This is another one of those in-between chapters like the last one, so it's short. Dammit, I'd wanted to make it longer. ._.;; I'm hoping to put more Evangeline and France in the next chapter. Someone remind me. LOL.

Thank you guys for all the favs/reviews/alerts! My God, ten chapters already? For that…we must celebrate…with a fanart!

Notes: -http :/iheartnargles. deviantart. com/art /Cousins- 195541356 (link also on my profile)! It's Aloisa and Felicita being best buds/cousins~ Doesn't it look like they're from a show from Cartoon Network? 8D (But then again, if CTD/PTP was a cartoon, they'd take out the mpreg and the Adr/Ale and change them into best friends instead of lovers. Or maybe they'll turn Alec into a girl just to spite the yaoi-happy population. LE GASP. XD) Thank you so much, iheartnargles!
-Charles from James's school and the Charles that is England's assistant are two different people.
-Two sidestories coming up. Hey guys, tell me how you feel about an Adr/Ale sidestory. Do you want that? 8D

EDIT: NEW FANART. I LOVE YOU GUYS ;A; It's Romano and Felicita (hands LOL). FFFF-SO CUTE. :'D h t t p :/ staneshiftthewolf. deviantart. com/#/ d38w6iv
BTW doujinshi is being updated, so be patient~ Thank you! =^u^=

Sp/grammatical mistakes and DM linked words will be corrected after publication.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

November 30, 1960, England's house, London, England, 4:55 P.M…

Alec wondered if England was getting fed up with him. Ruses can only last so long, and England had been pacing around in the house anxiously, raising his head to look at the flowers Alec supposed America sent and towards the phone. Alec had barely missed the police department when they were walking around London; he avoided Trafalgar Square and James's school for obvious reasons, although he thought that he'd seen the boy near the park. But that was only a glimpse from yards away, so it could've been anyone.

And that probably explained why he saw two men who looked like his parents on a park bench, surrounded by rabid schoolgirls. Of course, that was impossible…

England got up from his place on the armchair and grabbed his coat. "I'm going to my office for a bit. Don't wander out on your own." He needed some time alone to himself, and he was willing to leave a stranger in his house. What could Alec do, anyways?

Alec also wondered if England had gotten used to him being there, or he was just very trusting. "Sure."

The front door swung opened and it closed with a click, and Alec was left alone in England's living room. This England, Alec decided, was somewhat reclusive. As if his head was in a fog and he didn't know what to make of Alec. The boy walked over to the table which America's roses were placed and brushed the fallen petals into the trashcan. His attention was then caught by France's Christmas market invitation, which seemed to have moved from their original place—

Alec started as the doorbell rang, a tinkling, light noise that jarred him out of his thoughts. He was about to sneak upstairs and peek out the window to see who it was when the stranger knocked, his muffled voice calling out, "Mr. Kirkland! There is an urgent letter for you! Mr. Kirkland? Are you home?"

It sounded like England's assistant…what was his name? Might've started with a C, but Alec wasn't sure. He opened the door and stared right back at England's assistant, who regarded him with a curious expression.

"Hullo," he began cautiously. "Aren't you…aren't you the boy I saw with Mr. Kirkland last time?"

Alec's hands drummed the doorframe nervously. "Yes, I am…"

"Are you related to him…?"

From the corner of his eyes, Alec could see Charles fiddle with an unopened letter. "Yes. I'm his cousin. Alec."

Charles's hand almost seemed to give, but his face was still calculating. "Mr. Kirkland doesn't have any cousins from what I know of—"

"We're very, er, distantly related. I'm his brother's cousin's nephew."

Charles blinked as he tried to work out the relations. "Brother's cousin's—"

"Right! Anyways, you have a letter for my Mam—um, Mr. Kirkland?"

The assistant gave Alec one last suspicious look before handing him the envelope. "It is from Mr. Francis Bonnefoy, and apparently is it of utmost importance that it gets to Mr. Kirkland as soon as possible."

