Chapter 57

A sliver of light broke the darkness of the room where Gil was being held as the door opened. The unused office was mostly empty, with only two chairs, an old lamp, and a few pieces of wood and concrete bricks. Gil's hands were cuffed behind his back. He stood, trying to think of some plan to get out of the situation he found himself in. He turned to the door, looking away as his boss walked in with two guards. The man's arm was wrapped and in a sling. He forced himself not to smile. It gave him more satisfaction than he knew it should. He watched the man sit down out of the corner of his eye, not turning towards him.

One of the guards clicked on the lamp sitting in the corner. Gil was surprised it worked. He hadn't tried it, darkness was more comfortable, it didn't hurt his eyes. He blinked in the sudden light, not turning to look at his boss.

"Well?" Gil asked, coldly, "What are you going to do with me?"

"What are you willing to do to help your brother?"

Gil looked back at the man, his expression curious, but cautious. He didn't trust him. "Anything," he chose to answer honestly.

"Good," The man smiled, "Then I won't call Russia. Here, sit." he motioned to the chair across from him.

Gil didn't have a chance to step towards the chair as the two guards grabbed his arms and forced him into it. He pulled away from them, giving them both his best death glare. He turned back to his boss, "I'm listening."

"Well, GDR, there are some…" The man looked up at the guards for a moment, then motioned them out of the room. Once they were alone he turned back to Gil. "This is not official, is that understood?"

Gil nodded once, leaning back in his chair. He looked into his boss's face. The man was nervous. More nervous than he would admit to. He was trying to hide it, but Gil could tell. He was too good at this. His boss couldn't hide it. He let the man continue.

"I have a few… personal enemies that I need you to care of. Unfortunately for you, you need me to keep quiet about your little outburst, and you're also asking me to help your brother, and that means I hold the cards… only I can't fire the gun. But you can…"

Gil smirked, looking at his boss, shaking his head, "Oh really? And you'll help my little brother?"

The man nodded, looking into Gil's face.

Gil grinned, leaning forwards, "Then give me the gun." he sat back again, looking at his boss's face. He saw relief, and fear. Gil smiled again. So he wasn't any less intimidating than before. That was comforting.

"I'll have everything you need sent to your hotel room, along with a list. RAF's demands have to be met by noon tomorrow…" the man checked his watch, "I mean later today. It's nearly one in the morning," he looked up at Gil with a smile, "I do appreciate this, GDR. In exchange, I order RAF to release your brother, and I don't call Russia. I'm fully aware of how he treats you… and I'm sure you know he'd be less than pleased with you for this…" he motioned to his arm.

Gil set his jaw, looking into his boss's face, barely moving, just watching him.

"Once I have confirmation of their death, I protect you, and your brother. Then neither of us owe each other anything, is that understood?"

Gil nodded again, only once, "Understood, sir," he smirked, "I'd salute you, but…" he moved his arms, clicking the handcuffs.

"Don't worry, as soon as I leave this room you'll be free to go. My men will come in and unlock those. Go back to your hotel. I suggest going quickly, I have 5 names of people I need to disappear."

"Only 5?" Gil didn't look at him as the man stood.

The man didn't answer, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Gil smiled. He'd gotten to him. He stood as the guards re-entered the room. One of them grabbed his arms while they other started unlocking the cuffs. He waited until the cuffs were off before pushing both of them away. He straightened his uniform and walked back down the hall towards the car. The sooner he got started, the sooner his brother was home, nothing else mattered. He'd killed men before, never like this, but how much of a difference could there be between killing a man on a battlefield and killing a man in his bed? Except that it certainly sounded easier. But killing a man while he slept? There was nothing honorable about that. Who was he trying to fool? He hadn't done anything 'honorable' in a long time. What made this any different? He didn't like it. but he didn't have any other choice. He tossed the keys to the valet as he walked into the hotel, and up to his room. There was already a locked case on his bed. He inspected it.

"Really?" he sighed, trying to look for a key. He found a note taped to the bottom of the case.

Your new least-favorite year

Gil rolled his eyes, looking back at the combination lock.

1961

The lock snapped open and Gil looked into the case. He smirked. A Walther PPK-L. He picked it up, his smile grew. It felt like it had been molded his grip, and it was made for a left handed shooter. He held it up, turning it in his hands. It felt right, like part of his arm.

He looked back into the case. The only thing left inside was a list. Five names. He read them and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He didn't want to do this. The image of his brother tied to a chair came into focus. He couldn't do that to his brother. He looked up, set the gun down in the case, and walked to his closet, starting to unbutton his military jacket, glancing at the syringe and vial sitting at the top of his suitcase. He hung up his jacket and picked up the needle.

