Do you have any habits?-

Thinking back, Gilbert could only think of how he wrote in his Diary every day. Every day for hundreds of years he would take the time to write in his diary. His brother always complained that he used an entire room to house his diaries, but he never tried to remove them.

Every once in a while, Gilbert would go into the room where he kept his diaries. They were all leather bound and placed on wooden shelves. The diaries from different time periods all looked slightly different, but several books stood out from the others. It had a french flag glued to the leather spine. That volume was from the year 1807


Prussia paced back and forth in his tent. He had called the general to help him organise a plan of attack for France. They had been fighting France's boss, Napoleon for a while and now they would attack in earnest. The plan would be to go to Auerstedt and obliterate the French army. They had suffered losses at their last battle and Prussia vowed to get even with that bastard.

Wind blew through the canyon. The pass was where the attack was planned, they would cut off the French troops and kick their ass there. Gilbert lay on his stomach as he watched his troops line up opposite France's. Through his binoculars, he could see that France wasn't among his troops. Feh, he was probably lounging with Napoleon back in his home.

He propped himself up on his elbows, binoculars in hand, pistol and musket by side. There was a roaring of sound and the two armies collided. Gilbert ran through the battle plan in his head again. The cavalry were to storm in at this point and...

"Damn." He watched as the cavalry was routed off by the French troops. Two of the three generals were carted off the battlefield. In the distance, Gilbert could see that more French troops were coming to aid their companions.

"No, no, no!" Gilbert scrambled to his feet and started running down to the Prussian camp. As he descended the slope, the distant sounds of battle became closer and closer. He could smell the gunpowder in the air as well as the scent of copper. Screams and cries of pain and anger rose in waves over the ground.

GIlbert watched helplessly as his army tried to recollect it's self and attack once again. Gilbert gritted his teeth and ran faster, feet flying over the rocks. It wouldn't work. They French would massacre them!

He felt his foot catch on a large rock and fell hard onto the ground. Gilbert grunted at the impact. He'd shot out his hands to catch him, but he's still scratched his face and hands.

"Ooh, Bon jour Prussia!" Gilbert hastily got to his feet, wincing as he stood unsteadily. Blood started soaking through the fabric of his trousers from a deep cut in his leg.

"France." Gilbert hissed out the name like a curse. The Frenchman smiled, and casually kicked in the leg, shoving his boot into the cut.

"No need to get up Prussia, I'll see myself in." Gilbert collapsed to the ground. He spit at France, his boots clean and polished, his ridiculous cape freshly pressed.

"Where did you come from? Too busy prettying yourself up to enjoy the battle?" Gilbert reached to his belt to grab his gun.

"Oh, you know how it is. It is my weakness for all things beautiful. Now, if you can show me to your leader then I can take your land." France wandered around, surveying the scene of the battle.

"Since when did you grow some balls?" Gilbert pulled the gun out and held it at France's head. "Get the hell out of my country."

France merely smiled warmly. "You really need to learn to learn how to look behind you." Gilbert's eyes widened as he felt a bullet tear into his back. He'd been shot before, but it still stung like hell every time. The blood pumped out of his body, covering the ground.

"Oh Prussia, you got blood on my uniform! Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of cotton?"

"Argh, Fu-" Gilbert's curse died in his throat as he felt himself fall to the ground.

Gilbert awoke to find himself in his house, laying on his bed. His torso was thickly wrapped in white bandages. He groaned and felt his back burn with the action of sitting up. He limped over to the mirror and, wincing, tried to get a better look at his wound. It didn't feel like it was healing right, and that meant something had happened to his country.

Gilbert moved to his closet and slowly pulled on his jacket and a pair of pants. As he realdied to leave the room, he noticed a note.

Dear Prussia,
So sorry for having one of my men shoot you in the back like that. It was all self defence really. Since we won, we decided to take some of your land. I think it's around half of your country. You have lots of land so I'm sure you have some to spare.
Love always, France

Gilbert threw the note to the ground in disgust. The curled script blurred in front of his eyes. Moving to his bookcases, Gilbert looked angrily at his current diary, covered in pictures of the French Flag.

Gilbert had the habit of writing in his diary every day. That one was not an exception.
Today I lost to France the bullet wound won't heal and neither will me forgiveness. Tomorrow I'll kick his ass.

Gilbert didn't miss war. He missed the look of defeat on his enemies' faces, he missed the thrill of victory. He didn't miss death, loss, or the feeling of sorrow after the battle. Winning a battle was compromise, lives had to be lost. Gilbert felt easier when it was only his he had to worry about.


Do you have any habits- I write in a diary everyday.


Author's Note- Can anyone say late update? Things have been a bit busier with school. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

On another note- What would be the intrested in a sequal with "Prussiax'mystery person''? I'll ask this again at the last chapter but I just want to know if anyone would like that. It would probably be a structured drabble just like this one, only with more of a central plot. ^.^

See you soon! Oh, and has anyone read the first volume of Hetalia or watched the dubbed Dvd yet?