Alec shrugged and was about to slip the letter on a nearby table when he noticed writing scrawled onto the back of the envelope. Slowly and perhaps a little hopefully, Alec scanned the cursive: Evangeline Bonnefoy.

"W-what is this? Who is this?"

The man leaned in and squinted. "I believe that says, Evangeline Bonnefoy. It's only the name of Mr. Bonnefoy's assistant, she's probably related to him. Usually it is Jacqueline who sorts his letters, however."

Evangeline Bonnefoy. That was his sister's name. She must be in France with their dad! So that meant that he absolutely had to convince England to take him to France. Slipping into his shoes, Alec wrapped Adrian's scarf around his neck and grabbed Charles's wrist, pulling him along.

"What are you doing? Unhand me!"

Alec didn't even turn around at first. "We're going to find Mr. Kirkland and give the letter to him. He said he went to his office, so I need you to lead me there!"

"But I promised my wife—"

Angry blue eyes glared back at the assistant. "Really, Charles!"

There was something about Alec's expression and the tone that he used which reminded Charles greatly of Arthur Kirkland. The boy had the same frown and eager glint in his eyes that could only belong to someone related to his boss. Letting Alec drag him across the streets and towards the park, he motioned with his free hand a shortcut to Arthur Kirkland's office.

He guessed that he would've been late for supper anyways.

November 30, 1960, park near Christmas market, Munich, West Germany, 5:45 P.M…

Ten minutes later Gilbert found out something was wrong. Everyone, for some reason, spoke German. Well, that didn't pose as a problem for him, because he was certain that his German was beyond awesome, but there was another thing. Each and every car he saw were these station wagon things. It's not like he had anything against classic car models, he knew that rich old people (or at least those that could still drive) liked to drive those types of cars, but these were middle-age-sort-of-youngish people zooming past him in station wagons with new paint jobs. And he did not know what to make of that. It was as if he'd been thrown back in time or something…

He continued along the sidewalk, passing mothers pushing these ancient-antique strollers and children bundled up in dark winter jackets. As two laughing children passed by Gilbert, one chasing the other, he called out to them in German, "Hey kid! Hold on a second!"

The two stopped and cocked their heads at Gilbert. "Yes, mister?" they replied, confused.

"You know where this is? I think I'm lost." His arms were getting sore from carrying his souvenirs and beers.

The first kid approached a bit closer and grinned. "Are you here for the Christmas market, mister? It's okay, München is a big place, sometimes I get lost, too."

Gilbert scoffed. "Kid, I'm a grownup, and awesome people like me don't get—did you say München?"

He nodded. "Sure did! Christmas market is just around the corner there, so you can just keep walking down this street. Woah, mister, what's the matter now? Does your head hurt?"

The silver-haired man waved the boy away, but his right hand still clutched his forehead. That English bastard actually sent him to Munich. Now how the hell was he supposed to get home? He had less than twenty American dollars in his wallet.

"I'm fine, kid. Thanks for the directions…"

He appeared unconvinced. The man had been mumbling and being all disoriented, and he was sure that people didn't act like that normally. "Are you on drugs, mister? Your eyes are red."

"W-wha—they're supposed to be like that! Goddammit..."

"Whatever you say, mister."

And so Gilbert went down the street once more, towards the Christmas market that was in Munich in Germany with no usable currency. This was about the point when he realized that he was, in fact, nearly screwed.

All he could do now what walk towards the market. He swore that he was definitely going to get back at Arthur for transporting him to another country.

Other side of the park, near Christmas market, 5:45 P.M…

They had ditched Romano and Spain only thirty minutes ago, and that had not been easy at all. Romano, despite what Felicita had said about her Mama being absentminded, followed Aloisa's movements and hung on her every word like a hawk. Italy was too quiet to be much of a help, and Felicita were off to a corner chatting with her dad at a million miles per hour and eating their churros. Whether it was good news or bad news, it seemed like Felicita had difficulty grasping how serious the situation was, because she almost looked like she was having fun.

