Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – I only borrowed the characters and returned them after the completion of this story. (Apart from Russia who I kept... shush, don't tell anyone...)

Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Elizablue, Tallionrief, Becky999, Scarheart of Darkclan, Willow the collie, xxcatxx, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, 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.

Warnings: AusxHun angst, swearing, stupidity and finally some Russ-Lat fluff.

Chapter 24 - Closer

Thurs AM

It was an interesting meeting to say the least. England wasn't sure if he'd ever been to one where everyone looked so morose, hang-dog or just plain beaten.

And some of the attendees had been beaten.

Austria was nursing a black eye and a sore head. He sipped his tea with as much dignity as he could muster but kept sniffing and glaring around the table.

Italy, wearing a Luftwaffe uniform (which made England really, really want to punch his lights out) kept saying "Ja" and "Nein" and saluting.

Germany, still in his hippy clothes, was sat with his eyes half closed with a dopey smile on his face.

"What the bloody hell happened to them?" England had asked the only person who seemed fairly sensible – France – which says rather a lot about the atmosphere in the place.

France had replied morosely, "Zay appear to have swapped personalities, Angleterre."

England was perturbed to say the least that Francis was slouched in a chair looking like a tramp and whenever he said 'Angleterre' he didn't, for the first time in centuries put 'mon' in front of it. He also had not 'honhonhonned' once.

"Your scones did zis, Angleterre. My hair is greasy, my sex appeal is gone..."

"Oh, shut your bloody face," England had retorted.

Belarus and Hungary were sat at the other end of the table, both had faces like thunder. England could still not get out of Belarus as to why she would not talk to him – she wouldn't tell him. All Hungary would say, growling, was "Ask your big American lover..."

"He's my bloody little brother... well, not exactly my brother... it's complicated..."

"Yes, we know all about it..." Hungary had said ominously and then Belarus, to England's astonishment had burst into tears and fled the room before returning after a few minutes with a horrid gleam in eyes – probably reflected from the knife she carried.

England decided to say nothing more. Hormones, he decided.

America had been yelling at them all for nearly half an hour and getting more and more agitated as nobody appeared to be listening to his 'awesome plans' – his words.

Austria and Hungary kept glaring at each other, the former shaking his head and then feeling the lump on the back of his head tentatively - where her saucepan had met his scalp. His black eye was a result of a Hungarian punch. Hungary sat with her arms folded and looked ready to punch anyone who said the wrong thing through the nearest wall. England thought that even Russia would keep clear.

Only Spain was his normal, oblivious cheery little self.

"Si, America... so we rob zis bank... si... but you know, zis Toys R Us shop, they will have all the things we need?"

"Were you not listening, you dumpkompf?" Italy shouted.

Everyone around the table jumped. All Italy usually shouted was 'Pastaaaa!' and 'Germany!' so hearing the small, cowardly Italian call someone – particularly someone who was bigger than him a 'dumpkompf' was startling in the extreme.

The other two Nations present – Switzerland and Liechtenstein - were both sat in silence. Switzerland had not been convinced that none of the male Nations present were behind his darling sister's horrid transformation, despite Lily's pleas when he'd threatened each of them with his rifle.

Liechtenstein was very quiet as she was seriously wondering if her plan was actually going to work. The fact was that her 'lover' was not present and as it was an emergency meeting of all the 'powers' she'd expected him to be. Then she could have quickly got him on board, told Switzerland he was her new 'lover', Vash would have hit the roof and then hopefully, seen how suitable Iceland actually was.

She even asked, very carefully, in such roundabout way if her 'lover' was going to arrive, without, she hoped giving the game away or putting Switzerland on 'red alert' so the poor man could end up shot in the face before he even knew what was happening. "Is anyone else coming?" she'd asked at one point.

"Like who?" England had asked.

"Well... erm... the Nordics?"

Vash almost choked on his tea, "It better not be Denmark, young lady," he'd said.

She'd ignored him and tried again, "... or maybe the Baltics? You know erm Mr Lithuania or ... maybe is Mr Poland coming?"

"...or that Lithuania – he lives with Russia... and anyway, he hangs around with Poland who's also a bad influence..."

"... or Mr Prussia?"

Vash almost had a fit, "Gilbert! It had better not be him, Lily... oh my poor heart..."

Lily smiled, she was quiet enjoying this, she thought.

"Nope, only us, dudes... you don't need anybody else but the Hero!"

