Author's Note: Chapter six already, wow, this story is going fast! I have about 22 or so chapters planned out for this so we are almost a third of the way through! If you enjoy this story please review! I love hearing what you all think!
Monday, October 21st, 1991 : 65 days until Christmas
The consensus between France and Italy on how to deal with us German men goes as follows: I will be living with Canada for a few weeks so I can get myself together. He will be the best to look after me, as he knows how to properly handle my episodes and medical needs. America was tasked with checking up on Germany to make sure he doesn't get into his head too much, and because they are rather good friends.
Yet, before leaving for Canada, I wanted to check up on a few things. Which brings me first to Latvia.
As the sun sets the shadows begin to lengthen, darkening the road I walk on. It's really a small little path, surrounded by tall, thick pine trees for miles and miles. It leads up to a little cottage-like house freshly painted white with brown trim. I walk up the steps and knock on the door.
The sound of five locks being undone makes me sigh and the door opens.
"Gilbert?" Latvia says, a smile forming on his young face.
"Hey kid, how've you been holding up?"
"Better now. . . Please, come in, I'll prepare some tea." He says while stepping aside and allowing me to enter his house.
He shows me to the living room and I take a seat near the coffee table. Not even five minutes have passed when he comes back with tea and sets it on the table. He sits across from me and sighs.
"I'm scared." He breaks the silence.
"Of what?" I ask.
"Russia. . . sure, he is backing off of us now, but how long is that going to last?" He nervously looks around the room before his eyes settle back on me, "I can feel him against my borders and it's driving me insane. How much independence do I actually have?" His voice is hardly above a whisper and shakes like a newborn deer. My heart pangs for him and I sigh deeply. He doesn't deserve to be feeling like this.
"You are completely autonomous Raivis." I try.
"I know, but for how long? Ten years? Maybe thirty if I'm lucky? Russia has always been good at digging himself out of the holes he has made." He takes a small sip of the tea before him then continues, "After the CCCP falls, he'll pop right back calling himself something else and continue to terrorize me because I happen to have a Baltic shoreline." His voice remains a trembling mess as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.
I reach over and place a hand on his. He flips his hand so he can hold mine and I look back to him.
"He visited me yesterday. . ." It was so quiet I almost didn't hear him say this.
"Alone?" I ask. He nods as a few tears leave his eyes.
"He tried to apologize, as if saying sorry could ever fix what happened. I lost so much to him, he took so much from me and I. . . Will never be the same."
I pull him into an embrace and he begins sobbing into me. Softly, I run my hand up and down his back.
"Shh, it'll be alright. You know none of us would ever let him touch you like that again."
He pulls away and looks up at me, pale blue eyes filled with way more pain than a child should have.
"Yeah, that's what I thought in the forties, but no one cared. . . That's what I thought in the sixties, but no one cared. The West does not care enough for me to protect me from him. . . I know you are trying to help me Prussia but I know you have a habit of lying to make things better."
A weird weight presses on my chest at being called Prussia, especially after he mentioned the forties. Russia wasn't the one to hurt him then it was me. The last thing I want to remind him of is what I let Germany do to him.
"I know, but the West has been active out here. They see you, and they want to help. Especially America." My last ditch effort to comfort him.
"I'm scared of him too."
He buries his face back into my chest and I hold him tighter. We stay like this for a while before he pulls away and wipes the tears off his face.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to cry."
"It's alright. Don't apologize for that." I reassure him while handing him the box of tissues that was on the lampstand near me. He takes them and thanks me.
"Has Lithuania been around?" I ask.
"Yes. . . He's supposed to be coming today, actually."
Almost as if on cue, the doorbell rings. Latvia stands up and quickly fixes himself in the small mirror near the door before opening it.
"Toris!" He says excitedly.
"Hello Raivis, how have you been?"
"Alright. . . Gilbert is here!"
"Oh, really?"
Latvia steps aside and allows Lithuania to enter the house. As soon as Lithuania's eyes fall on me he smiles and rushes over. I stand and we embrace tightly.
"It's been so long." He says.
"Too long." I respond.
Once we pull apart he kisses my forehead then my cheeks.
"Oh, my dear Prussia, what have they been feeding you?" He asks while taking my arm and feeling my protruding bones.
"I've been eating plenty. . . It's just hard to gain weight." I admit.
"Pssh, I just got back from a meeting with America. If you ate like him, you'd gain all your weight back plus some in no time. That man has so much food."
"Well. . . He's rather wealthy." I comment.
"I doubt wealthy cuts it. He's something above that, like. . ."
"A superpower?" Latvia finishes for him.
"Yes. Something like that." Lithuania agrees.
"Speaking of North America, I'm going to be in Canada for a couple of weeks. I wanted to tell both of you that." I say.
"Canada? . . Oh, France's son. He's an interesting fellow, awfully quiet. Why with him?" Lithuania asks while sitting down next to where I was. Latvia and I sit as well before I answer.
"I'm not doing great, and I need someone to watch over me. . . Germany is not the best option and Italy has business in France for a while."
"I see. I'm sorry to hear you are doing terribly, but if it makes you feel a little less alone, Raivis and I have also been faring badly. I keep seeing everything so vividly, whether it is there or not. It's hard to tell some days." Toris admits.
"Me too. I keep hearing or seeing Russia when he's not there." I say softly. Toris puts a hand on mine in a comforting gesture. We got rather close during our time together under Russia. I look into his eyes and smile a bit. It feels good to see that he's still compassionate toward me.
