis vill most likely kick me out and never let me see you again. Or even if he doesn't, you'd probably not vant to see me again. Either vay… b-but I'll never forget you, birdie. Not even vhen I die; I'll look over you from se heavens, or hell, and make sure you're okay. I-I love you, birdie."

There was one final sob before things went quiet. Gilbert needed to sleep off his drinks; he sank to the ground outside of Matthieu's door and started to drift off there. He swore he heard soft breathing right on the other side of the door, but he didn't pay attention to it.

Gilbert woke back up on the couch with a tight-lipped Francis staring down at him. So this is what it's like to be Britain, mm? He smirked. The Frenchman did not appreciate it.

"Whatever did you do to mon pauvre Matthieu?"

Hm? "Vhat do you mean, Francis?"

"I went out, to go speak to Belgium. When I arrived home, 'e came running to me et started crying. 'E 'as not told me what 'appened. But 'e pointed to you, on ze couch, and cried some more. Mon ami, you 'ad better explain yourself..." Francis, unlike Gilbert, could be a patient man. But now, his blue eyes flashed dangerously. Even he had limits… Matthieu, evidently, was one of them.

"Sat kid dragged me onto se couch?" The little colony who couldn't even get up here himself was able to get Gilbert onto it?

"You are avoiding the question, cher."

"I'm not answering your dumb questions. I'm leaving." In one motion—which he regretted, as blood pounded furiously in his head—Gilbert got up off the couch and began heading towards the door.

"You leave wizout explaining, you cannot see mon petite colony again~" the Frenchman goaded. He must have thought that would make Gilbert bounce back, and it normally would, but the Prussian wasn't up for it. He even didn't turn around...

"He doesn't vant to talk to or see me anyvays. Good bye Francis. Tell Matthieu goodbye." Gilbert shut the door and rode his way back home via horse.

He did not hear from Francis. He did not hear from Matthieu. He did hear from Britain, who as the century went on, upped the bragging and complaining about his own colony to the rest of Europe. Apparently America was… less obedient… than anticipated. And years passed. Francis had initially tried to mend the connection between Matthieu and the Prussian, but he eventually gave up. Gilbert ignored every letter and surprise visit, and Matthieu wouldn't say a word. Besides, Prussia had his own problems to deal with, like being awesome, and as the Frenchman brought his country to war against Britain again, Gilbert almost forgot about the colony.

Almost.

He came up again in the 1760s. By then, some things had changed—he'd found his greatest leader yet and had traded out one enemy for others (fighting Austria, it turned out, was really damn fun)—but some things were the same as ever. In this particular disagreement between Arthur and Francis, Arthur won, requiring the Frenchman to give up some of his territories… his colonies. 'New France' became British, but the boy—teen? How old was he now?—wasn't world news for long. Come 1776, America took the stage and officially rebelled, then Gilbert's beloved leader died and France began a revolution too… it was too much.

In 1871, Gilbert stood in Francis' beloved Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, despite their most recent battle, along with his brother for the very first time. His brother—young but strong, Ludwig Beilschmidt. Together, they would represent Germany.

He didn't have time to worry about a kid whose name was once Matthieu.


(Um... I tried, with the history here, I really did. If anything seems off to you, it could be because I used the canon of the real world instead of Hetalia... so... eh, just let us know if it's weird. One chapter to go!)