"What about Mr Russia... he's big and strong. He could help you..." she smiled at Vash's reaction which was colourful to say the least. His face went very red and he gripped his rifle so hard he almost broke it.

"I don't understand what it has to do with you, Switzerland. The girl is an adult..." Austria began.

"Well, it's bugger all to do with you!" Hungary retorted.

"I'm just saying that Switzerland is not her parent..." Austria glared at the Hungarian.

Hungary was about to say something but bit her lip, "What do you know about parenting?" she growled.

"Well... I..." Austria rubbed the back of his head, their recent conversation giving him pause for thought.

"Exactly, so perhaps you should shut the hell up." Hungary concluded, glaring at him.

To explain why Austria was nursing a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head and a black eye, we should go back an hour to when he and Hungary had 'words'. They'd had 'words' before. Many, many times in fact. Having been together for centuries, first as children Hungary had kicked Austria's arse many times, then as master and servant – although 'master' just being a title – Austria never felt he was a 'master' to Hungary, maybe, occasionally to Feliciano, but never to Hungary. And then as lovers – when she had often cracked him around the head – once for saying they should give up at the War of the Austrian Succession, another time for having the impertinence to say that her Hungarian Army could not hold off Prussia – which it did.

She'd also bested him several times in their marriage. However, Austria never ever retaliated. And he didn't this time, realising that, as he usually realised that she would just kick his arse and that he probably deserved it.

He'd made the mistake of sticking up for England (why, he had no idea, but he wouldn't fall for that again), "I don't see why Belarus won't talk to him... he's done nothing wrong..."

"Well, that's what you would say," Hungary had said, slamming around in the small caravan kitchen.

Austria couldn't understand this reply and had told her as such.

"You men always stick up for one another... literally. And don't tell me I don't know what's going on... Spain being here as well..."

Austria didn't understand this either and told her so.

"He's been wanting to resurrect the bloody Hapsburg Bourbon Empire since ... the last meeting..." Hungary yelled at him as she picked up a large knife.

Austria made the fatal mistake then of telling her she was being 'silly' and 'hormonal'. He regretted it immediately.

Hungary, who was actually, to be fair, being hormonal, smacked him hard around the head with a saucepan.

"Ow! What was that for? I only said you weren't thinking properly... why would I want Spain when I've got you?"

"Oh, so if you didn't have me, you'd go to Antonio... I see, it's like that is it?" Hungary snapped.

Austria rubbed the back of his head, "Do you know, one day I'll hit you back..." he said, but stepped back hurriedly as he said it.

Hungary turned around with a snarl from her chopping of vegetables ready for the ghoulash she was making for her 'boys' (the builders), "What did you say?" she said, dangerously waving a knife around.

"Nothing, dear..." he said hurriedly.

Hungary slammed the knife down and wiped her hands, "I'm hormonal because..." here she paused, rather dramatically, Austria thought, "because I'm pregnant..." she finally said and waited for a response.

Austria's first thought was one of dismay. Images of snotty-nosed children (why he thought in the plural is a mystery) running around, breaking his antiques and generally causing chaos, sleepless nights, midnight feeding, pacing the floor with a squalling baby because he knew he would be the one who would have to do it as Hungary had virtually zero patience. He was, he thought, well over 1000 years old, too old for this lark... However, before he had chance to formulate some sort of reply or school the dismayed look on his face, it was too late.

Hungary, a horrible feeling in her chest as what she suspected became reality, judging by the look on his face – Austria didn't want to be a father after all this time, clutched the worktop and turned to look out of the window, "Don't worry, don't say anything," she said.

"Liz, it's okay, I'm sure that..." Austria tried desperately to think of something positive to say, "I'm sure when I've got used to the idea..." he said desperately... 'in a few centuries,' he added in his head.

"Well, you don't have to..." Hungary said quietly, "It's not yours, so you don't have to bother about it..." she finally said, not looking at him.

Austria who had been rubbing the back of his head, thankful there was no blood, looked up at his ex-wife, "What?" he said blankly.

"It's not yours... so not your problem. I'll take care of everything."

Austria often lost his temper... every day in fact. But it was usually over minor things – the builders building a swimming pool when his mansion was still without a habitable bathroom, people cutting him off at roundabouts, shop-keepers short-changing him - but his temper was usually a vocal one and short-lived. This time he just exploded, "Who the bloody hell? Where? When? I thought that we... you..." he stopped, breathless. "Who is it?" he said, finally. "If it's one of the other Nations I'll bloody well punch them in the face."

