Chapter 7

Jack be Nimble

~o~

Bullets hit the brickwork of the office building in torrents making a man cringe. His friend glanced around the corner when they quieted only to jerk back to avoid another blast. There was no way out of the dead-end street they had been pushed back into so they ground their teeth in frustration and waited for the break that would come when the enemies' would reload their guns. They stood, guns at the ready, waiting for their backup as they had been for the past two hours.

The backup wasn't coming though, every one of the uniformed men and women had been gunned down in the neighboring cities. But they couldn't know that. So, they waited still in the hope that their dead comrades would come to their rescue.

A voice recounted the tragic deaths that the two men would only hear of hours later. If they survived. The voice seemed much too calm in contrast to the sobering story it was telling. The scene moved to a newsroom where a woman in a suit revealed breaking news about a bomb-drop that destroyed tens of thousands of homes in Yellowknife leaving thousands dead and even more injured and homeless.

Gilbert muted the television. He couldn't handle it anymore; the guilt was eating him from the inside out. No one had seen or heard from Matthew for months. It was quite possible that even if he had called them they had forgotten it, but for once he hoped for it. Even with no sign of the northern nation at the meetings Prussia had stopped going for fear that the blonde would decide to show up unexpectedly.

So, here he was, sprawled out on the sofa watching as his young friend fell apart at the seams. A scrawl at the bottom listed off shortages that had been caused by the war and he saw everything from water and fish to paper and cloth. Damn it, he just couldn't shake the feeling that it was all his fault. He sighed. No, not his fault, nothing was ever his fault; it was that damned man who West called a boss. Thanks to that man his leg was beginning to fade again and he had an unshakable feeling of guilt that clung to his very skin.

He brought his hand up and turned off the television. The screen flashed white and then turned to black and he stared at it unmoving. He looked at his own reflection and frowned. Had he always been that pale?

A bang startled him and he looked away from the screen for a moment. West must be back, he figured. It was, after all, his turn to host the month's meeting and he had been gone for the better part of the day.

"Hey, West!" he shouted.

There was a muffled greeting followed by footsteps as his brother moved from the front hallway to the kitchen.

Gilbert paused for a moment and then shouted again. "Hey West, was Birdie there?"

"Who?" came the response.

"Good."

"What?"

"Nothing. Now go have a shower," he cried, "I can smell you from here."

There was a confused silence from the kitchen and Prussia could just see the look on his brother's face as he tried to understand what had just happened. Soon enough, however, the silence was broken by the sound of feet on stairs and a few minutes later the sound of water running through the pipes in the walls.

Gilbert sighed and turned back to the black screen, watching the rise and fall of his own chest and wondering, thinking, doubting constantly. Had he done the right thing?

As a nation (or ex-nation in his case) it was one's duty to make sure one's people were safe and healthy. Every little decision would affect the citizens of the country you represented and it was a nation's job to make sure every decision was for the good of their people.

But theirs wasn't the voice that people listened to. Despite their status they still had to report to their boss and do whatever he told them no matter how ludicrous it seemed. Well, it wasn't exactly his boss; it was his brother's. But all the same he had to listen and he hated it. Every second he spent doing nothing was another part of his memory disappearing. He hadn't gone for a drink with his friends in nearly two months now. Although, he was avoiding them like the plague, but it felt good to blame someone for something.

He sat up suddenly and brought a fist down hard on his left calf. Pain, dull and real pounded in his bone and flesh and he smiled with relief. For a moment he couldn't feel it. Not like the dull tingle from before, but a total numbness that made him think his leg had disappeared entirely. But it was still there and so was he.

Goddamned paranoia.

The shower stopped with a clang and he glanced up momentarily. Ludwig never did have very long showers. Something about conserving the water or something, he hadn't really been paying attention.

Prussia lay back again, one foot hanging off the edge of the couch, the other propped up comfortably and he listened to the noises from upstairs. No. He wasn't gone just yet.

Really, what was he worried about? If all went well he would have land and people and he could exist again. No worries, no strings attached.

But that nagging feeling of guilt just wouldn't leave him alone no matter how much he ignored it, it still put a knot in his stomach. He couldn't understand why. It wasn't like he hadn't done something like this before and back then it hadn't bothered him in the slightest. So why now?

He knew why. Because it was Matt.

Gilbert heard movement in the kitchen again and it reminded him that he was starving. He hadn't moved from the couch all day and hadn't had any food yet even though it was, what, three o'clock?

Without moving he shouted, "Hey West, Make me a sandwich!"

"Nein."

Cr*p. His stomach growled loudly and he rolled his eyes. Time to get up.