Unable to persuade Italy to come home, Romano and Spain retreated to their hotel ("Like I want to stay out in the Potato's land! What—Christmas market? It's the potato's Christmas market, what do I care? Let's go back, Antonio."), but them having booked a hotel room meant that they were staying in West Germany, and so therefore Aloisa would surely encounter them again. She had told Blackie, Aster, and Berlitz to go home when they wouldn't stop jumping on Romano, and now she was really mentally bashing herself for believing that the dogs could actually understand her. She wondered if being in 1960 was making her paranoid.

Aloisa pulled Felicita to her side and hissed in her ear. "What were you thinking?"

"Huh?"

"Talking with your dad like that! Do you want us to be discovered?" Throwing a backward glance as Italy, she turned back to her cousin. "What were you two talking about?"

Felicita held up her hands defensively. "He was only telling me stories, but they're all about tomatoes. Well, that's what I expected anyways—"

"Felicita, don't you find this a little weird?"

"Not really," she answered, giving her head a small shake, "no."

Aloisa crossed her arms. "Oh, so it's just me that's acting up. I'm the crazy one."

"No, no, no, I didn't mean that at all! You're not crazy—wait a minute, is that your uncle?"

"Not funny, Felicita."

"No, seriously, he's waving at us from over there."

The blond sighed. "I know what I said last night. I was just kidding about Onkel Gilbert showing up, so you can stop being all sarcastic—"

Felicita shook Aloisa's shoulders and made her look straight ahead. "Tell me that's not your uncle and I swear I'll shut up for the rest of the day."

"Okay, that's not my—uh…that does look like Onkel Gilbert…"

Italy placed his hand on Aloisa's shoulder and looked at her strangely. "What's the matter, Aloisa?" Then he saw what Aloisa was staring at, and his eyes immediately widened. "Is that…is that Gilbert?"

Aloisa stammered back, "I-I don't know—"

"Hey! Hey, Aloisa! Is that your Mutti?"

Gilbert wanted to cry manly tears by that point, but that was totally unawesome and besides, he never cried. Picking up his legs and dashing towards the three, he was prepared to give Aloisa's Mutti a huge hug (his brother wouldn't mind…would he?) until he slipped on a path of ice four feet away and glide-crashed into Italy.

"Gilbert!"

He scrambled off and helped the Italian up frantically. "Aw, damn, Feli, I'm really sorry, please don't tell West—woah!" He patted Italy on the back hesitantly when the man wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held on tight. He didn't oppose of that, not at all, but he had a feeling that if West saw this he'd be in trouble. "What's the matter, Feli?"

Aloisa bent down and picked up Gilbert's fallen shopping bags. "Beer…and…what's this?"

"Oh, those are souvenirs I bought in Canada, but they're mostly dog toys and stuff. Um, Feliciano, you can let go now."

She gaped. "Canada—?" This wasn't Prussia, this man was actually her Onkel Gilbert! But how—?

Italy didn't release Gilbert, but he pushed back and beamed at him jubilantly. "I'm so glad you're here! But how did you leave? Didn't Toris come to bring you back?"

His mouth opened and closed, sort of like a fish, Felicita thought. "Leave where?"

Behind Italy, Gilbert could see Aloisa making big X's with her arms and shaking her head rapidly. He blinked at Italy and stuttered out, "Uh…I snuck…out."

"But didn't he notice?"

Who's 'he'? "No…?"

Italy gave Gilbert one of the most heartwarming smiles Aloisa had seen since she met the 1960 Italy (though it wasn't like her mom in the past smiled at all). "It doesn't matter. Ludwig will be delighted! You must stay for the Christmas market at least, Gilbert!"

"Feliciano, you know I can't—no! Don't cry! Please don't cry, West will kill me. I'll stay for the market, okay? But why are you in Munich?" He was so sure that he'd last seen Feliciano at England's house, and he was also sure that that was in America.

