Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.

Warnings: Prussian stupidity, Russian angst

Chapter 5 – Kitty Kat

Leningrad, Russia - Midnight

Prussia had driven all day, spent the remainder of his meagre Deutschmarks on gas and was now sat outside Russia's mansion in freezing cold waiting for his chance to pounce. He hated this freaking un-awesome country. It was always cold, always snowing and just looking at the fat commie bastard's house made him come out in hives. His plan now, after spending almost 12 hours zigzagging across Eastern Europe, bullshitting his way through borders and passing himself off as his brother, did not really seem as awesome as it did when he was sat in the comfort of his cosy basement.

He'd been sat outside Russia's mansion for an hour and there was no sign of life. His initial plan – to sneak in and take his victim – was scrapped. Of course just barging in was a no-go, Russia would pummel him into the ground. Not that he was scared of that big jerk, of course he wasn't, he was the Awesome Prussia after all, it's just he didn't want to have the inconvenience of a metal pipe around his neck again. He also considered sneaking around the back to get his victim, and had actually got out of the van and then quickly scrambled back in when a very large, distinct shadow had appeared outlined in the living room curtains. He recognised that shadow and almost puked up blood. He wasn't scared, of course he wasn't and anyone who said he was would get the awesome taste of his fist. He couldn't go back now, he didn't have enough money for the gas to make it back to Germany, so he waited.

Inside the house

All the Nations had gone to bed, apart from Russia who was now very drunk. After the events of the day, he'd proceeded to drink his way through a litre of vodka and was now starting another bottle.

There'd been a tense atmosphere all evening, Toris had returned from the Pink Flamingo Hideaway and proceeded to tell Ukraine, Estonia and Latvia about how Russia had beaten several Mafia men so badly they'd ended up in hospital.

Latvia had been horrified, "He killed them?" she had asked tremulously.

"Well they weren't looking too good when we left," Toris had said.

Ukraine had shaken her head disapprovingly.

When Russia had finally told 'his little Aija' that she would become 'his' that night, he'd meant it. But then she'd pulled away from him and then cowered when he tried to pull her back into his arms and then she'd ran back into the living room and stayed there, sitting as close to Ukraine as she could.

That's when it had hit Russia – like a blow to the chest, making his poor abused heart clench, she was afraid of him. Her widened eyes when she'd taken in his blood-stained coat weren't looks of admiration, they were looks of horror. He knew she was nervous of him, but when he realised that she'd actually cowered from him, he felt sick.

He took himself off to his study with his vodka and got steadily drunker and drunker. His emotions ranged from grief at her fear, to anger at his own stupidity. Why did he have to fall in love with her? What was he thinking? How had she got through his defences so quickly, so easily. That little slip of a thing, so small, so fragile, she'd lived in his house for so long as a boy and he'd pretty much ignored her. She'd been just one of his minions, a servant and then suddenly she was that little bright star, a shining beacon of light in the middle of the War that he'd lost and found again. It had been like losing a precious diamond and then after spending so long wandering around in darkness, discovering it again, glittering and beckoning to him. Russia sighed, he couldn't just lock his heart away again.

Then, as he took another swig of vodka, sheer frustration reared its head. After their all too brief love-making session in Vienna, Russia had found he couldn't wait to hold her again. After emerging into the sunshine after so long in darkness he didn't want to go back. And seeing his little sunflower every day and being denied her was driving him mad. There was only so much that early morning runs and tepid showers could do.

Finally, he staggered up the stairs, grumbling to himself.

Prussia's van

Prussia was humming along to the radio – Radio Finland – thank God he could pick this up instead of that shit All-Union Radio - which just played crappy un-awesome Russian composers and folk music and gobbed on about how good communism was. And Prussia was not, most definitely absolutely not, singing along to ABBA.

Suddenly the Prussian's head perked up as he saw his 'victim' padding gracefully down the path. "Aha! I'm going to get you!" Prussia jumped out of the van, picked up the long-handled net and stalked his prey. 'This is going to be so easy,' he thought.

It wasn't. Boris, Russi-cat, the huge Siberian grey, weighed in at a hefty 20 pounds and, like its owner was a good fighter. There was a massive yowl as the net went over the cat's head, but that wasn't the end of it. The cat grabbed hold of the net in its teeth, and then started to run, taking Prussia with it.

"Bloody... stupid... cat... get back here..." Prussia yelled as he tried digging in his heels as the cat ran down the road, however, his heels had no purchase on the icy slippery surface and he found himself practically ice-skating down the street after the moggy.

Eventually, Gilbert did what he should have done at the outset, he took off his jacket, still whilst being dragged along the road, and threw it over the yowling cat.

Boris, unable to see where he was going, fell head over paws and was finally entangled in the net. Prussia yelled a triumphant "Aha!" and, in between gasps, tried to pick the cat up.

For anyone watching, it looked remarkably like someone fighting with a sack of clothes.

Russi-cat fought like, well like a wildcat, and Prussia fell and slipped twice on his way back to his van. His hands were almost shredded, certainly his coat was when he finally slammed open the back door, unlocked the wire cage inside and practically threw the feline in.