With a sigh he got to his feet and shakily made his way to the kitchen. Ludwig was leaning against the counter with a half-eaten sandwich in his hands, mouth full of the other half.

Gil moved past him gathering up food to satisfy that hunger that only a sandwich could satisfy. "Could've made me one arschloch." His brother shrugged and continued to watch placidly as Prussia put masses of food onto a slice of bread. Some of the stuff probably shouldn't ever come into contact with each other, but really he didn't care.

He took a bite.

"How is it?"

"Tastes like sh*t," he said taking another bite.

Germany finished his food and immediately went to clean up the mess his brother had made. Gilbert watched in silence, slowly eating through the foul-tasting sandwich.

"You seem upset."

Prussia hadn't expected anyone to care, or even notice for that matter, so his younger brother's comment came as a surprise. But he wouldn't falter, he was too awesome. "No," he said, although through the food it sounded more like "Nmuh"

"Really?" the voice was full of skepticism.

Gilbert swallowed and said, "Really." He threw the remains of his sandwich in the trash and walked back to the couch. He sat back down and picked up the TV remote. But he didn't turn it on. His hand wavered for a moment before falling back down to the couch with a small sigh.

He really didn't' want to see that again.

The couch moved and he turned to see that Ludwig had silently come over and was now leaning over next to him, arms folded on the back of the couch. He looked very uncomfortable. Gilbert watched his reflection in the TV, not really expecting him to say much. After a long uncomfortable silence in which neither man looked directly at the other he finally spoke. "Everyone is going out for a drink. Would you like to come?"

Gilbert looked up with slight surprise. "Um, ja, sure."

His brother nodded and straightened up. "Good. Let's go."

Well that was…abrupt. But Gilbert just shrugged and followed his brother out the front door, enjoying the attention that was keeping his legs solid.

Outside the air was already shaking off the warmth of the summer and the public was grudgingly accepting the cold breezes that rustled the turning leaves. Autumn already? How long had he been avoiding people?

They walked down the road, past happy citizens and brightly coloured plants. This was what he wanted. He wanted people to make him feel needed again and life to make him feel whole. He glanced at his brother. Ludwig seemed to be calmed by being among the people he represented and entirely at home on his land. Prussia felt out of place in someone else's country.

"West?"

"Ja?"

"Do you think it was the right choice?"

Germany sighed. They had been through this more then once and it always went the same way. "Why do I feel like I'm the older one?" he muttered.

"I have no idea."

Another sigh. "Was it for the good of you're people?"

"I guess."

"Then it was the right choice."

They never outright said it, but they both knew what they were talking about. But even with the constant reassurance Gilbert felt terrible and it wasn't just that sandwich.

"Are you sure?"

The wind ruffled their hair. "Ja."

They continued to walk in silence, neither sure what to say. It had been a difficult decision to make, friend or country, but his boss had decided for him. It wasn't uncommon for a country to turn on a friend for political, or even economic, reasons and to Gilbert it was obvious that this was purely politics. But that didn't make it right. Ludwig didn't seem to mind though and neither did his boss and that really bothered him.

"West?"

"Ja?"

"How should I tell him?"

Germany stopped in his tracks and looked at Prussia with astonishment. "You haven't told him yet?" he asked incredulously.

"Well." He hesitated. "Not… really."

Ludwig sighed, hung his head and shook it slowly in a rare move of sarcasm. He looked back up with those piercing blue eyes. "I thought you told him months ago."

"Well I didn't, so… How should I tell him?"

"You know I'm not good with that sort of thing," he said with a glance to the side.

"How could I forget," Gilbert said with a small smirk. "So what should I do?"

"I don't know."

They stood awkwardly for a one long moment willing each other to say something to break the silence. When nothing happened Ludwig sighed and walked past his brother. Gilbert waited for a moment and then he turned and followed on their continuing quest for a beer.

The bar came into view and he let a small smile reach his face. Maybe a good beer or seven would make him feel a bit better. They went through the door and it immediately became apparent that when his brother had said everyone he meant everyone. The noise hit them like a bucket of wet cement and nearly every country Prussia knew filled the booths, tables and bar. Even Italy was there, sharing a bottle of wine with Spain, Romano and France.

He turned to point it out to Germany, but his brother was already making his way towards the bar. Gilbert shrugged and followed him. They sat on the only two empty stools, right between an incoherent England and a frightening Sweden. No wonder the seats weren't taken.

A couple of beers were immediately placed on the counter in front of them and Prussia took a swig. Ah, good old German beer; delicious, full of nutrients and refreshingly cold. After a few more gulps he could feel his mind begin to haze over. Suddenly, all of the issues he had been dealing with didn't seem so immediate anymore and he just wanted to have a good time.