"Oh…I know, I should be going back with fratello, but I promised Aloisa and Felicita…so…"

"Promised them what?"

Aloisa dragged Gilbert away hurriedly in case the man blurted out some more nonsense. "Excuse me for a moment, Feliciano…" Turning to her Onkel, she grabbed his shirt and attempted to glare at him, even though she was very, very glad someone showed up. "What do you think you're doing? How did you get here?"

"England sent me, that tea-drinking bastard—"

"England…so they're looking for us! Felicita, our parents are looking for us!"

Gilbert took the shopping bags from his niece and slung them over his shoulder. "You don't need their help," he cackled. "Not when you have someone as awesome as me—"

Lowering her voice to a rather frightening pitch and dragging Gilbert closer to her level, she seethed, "You don't know where we are right now. We are in Munich. In 1960. We still need to find England's kids and America's kids. Now tell me: exactly how did you get here?"

His grin became frozen in place. "Nineteen…sixty…?"

"Yes, 1960—w-what's the matter—Onkel Gilbert—get off of me, what's wrong with you…? Felicita, he's not waking up!"

He might have brought along two packs of beer, but even he knew that two packs of beer would not be of much use in 1960. As unawesome and girlish as fainting was, it looked like a pretty good option at that moment.

November 30, 1960, park, London, England, 4:55 P.M…

"Francis, people are looking at us."

"Only because you are so beautiful, mon cher."

Arthur's eye twitched as he slapped Francis's hand away. "No. It's because you keep groping my ass every five seconds."

"I can't help it, Arthur—ow, okay, okay, I'll stop." Francis sighed and rubbed his cheek, where Arthur had slammed his hand in. "We've been looking around this park for a while now. We are walking in a circle."

"But I am so sure Alec is here," Arthur argued tiredly. "I just know he's here…"

"I thought we were looking for your assistant."

"We are. But I thought I saw Alec—"

"Arthur, do you remember how we started dating?"

His face flushed considerably. "Yeah. At your Christmas market, wasn't it? Why are you asking?"

Francis blinked and shook his head. "Nothing. For some reason I'm remembering this more clearly. Must have something to do with the 1960s."

Arthur turned away, biting his lip in embarrassment. "It's probably just you, frog."

"Maybe so, but I—agh!"

The Englishman took a step back as a running teenager collided into Francis head-on, the two of them toppling backwards onto the pavement. "Aw damn, I'm sorry!" the boy cried.

"Watch where you're going, boy!" Arthur said irritably, helping Francis up. "Can't you see we're—bloody hell, Alec…?"

Said boy continued to stare at Francis wordlessly with a horrified expression, his hand pressed against his lips. Sure, he'd been looking for England (and he thought he was pretty lucky to have bumped into him), and he would've counted France being with England a bonus. But…

…but if he was here, then where was Evangeline?

November 30, 1960, Central Park, Manhattan, 11:55 A.M…

Lovino stomped his foot and jabbed one finger in Ludwig's chest repeatedly with each enunciated word. "This. Is. Not. Happening!" he shrieked. "This is not fucking happening, do you hear me, potato brain? We can't be separated from England, we'll fucking die here!"

Feliciano popped up from behind Ludwig with an ice cream cone. "Ve~ It's not so bad! We won't die here, fratello. Besides, the ice cream is really cheap!"

A vein visibly throbbed in Lovino's temple. "You gave the vendor modern money? Are you insane?"

"You look angry, fratello…"

"Damn right I am!"

"Lovi, don't worry, England will show up! In the meantime, let's look around the city and maybe we might even find Felicita."

"Antonio…do you really think so?"

His Lovi was too cute. "I'm positive. Now then, Lovi, would you like a cheer-up charm?"

The ugly scowl returned immediately. "…no."

While Lovino continued to blabber out obscenities in Italian, Ludwig tried to ignore the staring passerbys and as best as he could. He could feel another headache coming on, and the situation was not making it any better.