"He's not doing good either." Latvia breaks the silence and makes both of us look at him.
"Russia?" Toris asks.
"Yeah. He visited me yesterday and I could tell that he was sick. It's October and he was already shaking like it was January. He kept coughing and walked with a cane. . . Perhaps his time is near."
"Thank God." Toris comments.
"Yeah." I agree, looking down at my hands.
October 22nd, 1991
My first mistake was coming unannounced.
The old wooden steps creak as I walk up them, loudly marking my arrival. I know the doorbell doesn't work, so I go for knocking instead.
My heart is beating wildly in my chest, pounding loudly in my ears. Why am I even here, why did I come? I should be making my way back to Munich so I can pack and leave with Canada. . . Now, I'm standing at a house just outside Novgorod, knocking on the door, waiting for an answer.
If he opens the door what am I going to say? I should turn around and never look back. . .
I take a small step back but the sound of locks being undone calls me back. It's too late now. Whatever happens to me will be my fault. I shouldn't have come back here.
The door opens and I'm met with a soft, lavender gaze.
"Well, well, well, couldn't stay red, white and blue for long, huh?" He says a bit breathlessly.
"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. . . Raivis mentioned you being really sick and I-"
"I'm fine," he interrupts, "you can go back to that hellhole you call Germany." He makes a move to close the door but I stop it with my hand. His gaze is furious for only a second before it softens again.
"Must you?" He asks.
"I'm worried." I admit. He sighs and opens the door all the way, allowing me to step inside.
"Worried? About what?" He asks while closing the door behind me and turning to face me.
"You. You're awfully pale."
"Says you." He comments while going into the kitchen. I follow him and watch him prepare tea for a while before speaking up again.
"Are you getting worse?"
"Why do you care? I thought everyone would be celebrating my slow and painful demise."
"Where is Ukraine?" I ask.
"Why are you asking so many questions? I should have left you outside to freeze."
"I'm asking because you won't answer me seriously."
"Fine." He stops making the tea and looks up at me, "every single day that passes I get sicker. I'm marching slowly to a painful and hopefully final death, as I watch everything I've tried to build up since the 1920s vanish before my eyes. Anyone I've ever cared about is either dead or hates me, and the one man I couldn't have more contempt for is the only one who checks up on me regularly, probably to gauge when I'm going to die. Ukraine left for England of all places for some unknown reason, because she doesn't have to tell me what she's doing anymore and it's none of my business. Belarus is with Lithuania and the Balkans are gearing up to tear each other apart once the Union officially collapses, so I'm here alone. . . With you. ." He looks down at the counter, slowly continuing to fix the tea.
A pang of sorrow runs through me as I process what he said. He turns the stove on and places a kettle on it. I take this time to slowly approach him and cautiously touch his arm. His cold, violent gaze falls to me.
"This is how I tell the difference." I say mostly to myself.
"What?" He asks.
"You, right now, the real you. You don't try to hurt me anymore."
". . . Oh, give me some time." He jokes?
"Do you want to?" I ask, pulling my hand away. He takes a step toward me and I take a step back.
"If you are that frightened of me, why come here?" He asks, approaching me. I back myself up into the counter and freeze.
"I already told you, I was worried."
He places his left hand on the counter beside me and uses his right to hook underneath my chin and make me look up at him.
"Why are you worried about me? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me." He whispers.
"I. . . Because I care about you." I admit to him and myself.
"Care for me?" He says while pulling the bottom of my shirt up and exposing my stomach and all its scars.
"Who did this to you? And you care for that person?"
"I don't know what answer you are looking for, but that's the truth." My voice shakes as I say this. I have no idea what to expect from him right now. Will he hurt me? Or is he just messing with me?
He leans down a bit, ghosting his lips just over mine. I open my mouth and lean up to kiss him and he lets me, kissing back with just as much enthusiasm. The hand under my chin moves to my cheek as we deepen the kiss. My hands find their way to his hips and I pull him flush against me. He's cold, incredibly so, but that's nothing new. I shiver as he grabs my hips and lifts me up onto the counter. My legs spread and our hips come together in a way that sends pleasurable waves throughout my body. He moans into the kiss and the sound goes straight to my groin.
The kettle begins to scream and he pulls away from me. Breathless, I watch him take the kettle off the stove.
"Is that what you came here for?" He asks in a smooth voice.
"I. . . Wasn't expecting it but I wouldn't mind it."
He smiles a bit before coughing.
"Don't tempt me. . . I can't do anything vigorous, lest I cough my lungs out."
I place my hand over his and he looks me in the eyes.
"Stay alive." I hear myself whisper.
October 23rd, 1991
Saying good-bye is hard, so Germany and I don't. We said it one time to each other and I never will again. I promised him I'll be back.
The plane jolts and I tense up, looking around nervously.
"Are you alright?" Canada asks.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. . . Just a little uneasy. The last time I was in a plane was. . . 1943."
"Really?" He asks, surprised for some reason.
"Mhm, no reason to fly under Soviet occupation, we could just take the trains anywhere we wanted to go if we were allowed."
"Is that something you'd be willing to talk about?" He asks.
"The trains?"
"No. What it was like living under Soviet occupation. . . Though, if you'd like to talk about trains I wouldn't mind that either."
"Oh. . . I couldn't see why I wouldn't be willing to talk about it. I suppose there is a lot to say."
"Perfect. Talking about what happened might help you make more sense of it."
The plane jolts again and I tense.