But it wasn't as simple as he thought. Even as he wandered the bar, laughing with friends and hitting on everyone, he could still feel that guilt gnawing away at the back of his mind. Soon he was back where he started, sitting on a bar stool stewing in his own guilt. The only difference was that this time he was alone… and drunk.

Germany had gone over to join Austria (for some reason that was beyond him) and now Gilbert sucked down another drink and watched with little amusement as America tried to calm down England who looked dangerously close to taking his clothes off. You know, the usual.

He turned on his stool and looked around at the other nations. They were all happy. They all had friends. Most of them were reliable. So what was wrong with him?

Wait, there was someone alone. Francis was watching England with a slightly disconcerting look on his face and a near-empty bottle of wine on the table in front of him. Maybe talking would help?

Well it was definitely a better idea then just sitting there.

So he got up and walked over, sliding into the booth to sit across from Francis. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them tiredly with a sigh for good measure. "Hey Francis?" he asked softly, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

No answer.

"Francis?" he said slightly louder.

Still nothing.

He looked up. That damn pervert was still watching America trying to pull England's shirt back down. F*cking invisibility, how did Birdie stand it? Gilbert smirked. Oh well, you gotta do what you gotta do.

France yelped when a foot made contact with his groin. A manly yelp mind you, deep and strong with absolutely no hint of pain. He looked across the table to where Prussia had materialized and was now scowling deeply at him.

"Can. I. Talk. To. You." He said slowly.

With the foot still firmly in place all the nation could do was nod stiffly. The pressure went away and Francis took a breath waiting for the pain to go away.

Gilbert scoffed. Weakling, he hadn't kicked that hard. Well now seemed as good a time to talk as any. "I have a problem and I was hoping you could help."

France perked up instantly and a slightly disturbing smile came to his face. "Of course I can help."

"Erm… Oka-ay. Well, it's just that–"

He was interrupted by a finger on his lips and he looked down at it incredulously and then back up at it's owner. "You do not have to say another word, I know exactly what it is." He pulled his hand away and looked at him knowingly. "Here's what you do. Get a dozen roses, some condoms and a huge–"

"What the f*ck? Stop, shut up! I was having morality issues, what the hell did you think I was talking about? No, wait, please don't answer that, I don't want to know." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore-finger and sighed. "I should've known you wouldn't help," he muttered, more to himself the his friend, "But I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Prusse?"

"Just–" What was he going to say? Go away? Leave me alone? Shut up? He would just forget after all. It would be like he had never been there at all. But he really didn't know. "Never mind." That would have to do.

But Francis didn't give up so easily. Gilbert felt a hand on his and looked up at his friend. The man had lost his perverted smile and his eyes had become worried. Gott, not this again. "Tell me."

"Oh mein gott," he groaned, "Why does everyone always act like they care so much. I know you don't, you're just trying to make yourself feel better by pretending that you're a good person when really you don't give a sh*t! So just knock it off and leave me alone!"

France's eyes were wide and when Prussia glanced around the bar he could see that a few of the others were watching them with interest. Oh goody, more attention. He stood up. "I should just go."

A hand grabbed his arm. "Non," came the reply, "Tell me what is happening."

He glanced around again. They had all lost interest and had gone back to whatever they were doing. He sat back down reluctantly. "Do you really want to know?" he asked.

"Oui."

Another sigh. "Well, I can't tell you much, I promised I wouldn't, but I can tell you a bit."

Francis nodded.

"'Kay, here goes." How much could he tell him without breaking his promise to keep it a secret? He may be betraying his friend's trust anyways, but this was one promise he could keep. For a while at least. "I have this friend." Great start. "And he's having some issues with his brother. He asked me to help, to not tell anyone, and to…" How could he put this? "Give him something in return for something else that I really want. And I mean really, really want. But I can't help him even though I promised to. Well not so much can't as I've been forbidden from helping him and I want to help, I do, but now that I'm not allowed I really don't know who to listen to. He needs me, but… I just don't want to break another promise. What should I do?"

Francis nodded again and chewed his lip in thought for a moment. Then he spoke. "And this thing you want…"

"No, it's not sex."

"Oh," he said disappointedly.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Look should I help the guy or not?"

"Well it seems to me," he said, "That you could either help your friend, go against the rules you've been given, keep his trust and I'm assuming get in trouble. Or." He held up a finger. "You could leave it alone, play by the rules, let him sort it out himself and maybe lose his trust."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I'm asking should I help him or not?"

"Can I ask just one thing?"

"Sure."

"This thing you want so badly," he looked up, curious, "Is it land?"

Damn it. He nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, it's land."

"Well then I think you need to ask yourself, 'Is it worth the cost?'"