…

Italy looked up suddenly, feeling a hand on his shoulder. The screen in front of him was black. He turned to see France looking down at him. The man's face was concerned, his blond curls pulled back with a black ribbon at the base of his neck.

"Feli?" France asked kindly, kneeling beside the chair, looking up at Italy, keeping his hand on the smaller country's arm, "How many times have you watched that video now?"

Italy sighed, shaking his head, "I lost count?"

France sighed back, "You should go to sleep. It's almost three in the morning…"

"You're not asleep," Italy turned back to the screen, standing to walk back to the projector.

"You're not going to find anything else in the video, Ita…" France followed him, ignoring Italy's previous statement. He laid his hand on the little country's shoulder again, pulling him away from the projector gently, "You need to sleep. You'll be more help to him if you sleep."

"And what about you?" Italy snapped, "You're not asleep. You're working to help him, aren't you?"

France sighed, looking at Italy for a moment before nodding.

"And how is that going?" Italy bit his lip, "Please tell me you have more than I do because…" He shook his head, looking down.

"I may have something… maybe…" France sighed again.

"What?" Italy looked up at him, putting his hands on France's arms, his eyes lighting up with hope, "Do you know where he is?"

"I think so. I won't say where until I know for sure…"

"Why!?" Italy snapped, pulling away from France, angry.

"Because I don't want you doing anything… that you'll regret later. I can't put you in danger too. I'm sorry, Feli…"

Italy pushed him, turning away, struggling not to cry, folding his arms around himself.

France sighed, walking around Italy, wrapping his arms around Italy, pulling him into a gentle hug, "I won't tell anyone, Ita. I promise."

Italy broke, grabbing onto France and sobbing on his shoulder. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel so weak, so powerless to help. He couldn't find anything in the video that gave him more clues. They'd been careful. It made him angry. Hot, frustrated tears ran down his cheeks and he didn't try to stop them. France didn't care about tears, he wasn't afraid of them like England was.

France held Italy, letting him cry, rubbing his back gently, not saying anything, just allowing the little redhead to sob on his shoulder.

"Do you…" Italy tried to choke out the words, "We're going to find him, right? He's going to be ok… please tell me he's going to be ok…?"

France hugged him tighter, nodding, "We're going to find him. He's going to be ok. I promise he's going to be ok…"

…

Gisela walked into her hotel room, freezing suddenly, dropping her bag. Sitting in the chair by the window, facing the wall, was Gil. His shirt was covered in blood, and he held a gun in his left hand, resting it on his left leg. His hair was a mess, his cheeks stained with tears, and it was the first time she'd ever seen him wear anything other than a military uniform. He looked considerably less threatening in jeans, even with a leather jacket. She ran up to him, taking the gun from his hand and laying it on the table. She looked down at her hand, wet with blood left on the gun. She looked up into Gil's face, reaching up to touch his cheek, wiping the tears away.

He didn't look at her.

"Gil?" She whispered, bringing her other hand to his face, touching his cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears, "Gil?"

He kept his eyes on the wall.

"Are you all right? Who… who's blood is…"

"Four men," he said, still not looking at her, "Four men who I had to kill. Because that's the price for my… for my brother's safety…"

"Oh, Gil, I'm so sor-"

"That's not the problem…" Gil shook his head, still not looking at her.

Gisela said nothing, looking up at him. There was something in his eyes that scared her. A dark resignation that sent a chill down her spine.

"Gil…?"

"There were five names…" He looked down at her, grabbing his gun from the table and standing, keeping the gun at his side.

Gisela scrambled back, looking up at him, forcing herself not to scream.

Gil's hand trembled on the gun. He set it back down on the table and leaned against the wood, leaning over it, his shoulders shaking with sobs, "I can't do it… I can't… but if I don't… I can't do it…"

Gisela stood, breathing fast from fear, and slowly walked up behind him. She laid her hand on his back gently, "Gil… please… please don't… please…" Gisela slid down to the ground, gripping the fabric of Gil's jeans, looking up at him, "Please… please don't, Gil… please…"

Gil turned to look at her. He couldn't do it. He picked up the gun, turning it in his hand. He lifted Gisela into a hug, "Sh… sh…" he whispered, holding her as she sobbed on his shoulder.

"Please…"

Gil raised the gun, his hand shaking almost too much to hold the grip. He laid it against the side of her head, tears streaming down his cheeks. He felt her sobbing grow harder as she clung to him.

