Hey guys! So I'm Awesome Maple and this is my first fan fic ever! If you were wondering, the title What Must Shall Be comes from Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet. I hope you enjoy it!

~Awesome Maple

Note: I might go back and edit some things if I notice something is OOC or if there are typos.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but apparently it owns me.

Chapter 1

Gilbert arrived at the scene of crime, the police car's red and blue flashing lights dancing across his skin and creating a wonderful display of his long shadow. There were two other police cars and an ambulance.

Dressed smartly in his police officer uniform, he had slicked his hair back as usual, and walked up to the subordinate, officer Vargas. The house was sectioned off with the typical yellow and black 'Caution' tape and thankfully there was no crowd, though Gilbert saw curious faces of the neighbours peering through their windows into the night scene unfolding in front of them.

"What's the situation Vargas?"

"A fucking murder that's what," the Italian spat. Vargas could barely utter a sentence without some kind of insult thrown in, almost like that 'a pinch of salt' you see in so many recipes. A dash of 'bastard' or 'idiot' and sometimes some creative Italian insults.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Care to read your fucking papers before arriving at the scene of crime?" he mocked.

"Sorry for my dearest colleague not remembering that there are crimes to be solved and that watching cat videos on YouTube doesn't help."

"Okay whatever fucktard. I'll talk to your idiotic secretary later. Anyways there's a shit ton of blood all over the living room, the woman living in there is missing and the husband is strewn all over the floor—also there's this little bastard who won't come out from under th—"

"The woman killed her husband on purpose—"

"How do you know, potato bast—"

"Did you check the garage?" The Italian fell silent. Gilbert smirked. If she killed her husband on purpose it was for a few reasons: mania, relationship issues or financial. He just knew she killed him. It was his gut instinct, and his gut never failed him. Ever. Back to the garage issue. If the car wasn't there, it was relationship issues. She'd have run off. If the car was there, it was mania or financial. If she's gone from the scene of crime, it's mania and she couldn't be far behind. Financial? She'd be pretending to be distraught over the murder.

"You check the garage. The kid is...?"

"The little bastard is under the bed on the second floor. He won't come out."

We'll see about that, Gilbert thought. He stepped over the tape and into the threshold of the house. Typical white picket cookie cutter house, it was nice, with crisp, freshly cut grass. He took a tour of the bottom floor, accompanied by some random officer. Gilbert saw that it was neat and tidy and that there were no signs of disturbance apart from some unwashed dishes in the sink. Looking into the fridge, the officer sighed and was about to make some snippy comment when Gilbert raised his hand to silence her.

Vegan, he wrote in his notebook. He checked the expiry dates—all fresh. He noted that the garbage was empty, and that there was not a cup out of place. Neatly put away.

He moved onto the bathroom. Flawless, the mirror looked clean. The toilet was also clean; everything was clean… Too clean.

Gilbert moved to the living room, touching the surfaces with his gloved hands, trying to ignore the stench and the mangled corpse on the ground. All cold—except one chair. It held some warmth, though someone had recently sat in it. He then expertly looked for footprints on the carpet—nothing.

Finally he looked at the nasty mess of a corpse. He didn't linger long, just enough to see that the man's left fourth finger was nowhere to be seen, and that he had been brutally slashed. It also looked as though he'd fallen out of the chair. He touched the man—cold, but not totally. He'd died very recently.

"When did you get the call of the murder?" Gilbert asked the woman as he jotted down some more notes.

"Around ten minutes ago—we entered only five minutes ago."

"She killed him while you were entering the house. She's close by. I'd say out the back door, probably under the deck or in a house nearby. It seems planned.

Either she had a sudden cause of mania or she has 'fled the house in terror'. Or she could have fled with another lover…" He'd started to mumble, jotting his notes down. A hit man? A murderer in seek of revenge? Definitely a marriage issue, his ring finger was missing. Lost in thought, he left the officer standing awkwardly while he finished up.

She felt so awkward around Investigator Beildschmidt. Everybody did while he was on the job. He was usually an extremely childish man, loud, obnoxious, and loved to randomly burst in on people while they were quietly doing their paperwork like normal people. He also hogged the coffee machine.

Had this been anybody else, the chief of the police department would have had Beildschmidt's head, but the investigator was very much respected. Basically because he was so serious on the job, like now. He was incredibly attentive to detail.

