Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone, please PM me and tell me off.

Warnings: Angst, Pru-Den silliness, swearing.

Chapter 17 – Out of Reach

Wednesday pm

Hotel Majestic, Warsaw

Lithuania was laid on his stomach on a massage table with just a very tiny towel around his middle to preserve his modesty. He was having his back and legs massaged by a rather nice young Polish girl who kept saying how 'cute' he was. He was sure this was not professional conduct for a masseuse and if they hadn't been in the hotel's five star spa he would have thought they were in a less respectable establishment. Poland was on the next table, laid on his back having his legs waxed, a mud-pack obscuring his features, and having his rather large feet massaged.

"Those stiletto heels were, like, killing my feet."

"You shouldn't have driven 400 miles in them."

"I know, like Liet, but you have to admit my car is just awesome!"

Lithuania sighed. To say he was embarrassed was putting it mildly. The masseurs had swapped three times now – each one had gasped at the twelve long silvery scars streaking down his muscular back and he'd winced at their hushed comments.

Poland had reached across between their respective tables and held his hand briefly, Lithuania gaining strength from the smaller Nation's grasp as his smaller, delicate feminine hand (still wearing red nail polish) caressed his palm.

"This is better than cooking for fat Braginski, eh?" Poland asked.

Lithuania nodded and tried to relax. He just hoped that he could somehow minimise the damage that he felt was heading their way. Poland had had a meeting with Lucinda Lovelace's publishers and had been asked to do a photo-shoot for the upcoming new novel 'Love and Bullets'.

"I'll like do a few photos, Liet. That royalty cheque is going straight into Latty-kins' bank, I promise. Have I ever lied to you?"

Liet decided not to answer that.

"Do you think I should, like, cut my hair? Or perhaps hair extensions would suit me? Trouser suit or skirt suit?"

"Leave your hair as it is, and a trouser suit, please, Pol... I think a skirt might be just too much."

"I know... my legs distract the cameramen, it happens all the time."

Lithuania had no answer for that.

Latvia's publishers had been alarmed to say the least when they'd met Poland. They'd come to accept that Lucinda Lovelace was a pseudonym, that she was reclusive, indeed she was only contactable through an agent – a subsidiary from some shady company called von Bock Enterprises. To find that Lucinda Lovelace was actually a cross-dresser, albeit a glamorous cross-dresser, with a gay boyfriend, had been a shock. However, they were used to writers being unconventional and decided that this could actually become a good marketing ploy.

Somewhere south of Tallinn, Estonia, Route E67

"Woohoo we're entering Latvia!" Prussia yelled and got punched in the arm by Latvia.

"What was that for?" Den asked her.

Latvia then punched him as well. "There," she told the big Dane, "Now you don't feel left out, da?"

She was now sat between the two of them. Prussia was driving, Denmark was humming along with the only ABBA tape that hadn't been scrunched up by the 'shitty' (Latvia's words) tape-deck.

They'd left Tallinn and were heading for Warsaw and Pol's house where Latvia proposed to 'kick Poland's arse'. Prussia seriously wondered if kidnapping Latvia had been a good idea. Apart from her paying for all their fuel, booze and food he'd actually not got any money out of the deal. Also, he knew he had Russia somewhere behind them. He could almost feel Russia's wrath approaching, like a thunderstorm rumbling in the distance.

Also the 'little Baltic' wasn't the little meek, mild young boy he'd known when he'd resided in Russia's un-awesome house. This Latvia was like a demon and kept waving a revolver in his face, smacking him around the head and he swore his right arm was black and blue from where she'd punched him. She also tutted every-time he'd tried lighting up a cigarette, saying 'they weren't good for the baby' and then had thrown his packet out of the window.

This had caused him to slam the brakes on, throw himself out of his beloved van and charge up and down the highway, ignoring horns hooting at him while he regaled at the world.

Denmark, being far more easy-going – Latvia allowing him his lager – had just sat with a dazed, moronic expression on his face.

They also had to stop every thirty minutes to accommodate Latvia's bodily functions. If she wasn't peeing or vomiting, she was eating ice lollies and, bizarrely, anything with meat. Two burgers, a hotdog and then beef and onion flavour crisps had been munched as they drove. Prussia had been afraid that if they didn't stop when she told him, he would either be vomited on or eaten.

This is what happens, he thought, when Russia was allowed to breed.

"Have you noticed anything odd about dude chick, dude?" Prussia asked Denmark whilst they stood at their respective stalls in the gas station men's toilet.

Denmark spun around, spraying Prussia with pee. "Nah, man, the bump's not showing yet, is it?"

"Dude!" Prussia jumped back, "You peed on me!"

"Hahaha! You should feel honoured!" Denmark laughed uproariously and then laughed even more when a man came out of a cubicle and hurried out when Denmark waved his 'vitals' around some more.