"It's no-one you know..." Hungary said flatly. She was trying to keep from crying. It was easier this way, she thought. Just let him think this, I don't need him...

Austria then made another grave mistake and one that could have cost him his life, "Well I bloody well hope you know who it is." and as soon as he said it, he regretted it. Especially as Hungary spun around and punched him.

Thus, Hungary and Belarus decided, between them that they would bring their children up between them – in a female-only commune. Free from the stupidity of men. To become great female Nations – a future generation of female Nations who would rule the world. (Hungary had said all this with a gleam in her eyes, holding a knife.)

Well, that was the plan. Belarus had been a little perturbed about the 'no men' rule. "Can't Arthur just visit, occasionally, overnight...?" she'd asked, only to be shushed by Hungary.

"Katya will join us and Latvia..." Hungary had told Belarus as they walked across to the mansion for the meeting.

"Are they pregnant?" Belarus had asked. It certainly wouldn't surprise her if her sister was – her sister was very fertile and could get pregnant just by looking at a man funny. (That's not how female Nations or female humans for that matter get pregnant – this is just in Belarus' head.)

Weirdly, Hungary hadn't answered as they'd linked arms and went into the meeting together, "Girl power!" Hungary had said and looked at the men around the table in a challenging manner. No-one had said anything.

Warsaw

Poland had tried ringing Austria's mansion for an update as to what was going on but kept getting a very strange reply. A voice that sounded like Italy's but speaking in a weird German accent answered the telephone and called him a 'dummkopf' and that he should 'get his paperwork in order'. Finally, he gave up.

He knew he should go and help sort out the mess he'd caused, Lithuania was right about that, but then Lithuania was usually right – Toris was his moral compass and had been for 500 years, but there was one big problem. A 6 feet two inch problem who was refusing to let them leave the house until his 'little sunflower' had arrived and confirmed she was alright.

Poland didn't really want to have to explain to Latvia that he'd been impersonating her for the past couple of days. The photoshoots for Vogue and various European newspapers would be hitting the presses this weekend and he'd also promised to do a book signing in Britain.

Although he hadn't, as he'd promised Liet, touched her royalties, he had taken a cheque for expenses from her publishers and knew that she wouldn't be too impressed by that. Poland wasn't afraid of the little Baltic. Nothing, not even Russia scared him.

After running the daily threat of arrest from the Gestapo in the War, nothing much bothered him. However, he did treasure his looks and he knew if Latvia got upset, then Russia got upset and when Russia got upset people's heads got in the way of his pipe.

So, he and Lithuania were sat in his living room – which, surprisingly was still in one piece, considering Russia's rising consternation – watching a Disney movie with the agitated Russian.

"Why are we watching Bambi again, Liet?" Pol asked for the hundredth time.

"Mr Russia likes cartoon animals, they calm him down," Toris had whispered back.

It had calmed him down a lot. But he'd had to leave the room when Bambi's mother died, muttering about 'having something in his eye' and only returning when the scene had finished.

Estonia had spent a whole hour looking at himself in the mirror in complete astonishment and then had rung Katya. "Katya... are you alright?" he'd whispered, hoping Russia wouldn't hear him.

"Da, I am. Where are you?"

"Poland's house... Katya... I've got something to tell you..."

"I've got something to tell you..."

"I'm sexy!" Estonia had blurted out, looking at his reflection in astonishment.

"I'm pregnant!" Katya had told him. Looking ruefully at her reflection – she was going to have to get her maternity gear out again and those huge bras out... wait, what?

"What?" Estonia asked.

"Wut?" Katya asked.

And the line went dead.

An hour later...

"Aw... little twin foals..." Russia sniffed as the end credits rolled and had to leave the room again 'to get another bottle of vodka'.

They heard Prussia, Denmark and Latvia before they saw them. Actually they heard the van pull into the driveway with a clatter and a bang and then:

"My van's awesome, man!"

"It stinks. I've never smelt anything so awful."

"Did you see that guy's face when we overtook him on the hard shoulder... haha, priceless. My beer bottle hit his windscreen..."

"You're both fools."

"That must be dude Pol's car."

"Kesese, what a poser... pink... hey what happened to the tyres, man... not cool."

"Hey, Pol, your tyres have been busted, man!" Den had yelled.