Beildschmidt suddenly broke out of his thoughts.

"Where's the kid?"

"This way, sir," the officer squeaked. Another thing that really intimidated the officer was the fact that he was albino. Or half albino. He lacked many of the traits that made albinos the way they are, save his pale skin and rather red eyes. Albinos tended to have a weaker immune system, which Beildschmidt did not have. They had strange eye shapes, as if they squinted a lot, but he didn't. His eyes were red, not a dark reddish colour. His eyebrows and eyelashes were fairly dark too.

She led him up the stairs, and into the room where an officer stood outside the open door. The officer motioned to Beildschmidt the bed, and the officer crouched down.

"Anybody under there?" He asked softly. A small sob was let loose. Pulling off his cap and rustling his hair, he got down flat on his stomach, staring at a little boy, no more than six years old. He rested he head on his crossed hands and started to ask some simple questions.

"Hey kid, what's your name?"

"Peter," he said.

"I'm inspector Gilbert Beildschmidt, but you can call me Gillyflowers," he said smiling softly, and extended his hand slowly under the bed. The kid cautiously shook it, giggling a bit at the name.

"Where are you from kid?"

"England," the kid replied, Gilbert hearing the accent in his voice.

"Hey... Wanna come out a little closer? I think you have a scratch," Gilbert frowned, and the small child wriggled forwards. There was no scratch, but as soon as Gilbert 'inspected' his face, the kid moved back immediately. That come-closer-to-me trick usually worked. Hmm…

So Gilbert talked to the kid for a solid fifteen minutes. From school to his favourite colour, to his favourite meal... Gilbert eventually stood up and slicked his hair back and put it under his hat, dusting some invisible dust off his uniform.

"Kid's a lost cause, we're goi—"

The kid suddenly latched onto Gilbert's foot, and Gilbert smiled knowingly.

"Please don't go!" Peter sobbed loudly. Gilbert knelt and picked him up.

"I'm not going anywhere, shhh," he patted the kid's back soothingly as the child cried into his shoulder. The officers stared incredulously as Gilbert waltzed right out of room, murmuring to the child and expertly avoiding the living room and made it outside.

"We're going to have to get you to the hospital, okay kid?"

"Don't leave!" The kid was hysterical, "Gillyflowers, I don't want to be alone!"

"I'm staying with you the whole time, don't worry."

And stay he did.

He stayed with Peter as the paramedics checked him up, and promised he'd meet him at the hospital in no more than one hour. The child was reluctant, but agreed to go solo in the ambulance, immediately being hugged by the Moldovan female paramedic and being put into the back with her.

"So you got the lil' fucker out," Vargas muttered, joining him as Gilbert waved to brave little Peter.

"Yep. Anyways, the woman is probably nearby—or she could be in the next town over. I'll type up my findings and tell you later what I found. For now, get the body out and to the morgue—check the deck and backyard will you? Do some research on the couple? I've got a kid to meet up with. See you around, Vargas!"

With that, Gilbert climbed into the police car, driving off as the Italian shook his head. That man knew how to do his job.

Gilbert arrived at the children's hospital and was with Peter the whole time. He held his hand as the doctors told him he had to go to a foster home, and told him that his daddy is dead and mommy is gone. Somehow, he didn't cry. He eventually told him he'd visit and that he'd come back soon. Peter nodded off to sleep and Gilbert left the hospital satisfied with his work.

Gilbert crashed at home, not caring that he might have disturbed Ludwig with his terrific entrance before he had flopped down on the couch. He'd been working over time, but hey, kids gave him life.

Gilbert eventually retired to the basement; sleep overtaking him. It was always the same story—wake up, go to work, do a morning case or a night case, get called off-duty and then crash at home.

Gilbert thought about this cycle often, and that he'd like a change. But there wasn't much to do, now was there? They needed good officers like him. His life was going nowhere. Gilbert fell into an uneasy sleep, wishing that he'd picked a different job.

TO BE CONTINUED...

And there you have it, Chapter 1 of What Must Shall Be! We have so far met our grumpy Italian brother, and that Gilbert lives with Ludwig. We see that our precious Gilbert is unhappy with his life... Will this terribly boring lifestyle end? What other characters will we meet?

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it!

~Awesome Maple