"I mean, do you think she's acting weird?" Prussia said, trying desperately to mop himself down. 'Mein Gott', he thought, 'Denmark's peeing sounds like the Niagara falls. The guy's not normal. Must be all that beer'.

"Ja! Weird, ja."

"Und?"

"She's pregnant, so she will act weird."

"How'd you know?" Prussia asked, despite himself.

"I've had loads of kids, dude. She'll have cravings and feel sick and start kicking our arses."

Prussia shuddered. Denmark was one of his best friends, but he dreaded to think of Denmark producing offspring. "What do you mean 'kicking our arses'?"

"That's what happened with all my girlfriends. They found out and then I got my head kicked in," Denmark laughed at the memories. "Greenland's mom kicked my arse all the way to Helsinki and then back again, but dude, it was worth it."

Prussia stood in front of the air dryer and manoeuvred himself to try and get as much hot air onto his sodden trousers as he could. "Glad I didn't have kids, man."

"...And now dude chick has become one with fat Russkie dude."

"Was?"

"Yup, one with Russia... dude, we have a mini-Russia out there."

"Mein Gott! You're right, dude."

"Always am," Den said confidently, finally zipping up his trousers – much to Gil's relief.

"She keeps saying wut and da."

"And she keeps kicking your arse," Den laughed hilariously at this and proceeded to check his most awesome hair in the mirror, winking at himself happily.

"Fuck off."

In the service station, Latvia was perusing the shelves whilst she waited for the two morons. She'd already filled a basket with beef and onion crisps, bottles of blackcurrant Ribena, a large block of cheese that she really wanted to eat and a packet of ham. She was now surveying the beer for Denmark.

She actually had come to quite like Den and Pru. Prussia had annoyed the hell out of her when they'd both lived together at Russia's house and he still annoyed her, but she also quite liked him and hoped that he wouldn't get into trouble if and when Russia found out he'd helped her to escape. Den, she viewed as a big harmless goon. But she found that beer kept them both in line. She just hoped that Russia's credit card was still valid and that Russia hadn't cancelled it. Perhaps he hadn't realised it was missing.

Whenever she thought of Russia, her heart skipped a beat and she felt tears prick her eyes. The conversation she'd had with the mysterious Miss Ivanova rang in her head. Who was this Mrs Russia? Why hadn't he come to the telephone? Why was there no Red Army battalions after her like there had been when Prussia had made his 'awesome' escape? He didn't care about her, she thought. Or something was very wrong, she thought.

She snuffled into the scarf that was wrapped around her neck - which smelt of him – vodka and sunflowers – and swallowed her tears. Perhaps she should try ringing again. Her thoughts were still mixed up. She couldn't go back, if she went back she would never gain independence, her baby would born under the yoke of the Soviets just like her people, but could she really bring up a baby on her own? There was Hungary who had said she would help, but she too was under communist rule, what could she do?

There was only one thing to do and that was to find Poland and get her royalties back from him. How dare he? He'd obviously been in touch with her publisher and stolen her identity. And what was Lithuania doing with him? It was all very confusing.

"Yo! Dude chick! Get me six bottles of Carlsberg and a bag of Malteasers!"

Latvia dumped the basket in Den's arms, told him to get them himself and strode out to the phone box and placed a call to Leningrad, determined to speak with someone, anyone, who could tell her what the hell was going on.

Same afternoon, Tallinn, Estonia

Finland and Sweden, the latter driving a very sensible Volvo hire car, went through Tallinn, their mouths open, completely agog at the destruction in the city centre. Much of the old, medieval centre of Tallinn had been closed off and they could see why. There were barricades smashed down, bodies strewn around, ambulances and police cars with sirens blaring whizzing around. It looked as if an invading army had preceded them.

Finland summed it up in one word, "Ivan."

Sweden nodded grimly and turned the car to the highway headed towards the west and joined it. He just hoped that Miss Bollockoff person had been telling the truth and that Peter and these 'companions' were indeed on their way to Warsaw.

They'd considered taking a flight directly to Warsaw but then decided to drive along the E67 to see if they could catch up with this 'psychedelic VW campervan' that Peter had been seen getting into. Surely, they couldn't miss a paint-job like that? And when they did catch them these 'companions' would get well and truly arse-kicked all the way back to Stockholm, Sweden decided with a grim smile on his usually dour face.

Much further along the road, near the border with Latvia (the country, not the Nation), Estonia had stopped the car and was stocking up on the necessities of travelling with a disgruntled Russian. Vodka, chocolate and, for himself, lots of kohuke were thrown into the basket. He parked Russia back in the beaten-up Volvo, the 'Impounded by Tallinn Police' stickers now removed, gave him a bottle of vodka and a copy of Pravda to hopefully keep him quiet and went off to find a telephone.