"Please, Gil please… please don't… kill me… please… don't… please…" She sobbed, begging, shaking.

Gil's hands shook. He held his finger against the trigger, looking up, closing his eyes, God, I can't do this… I can't… I can't do this… He dropped the gun on the table, wrapping Gisela in his arms. He just held her, shaking, barely able to cry.

"I'm getting you out of here. You're leaving tonight. I can't. I can't leave you here anymore. I'm getting you out."

"How…?" She looked up, still shaking, still sobbing. She didn't know how to process everything that had just happened. He should have killed her, but he didn't. And he wanted to help her.

"They change the guards on the towers in half an hour… it's not perfect, but it just might give us enough time…"

"Time to what?"

"To run. To get you over the wall."

"What?"

"As soon as you cross the West German border they can't hurt you. The guards have to leave you alone…"

"And you?"

"I'm going to protect you."

Gisela nodded. She wasn't sure what that meant, but she accepted it.

"What do you need to bring with you?"

"Nothing."

"Then let's go," Gil nodded. He replaced the gun in the inside pocket of his jacket, zipped the leather closed and took Gisela's hand. The world moved in a blur, almost slow motion. He led Gisela down the hallway of the hotel room, through the door, and into his car. He didn't say a word as he drove towards the wall. He didn't look out the window. They were finally rebuilding the city, and most of the rubble had long since been cleared, but it didn't feel right. It barely felt like home anymore. He stopped the car a few blocks from the wall. He opened Gisela's door for her, helping her out of the car. He put his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

"Once we get over the wall, run. I'll be right with you, but no matter what happens, run. They will shoot at us, but I'm not going to let them hurt you. Just. Keep. Running. Don't stop until you're on the other side and safe in West Germany. Do you understand?"

Gisela nodded, trembling. Her voice shook as she spoke, "And you…?"

"Never mind about me. Just keep running, ok?"

Gisela nodded again, biting her lip. She didn't like where she thought this was going. She didn't have time to argue as Prussia took her hand and started for the wall.

Prussia looked up at the towering concrete. He touched it, closing his eyes, I'm so sorry, Brüderchen… I'm so sorry… He looked back at Gisela, both of them waiting. He finally heard a car pull up at the nearest tower. They were late. It didn't matter. He looked back at Gisela and nodded. Both of them scrambled over the concrete. He had to help her. They ran. There was a long pause before bullets flew past them, one of them almost hitting the back of his jacket. They ran faster. Prussia moved Gisela to the side suddenly. A bullet hit his side. He ignored it, running faster, half dragging her along. Another bullet tore into his leg. He winced, stumbling for a moment.

"Gil!" Gisela stopped, turning back to him.

"KEEP RUNNING!" Prussia snapped, forcing himself to catch up to her. He pushed her forwards, catching another bullet. He slowed down, gripping his side, coughing hard.

"Gil…" Gisela looked up at him as he ran next to her, "What are you-"

"It doesn't matter…" he shook his head. The next bullet hit his back and he was down, "GISELA RUN!" He screamed at her, pulling out his gun and firing up at the guard tower. The bullets stopped for a moment, just long enough for her to almost reach the border. He looked up, trying to see her. She had to make it. He fired towards the tower again, then looked back as he heard Gisela scream. He saw her grip her arm, but she kept running.

God, please… please let her make it… please… He gave a loud grunt of pain as more bullets tore through him. He lowered his gun, letting his hand drop onto the gravel. He felt the wet ground. Blood. His blood. He let his head fall back as Gisela crossed the other side. She was safe. She was finally safe. He closed his eyes, bringing his hands to his stomach and chest, trying to press into the wounds. The movement told the guards he was still alive. He had to use all the willpower he had to keep from screaming in pain as more bullets hit him. He didn't move again, closing his eyes. His breath caught in his chest, and he could feel the blood seeping through his fingers. He tried to think about something else, anything else, something to distract him from the pain. Gisela was safe. And maybe, just maybe, Ludwig was safe. As long as his brother was safe nothing else mattered. He opened his bloodshot red eyes again slowly, looking up. Pink light was just barely starting to kiss the sky. It was sunrise.

A/N: I cried. I cried real actual rolling-down-my-cheeks tears at this one... mostly in the middle when Gil actually thought about killing her... then, of course, he changed his mind... *sighs* I mean, he'll be fine, but... and Italy and France are trying to act more hopeful than they feel... things aren't looking to good... (the lightness couldn't last from last chapter, now could it...?) But as long as Gil was sucessful in protecting his brother...?

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