Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.

Warnings: AusxHun domesticity, Romano & swearing

Chapter 6 - Assassin

Vienna, Austria – the same night

Scaffolding now covered Austria's centuries-old mansion. The great once-stately home that had stood against sieges, battles and Italy's housework was missing its roof, most of its windows and its west wing was all but burnt away - the result of one portentous meeting between the Nations. The fact that the fault lay with a discarded cigarette thrown carelessly onto a box of fireworks combined with the incendiary properties of Jane Austen novels and embroidery did not really make any difference to Austria, or his insurance company or the Nations' governments who were all going to foot the bill for the extensive refurbishment that was now taking place.

A caravan stood on the estate, granted it was a luxury model with all the mod-cons, even a bathroom, but still a caravan nonetheless. Inside the caravan now resided the two Nations, Austria and Hungary. Austria had spent an idyllic few weeks recuperating from his duel with Russia at Hungary's small apartment in Budapest. However, he couldn't just leave the builders to get on with rebuilding his beloved mansion, so he'd returned to live on-site, along with Hungary who was determined that this time central heating and decent plumbing would be installed. She thought it was time Austria entered the twentieth Century.

They were now retiring to bed in the admittedly rather cramped bedroom of the caravan – it didn't have quite the grandeur or romance of Austria's four-poster bed and the floral curtains were ghastly, but Hungary wasn't complaining. Austria had done enough complaining for both of them, she'd thought. The final straw had been when he'd tried to cram a piano – an upright one thank goodness and not a grand piano – into the small confines of the mobile home. He'd failed of course, but hadn't stopped moaning about it. Hungary had forgotten during their time apart how much actual moaning her ex-husband was capable of.

"I'm sure it's there if you look," Hungary was saying to Austria, whilst brushing her long glossy brown hair.

Austria sighed, put down his bed-time reading material – the Financial Times, took off his glasses and settled back in the bed, "I've looked, Liz," he answered.

"Well, you need to look harder," Hungary said and climbed into bed next to her ex-husband.

"Hmmm, I know I left it there. I'm always careful where I put it," Austria answered.

Hungary took up the newspaper and started doing the crossword, "Well I suppose you haven't looked at it for a while. I'm sure I haven't seen it in ages."

"I know, love, it's not a very nice thing to look at."

"Not very nice? The thing's hideous," Hungary pronounced.

"Well I do think that's a bit harsh," Austria exclaimed.

Hungary sighed, her pen poised, "One down, five letters... stupid person..." Hungary took a sidelong look at her ex-husband in his stripy pyjamas and then said with conviction, "Moron."

"What?" Austria was confused.

"Three across, seven letters, strong emotion, drive, enthusiasm," Hungary emphasised the last word and pushed her ample chest out. 'What on earth was the point in wearing this lacy nightgown,' she thought.

Austria hesitated, "Erm, passion," he said finally.

Hungary grunted in reply and scribbled in the answer - her pen stabbing through the paper, "I suppose Spain liked it..." she said in a severely disgruntled voice.

"Actually he did... how strange."

"Indeed," Hungary said thoughtfully, "Five down, eight letters, thwart, fend off..."

"And I expect nobody realises that I've still got it."

"Frustrated..."

"That's too many letters, Liz."

"Really?" Hungary threw the newspaper down and crossed her arms, "Are you sure that you still have it?"

Austria ignored the question, his brow puckered, "I'll check again in the morning, it might be tucked away somewhere."

"Well, it's not very big is it?" Hungary said, turning over and snuggling down.

"No, it's easily hidden. I suppose it's the only redeeming quality about the damned thing."

"Size isn't everything," Hungary said with a sigh.

Austria wasn't sure what to think about that, "I'm sure you're right, Liz," Austria said worriedly, "But it did look rather magnificent erected over the fireplace."

Hungary sniggered into her pillow.

"You do know we're talking about that blasted painting don't you?" Austria said, snuggling down next to Hungary.

There was rather a long pause, "Yes of course."


Leningrad, Russia

Romano was on a mission. He could do this he really could, dammit. Sure, he needed the money, Veneziano had rung him asking him to send money and he would do this, he would be there for his little brother. He didn't approve of his younger brother staying for so long at the potato bastard's bed-side. Who cared if the big German idiot was Holy Rome or not? That wasn't anyone's problem. He didn't care that the German had to be restrained every day to stop him from charging around, waving 'Herr Shtick' at people, trying to invade smaller Nations and incorporating them into the 'Holy Roman Empire'. 'Dammit, the potato bastard needs to get into the twentieth century like the rest of us,' Romano thought.

He wasn't scared, he had enough dynamite, bullets, grenades ('throw the grenade not the pin, throw the grenade not the pin' he chanted to himself) to take over a small micro-nation.

He'd arrived at Leningrad Airport and strolled through security as nonchalantly as he could and then met his 'contact' a big Russian mafia 'dude' – Romano christened him 'ugly bastard' - who gave him a bag full of gear and the name and address of the poor unfortunate soul he was going to 'take down'.

Romano had often been hired as a hit-man by the Mafia. He had connections, he could get in and out of countries easily, and being a Nation he was virtually indestructible. However, his actual success rate was ... less than 1 per cent. In fact it was much lower than that. It was zero.

It wasn't his fault. If his targets were women, well he just fell in love with them. And, you can't hurt a woman can you? However, a few targets had been men and... well it wasn't his fault if the rifle had back-fired on him or that a dog had run in front of him as he'd been about to fire – you can't shoot a dog can you? He'd just been unlucky.

So, according to Don Tortilla, this was his last chance.

'I'm going to do this,' he thought, 'this time, I will take this one down.'

He had his disguises, different methods to try - he wasn't going to use his usual methods this time. He also had a new codename – the Jackal. He couldn't fail, not this time.

He sat in his crappy Avis car outside the address in the snowy Leningrad street and then, as an afterthought, took out the scrap of paper with the target's name on it. His eyes widened with shock. Oh shit oh shit ohshit...

Author's Note:

Siege of Vienna – 1529 the Ottoman Empire attempted to capture the city of Vienna. It was the Turks' first attempt. (Austria held off the Ottoman Empire and was its main rival in Europe – stopping its spread for centuries – but couldn't quite stop them from taking over a large part of Hungary – presumably that's when Elizaveta went to live with Austria?)

Also I imagine Austria and Hungary acting like an old married couple..

Avis car – a hire car (Avis is a well known hire car company)

Next Chapter: RussLat angst, an escape – but by whom?

Quick updates I know – but this won't last – it's only because I'm on holiday at the moment.