"Katya?"

"Nyet, this is Mrs Russia's secretary."

"Ooh, is Miss Ukraine there?" Estonia's head was spinning, they must have replaced Russia he thought. Better not tell the boss, there was no telling what he would do. Estonia peered out through the dirty glass at his boss whose blond head was visible – bent over the paper, the vodka bottle touching his lips every so often.

"Da?" Katya's confident strong voice came on the line.

"Katya?" Estonia's knees went weak and he smiled.

"Ed? Sweetheart! Where are you?"

"On the E67 just going into Latvia. Is everything okay?"

"Of course, they put me in charge. So of course, everything is fine. I haven't invaded any small, undefended little nations, threatened Alfred with nuclear weapons because he called me a fat commie or told Francis I'm going to make Paris my capital just because he stared at my breasts have I? How hard can this be?"

"You're just amazing," Estonia gave a sigh of relief, in his head, the girls, well some of them, perhaps not Belarus, should rule the world, they couldn't make any worse mess of it than some his idiotic fellow male Nations.

"Are you okay, Ed? Is Vanya okay? Have you caught up with Raivis?"

"I'm fine, Katya. Erm, the boss is... okay... and no, we haven't caught up with Raivis. Has she rung there yet?"

"Nyet. And when she does I'll tell her to get back here. Poor Vanya. I bet he's heartbroken, he's lost his first love ..."

"Hmm, Katya I have to go... I erm..."

"Yes?"

"I love you, Katya," Estonia said quickly and then hung up just as quickly. He stepped out of the phone box, smiling to himself, why had he just said that? He had no idea, all he knew was the quicker they could get Latvia back and get back to normal, the better.

Estonia was about to head back to the car when a battered Avis hire car skidded into the car park, screeched to a stop and a shady-looking character straight out of a bad spy movie dressed in a large overcoat, wearing a battered trilby hat, sunglasses and a rather awful lop-sided wig, aimed a rifle out of the open window and fired several shots.

What remained of Berwald's car windscreen shattered, the driver's window was also smashed and bullets peppered the driver's door.

Estonia let out a yell and ran towards the car and flung the passenger door open as the Avis skidded off, the assassin having emptied the rifle of bullets.

"Sir? Sir?" Estonia yelled in panic.

Russia lifted his head and then lifted the vodka bottle that had slipped out of his hand, "I dropped my vodka," he said and then gazed around the car with wide eyes. "Oooh what happened?"

"Someone's trying to kill you, Sir," Estonia said, almost fainting with relief.

Russia looked at the smashed windscreen, the bullet-holes peppering the side of the car and frowned, rubbed his blond head, "Why? Why me?" he said, genuinely confused. "Perhaps they are after you, Esty?"

Estonia shook his head and glared down the highway in the direction of their assailant. "Well, well, well, little Romano... you'll pay for this..." he muttered.

"Wut?" Russia frowned "Esty, you know, I think you've been working too hard," Russia stated as if this could all be explained by Estonia's work ethic. "Let's go to Warsaw," Russia added suddenly.

"Warsaw? Why Warsaw, Sir?" Esty asked, getting into the driver's seat, clearing the remains of the windscreen from the dashboard and starting the engine. The aging Volvo, despite being shot at and having its clutch and suspension ruined by Russia's driving, started up first time. Which says more about the quality of Swedish automobiles than it does about Romano's marksmanship.

Russia waved the morning's edition of Pravda in Esty's face – just as Esty was trying to join the traffic on the highway.

"It says in here that the famous but reclusive author of romantic novels, Lucinda Lovelace, is starting her European book tour in Warsaw promoting her new novel - Love and Bullets."

Estonia glanced at the newspaper, waved at a large truck that had honked its horn at them, "Poland!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Da! That's what I thought. Poland and Lithuania have kidnapped my Aija for her money and Prussia and Denmark are their henchmen," Russia stated, in his little head it was all simple.

"No, Sir..." Estonia shook his head, "I think Poland is just pretending to be Aija, I mean erm Lucinda Lovelace, and I think Prussia and Denmark..." Estonia paused as Russia kolkolled at Prussia's name, "...are maybe taking Latvia to Warsaw..."

"So they did kidnap her?" Russia snarled.

"Maybe she's just gone to get her royalties for her book?" In fact, Estonia was the only one who had figured the whole mess out. It was a shame, he thought, that nobody listened to him. He was just hoping Russia would listen to him and therefore, he could avert a bloodbath.