Strange as it sounded the question actually made cense. Either way he went there would be advantages and disadvantages and he realized how much one outweighed the other in both cases. No matter what he decided something bad would happen, either politically or mentally. He would regret it no matter what he chose. There was no right choice, just options and he knew which one he was going to choose.

Gilbert looked up, "You're right."

"When am I not?"

"I know what I have to do." It seemed easy now, the choice so obvious. He smiled. "Thanks."

"De rien."

Prussia stood and slid out of the booth. He stopped and turned back. "By the way, about before…"

"Don't worry." Francis held up a hand and smiled. "I know how you get under stress. We all get that way sometimes. C'est vrai, n'est pas?"

"Yeah, sure. And, um." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Oui."

Well, maybe Mattie wouldn't find out. It wasn't like Francis knew who they were talking about anyways. He had even completely forgotten about the islands he had lost that past year. For a week or two the man had held extensive meetings with both his politicians and his allies to see what had and could be done. But at some point it had all faded away and disappeared. Forgotten. Gilbert would bet that if he asked the nation right now he would be unable to remember at all.

It was only to be expected, after all both Canada and Quebec were basically invisible.

He sat back down on his bar stool and was not surprised when a few minutes later his little brother joined him again. He ordered them both two more drinks. "So, how's ol' Roddy?"

"Tiring."

As per usual.

Their drinks arrived and he immediately took a sip. Mmm, icy.

"I'm going to Canada."

"Where?"

"Canada. The place slash person we've been talking about for the past few months? I need to talk to him."

"Oh." He took a drink. "When?"

"I don't know, sometime soon."

"Will you be moving out of my basement sometime soon?"

"Whoa, let's not get hasty here!"

Ludwig gave another sigh and looked into his beer. "I can dream," he muttered.

Gilbert laughed softly and finished off his own beer. And, hey why not, grabbed Germany's beer and finished that off too. He ignored the glare he received and gave his brother a playful punch on the shoulder. "Hey come on, West, lighten up! It's not like–"

"Perkele!"

The bar silenced immediately. They all knew that cheery voice.

Russia's eyes were wide as he watched Finland who's shirt was now drenched in Vodka. Tino himself had his arms spread wide to show off his darkened shirt and stared down at it angrily. His eyes narrowed and he slowly looked up at Ivan who was now panicking silently.

Russia hit the floor loudly with Finland on top of him in a fury and soon the punches were flying. "Райвис, помогите!" he shouted frantically.

Movement caught Gilbert's eye and he turned to see Latvia, surrounded by empty vodka bottles, put down his drink and walk over drunkenly. He grabbed Finland by the back of his shirt and pulled him off, throwing him to the floor and straddling him. His punches were quick and looked extremely painful.

1…2…3… "Latvia!" Saw that coming.

Estonia jumped up from his spot next to Latvia's seat and pulled the flailing boy off Finland. Taking the opportunity Tino stood up and tackled Russia, who had only just stood up, to the floor again taking him by surprise.

Gilbert looked up at Sweden who was watching calmly. "W- shouldn't you do something?" he asked.

The man never took his eyes off the fight and shook his head calmly. "J'st let th'm w'rk 't out."

Something told him that Sweden had gone through this before and turned back to the fight where Lithuania had now joined in and America had jumped in for the chance to beat up Russia. Poland cheered from the sidelines. This was probably why everyone tried to keep Finland away from alcohol.

Well, an opportunity was an opportunity and Prussia knew this was his chance to slip away unnoticed. But, then again, he had no reason. Plus the fight was just so damn amusing. He could go see Canada later; he wasn't prepared for it just yet.

After all, who knew what could have happened while he was away.


Hola!

Okay, I'd like to start my three-part apology by saying you are all wonderful people (especially those who review, nudge nudge wink wink) No really! Sticking with this thing makes you extra special in my books especially considering how long these chapters take.
Part two: explanation. Okay so in addition to my ADD, writers block and usual issues I also had another problem. My laptop is old so there wasn't enough memory causing the word to quit before it could be opened fully and it took us ages to fix it. Well, it is obviously fixed now so I will be writing as much as possible.
Part three. .

Now, lesson time. Jack be Nimble has one of the lesser known backgrounds of the nursery rhyme world. It is said that the Jack it refers to is the notorious pirate Jack Rackham aka Calico Jack. The Candlestick thing is much more obscure in meaning, most likely refering to an early game/ ritual (I'm not sure which) in which people jump over candlesticks for some reason that is beyond me.

Translations:

What Russia said means "Latvia, help!" All that French is unimportant and, frankly easy to understand.

Don't own Hetalia. Although if my plans succede... :D