That wasn't the end of it. Like a cat possessed, Boris threw himself around the cage, bouncing from one end to the other. Prussia tried desperately to start the van, but found the van rocking so much, he didn't dare drive it. Then came something he had dreaded since he'd tried to kidnap this deranged feline – a voice shouted, "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Inside the House

Russia, now attired in blue fleecy pyjamas, flung himself into his bed with Mr Pipe. Most people slept with a hot water bottle (Latvia – it was cold in the attic), a teddy bear (England – although it was dressed as a London policeman), Mr Pillow (America) or a stuffed panda (China), Russia slept with his faucet pipe. You just never know when you might get attacked, Germany could invade or his little sister might try to drug and molest him. Old habits die hard. Russia was severely annoyed now. His huge king-size bed felt very big, very cold and very lonely.

'She loves me, she does. If I can get her alone like I did in Vienna...' Russia's thoughts drifted off into a little reverie and he flung himself back into bed, his hands laced behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. He thought, and not for the first time – it had plagued his mind every night since coming back from Vienna – that her bedroom was just above his. That she would be laid just ten feet above his head. Russia glared at the ceiling almost willing it to fall in so that she could land conveniently on his bed.

"Brrr... it's cold," he grumbled and tossed and turned, pulled the blankets further around him and imagined she would also be cold. That was it, something snapped in his muddled-up head and a decision was made.

Outside the house

Russia's next door neighbour, a little old lady who'd lived next door to the Arctic Nation for near on thirty years (she'd seen battles re-enacted in the back garden, a cross-dressing Pole dancing provocatively and, most recently, a naked heavily-built Russian running through the snow) had had enough. She'd been watching through her binoculars the strange, red-eyed, silver-haired man fighting with what appeared to be a bag and then getting into an Animal Control van. This didn't fool her. It was obviously not an official van and she could still see the very bad paint job underneath the lettering. Now the van was rocking to and fro and she imagined that something highly unsavoury was going on. So she decided to take matters into her own hands and came out, into the cold Leningrad night air, a pink dressing gown on, slippers on her feet, curlers in her hair, bearing a heavy wooden walking stick.

"You disgusting pervert!" she yelled at the startled Prussian.

"What?"

"Disgusting. Right here in the middle of the street..." she banged, with her walking stick, on the side of the van.

"Get out you perverts... this is a respectable neighbourhood."

The idea that any neighbourhood where Russia lived could be called respectable was highly doubtful, however, the old woman seemed to think it was.

"I know what you're doing in there..." she yelled.

"There's nobody in there," Prussia shouted back, in Russian, much as it made him sick to use that totally un-awesome language. The rocking of the van seemed to suggest otherwise.

"Are you German?" the old lady yelled at him (she was rather deaf).

"No, I'm Prussian," Gilbert answered, puffing up his chest with pride.

The old lady hit him over the head with her walking stick, "Bloody Germans, bloody perverts," she yelled again, hitting the side of the van.

This was too much for Gilbert, he couldn't beat up an old lady could he? He was severely tempted. "Stop hitting me, and stop hitting my van, I'm animal control, there's a pussy in the back of that van," he said.

The old lady renewed her assault on the Prussian, if anything, with more vigour, "Bloody pervert!" she yelled.

"Ow ow ow," Gilbert gave up and jumped into the van to escape the old woman's beating. What on earth possessed his bruder to invade this totally un-awesome psychopathic country in June 1941? In Prussia's head, all Russians were potential psycho killers.

He started the van and careered off down the road, narrowly missing the old woman who was still shaking her walking stick at him.

Inside the house

Russia stumbled along the hallway of his house, clutching Mr Pipe and hiccupping as he went. He was less than quiet, but like drunks the world over, thought that he was and kept shushing himself and, at one point, shushing Mr Pipe.

He needn't have bothered, Ukraine was snuggled up with Estonia (the latter Nation otherwise too busy to hear his boss sneaking around) and Lithuania was fast asleep – cleaning up blood and getting his boss out of the Pink Flamingo Hideaway had tired him out.

Russia had made a decision, 'She will be mine tonight,' he thought to himself and his confidence rising, borne of vodka, absent-mindedly clutching his faucet pipe, he started to climb the rickety wooden steps leading to Latvia's attic bedroom.

Each step groaned under his 200+ pound weight and he shushed at each creak. Finally, he reached the door to her bedroom, his imagination in over-drive – 'a sweet little heaven lies just inside,' he thought drunkenly.

Author's Notes:

I think it states in canon (somewhere) that Prussia hates Russia so much that he pukes blood at the sight of him/whenever Russia touches him.

Its 1100 miles (or thereabouts) from Bonn, Germany to Leningrad, Russia, so it would no doubt take Prussia longer than 12 hours to drive. But hey, this is Prussia and his van is awesome, just roll with it.

It states in canon that Russi-cat is a Siberian Grey and I read that the upper weight for the breed is around 20 pounds. Obviously I made up the name 'Boris' – okay okay it's an author insert... but I thought that Russia and Baltics wouldn't just call it Russi-cat.

All Union Radio – radio station in Soviet Russia (I'm not actually sure if it did play 'crappy' Russian folk and classical music) also I'm unsure if Radio Finland could be picked up in Leningrad.

June 1941 – date that Germany invaded the Soviet Union

Next Chapter – Austria and Hungary domesticity, Romano, an escape... maybe