Russia considered this, "Da, we will go to Warsaw and I will kick their heads in, Polska will not be doing any photoshoots. You cannot do photoshoots without a head, da? And Prussia is dead meat for kidnapping my little sunflower. And Denmark will be drinking his beer through a straw, da. And Aija will come home with me and we will live happily ever after together and have lots of little Russias." Clearly, Russia did not compute any of what Estonia had said.

Estonia, wisely just shook his head. 'Wait and see what happens and try and minimise the damage,' the Estonian thought.

Leningrad, Russia

Ukraine aka Mrs Russia was dancing up and down the hallway singing, "He loves me, he loves me, he loves me." It had been a long, long time since the 1000 year old Nation had felt this silly and young and it was lovely.

"Mrs Russia?"

"Da?" Katya was brought up short by her secretary.

"There's a Raivis Galante on the telephone..."

Katya ran into the study and snatched up the receiver, "Latvia?"

"Miss Ukraine?"

"Oh Latvia where are you? Why aren't you here? Why did you run away? Vanya ..."

"Oooh Miss Ukraine... I don't know what to do...I'm on the road to Warsaw... hang on...Shut the bloody hell up, Gil, no I'm not... Katya, who's Mrs Russia? Has Vanya got somebody else? Gil, shut up... he's not fat... you need to grow up..."

Katya almost shouted down the telephone, "It's me..."

"I know it's you... but... Gil... if you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to stick this receiver in your bloody head."

"I'm Mrs Russia!"

Silence.

"Wut?"

"What?"

"I thought..."

"Listen, Raivis..."

"Katya, I don't know what to do... you're Mrs Russia? Wow, that's cool... Gil! Katya's Mrs Russia! Wait... hang on though... I'm pregnant so that must mean..."

The phone went dead.

Katya clutched the receiver and carried on shouting into it, "Raivis! Raivis! You're pregnant? Oooh... Damn and sodding..." and then slowly put the receiver down.

"Miss Ivanova?"

"Yes, Mrs Russia?"

"Get the KGB on the line for me. We need to get hold of Vanya and tell him to get his fat arse to Warsaw."

Latvia slumped in the phone booth, feeling utterly distraught. She kicked Gilbert out of the way and staggered outside holding her stomach.

Gilbert followed her, "What's up, dude chick?" he asked. Despite his annoyance and irritation, he was concerned about the little 'dude chick'. Denmark also wrenched himself away from his bottle of Carlsberg and jumped out of the waiting van and approached them.

"Vanya's ill or... or..."

"Eh?" Gilbert put a very tentative arm around her shoulders.

"He has to be. Katya's replaced him as Mrs Russia and I'm pregnant with a little Russia, so...he..." she couldn't finish her sentence, couldn't say the word 'dead', but instead leaned against Denmark and burst into tears.

"Big fat commie dude is never bloody ill, dude chick. I bet the Sovs have just decided he's too nutty for them finally and got Miss Big Boobs to take over," Gilbert said, using his illustrious logic.

"Yes, but I'm pregnant so wouldn't that mean the baby's a replacement for Vanya?" she asked her eyes swimming with tears.

"Nah, dude chick. It doesn't work like that. I've had loads of kids... loads and loads..." Denmark stopped and he broke into a huge dreamy smile and his eyes took on a faraway look.

Latvia looked up at him and then sighed impatiently, "...and?" she said.

"...and what?"

"Little baby dude isn't necessarily a replacement for big commie dude. It..." here, Gilbert very carefully (as if a large fist was going to punch him through Latvia's stomach) patted Latvia's mid-section, "It... I mean baby dude might just be Moscow or Leningrad or some other un-awesome shit city."

Prussia decided it was wise not to mention that Russia was very much alive and well and probably just a few miles behind them as they spoke.

"So you think Vanya is okay?" Latvia's voice wavered and she looked up, her bright blue eyes filled with tears again – this time of hope. "Do you think I should go back?"

"Big commie dude is okay. He's always bloody okay. It takes more than that to hurt him. He bloody survived jumping out of a sodding aeroplane. Nothing happened to him when Alaska was born. He just went and sold her," Prussia said. "I mean what a douche-bag."

Latvia considered this and had to agree with Prussia. She was also afraid that if they did go back he would never let her leave and suppose he sold her child? She placed a protective hand on her stomach, took a deep breath, smiled shakily and said, "Let's get going. I want to catch up with Poland. He's besmirching the name of Lucinda Lovelace."

She caught sight of their shared grins and hit them both. "Don't say anything you two goons and get in that van."

Author's Notes:

Was – what in German

E67 – the route that goes right through Tallinn, Lithuania, Latvia through to Poland.

Kohuke – a type of curd snack eaten in the Baltic states and Russia.

Sorry this chapter went on too long and is a bit of a linking chapter to some plotlines. Next chapter is definitely Dr Pumplenicklestein, France's super-powers and the German Government makes a truly awesome decision.