Latvia frowned, and tried to shush him. Too late, the remains of Poland's door were flung open and Russia steamed out, punched Prussia soundly in the head, shoved Denmark out of the way and gathered Latvia into his arms.

"Vanya!" she managed to muffle out whilst held against his chest. Her feelings were suddenly all confused and muddled again. She was glad to see him, in fact she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his chest, whilst he released a huge sigh and... was he purring? And why did he smell of seaweed? But she also felt some trepidation, after all, she'd run away and had vowed to bring up their baby on her own. She didn't want him giving this baby away... oh wait, the baby! Then she pulled away, hurriedly.

"Latvia?" Russia frowned, worriedly, "Why?" he asked. His face registered hurt, confusion and a hint of anger.

Prussia was nursing a bloodied nose and was hitting the large Russian on the back, "Let go of dude chick, you big rapetruck..." he broke off as Russia swung around to punch him again.

"Don't hit him, Vanya!" Latvia said and pushed herself between them.

Russia lowered his fist. His eyes flickered between Latvia and Gilbert, his violet irises registering conflicting flashes of anger and tenderness. "You kidnapped her... my little sunflower... you will pay, you little..."

"Hey, chill, man... we didn't kidnap her..." Denmark said, barging in. He handed a beer bottle to Prussia – as if this would stem the blood-flow from the latter Nation's nose.

Russia turned to the Dane, "Sweden and Finland are looking for you and you are in trouble," he said, as if the Dane was a miscreant child in trouble with his parents.

Denmark shook this off, "Ha! They don't bother me. I don't have to answer to them. I can stay out as long as I like. They're not going to tell me what time to go to bed!" he yelled.

"How un-cool is he, eh, Liet? Berwald and Tino tell him when to go to bed." Poland whispered to Lithuania as they stood on the doorstep watching the Russian and Latvian reunion.

Lithuania nodded quietly. He was more concerned about Estonia. Ever since Eduard had been on the telephone he'd been dancing dreamily around the kitchen, swishing his newly sexy hair and singing 'Plaisir d'Amour'. Lithuania hadn't realised that Estonia was fluent in French. It was most perplexing.

"They didn't kidnap me," Latvia said, putting a hand on Russia's arm to restrain him from beating up anyone else, damaging any more doors, bursting any more tyres or embedding his pipe into any other inanimate object (pardon the double entendre).

Russia turned back to her, bent down and gently grazed her cheek with his lips, "You're alright then? They didn't hurt you?" he whispered.

"Fucking 'ell, man!" Prussia objected, "She bloody kidnapped us..."

Poland sniggered. Lithuania nudged him to be quiet.

"Yeah, dude. She held a gun to dude Gil's head..." Den joined in, waving his beer about, "and she threatened me. You should see the bruises on my arm where she hit me. Dude chick's hard, man."

Poland was shaking with laughter, "Oh, like, Liet, this is soooo funny. Latty-kins is kick-ass... those two goons... hahaha... kidnappers... oh someone make this into a film..."

Lithuania nudged him again.

Russia's eyes darkened. "You didn't? But why? How?" he turned back to Latvia, who was gazing up at him.

"I ran away," she said, quietly.

Russia opened his mouth to say something. He felt a horrid heavy feeling in his chest as his thousand year old heart was close to breaking, "B...b...but why?" he said softly. She must hate him, he thought.

"Yes, why? And where's my... I mean... Mr Russia's credit card?" Estonia butted in, finally pulling himself away from tap-dancing around the kitchen singing silly French love songs and vowing that he would be the best dad there ever was.

"Oooooh Esty!" Denmark's eyes widened. He shoved Russia out of the way and gathered Estonia in his arms, "Why did we ever split up? You were never this sexy when we were together!"

"Get off me!" Estonia yelled.

Poland's eyes were wide as saucers, cataloguing all this for his gossip buddy – Ukraine.

Lithuania shook his head, "I'll switch the kettle on and we'll all have a nice cup of tea," he said.

Latvia looked up into Russia's eyes, "I'm sorry... I just... you didn't listen to me..." she said lamely.

"But now you'll stay with me? You won't go away again?" he said, his voice quavering, his arms wrapped around her waist again and he held her very tight. Perhaps, he thought, she might stay. If he could get her to stay with him and he was quiet and gentle, she might not run away again. He must never let her go again, he decided.

Latvia nodded, too afraid to say anything else. She could feel the tremor in his arms and there was a weird, wild look in his eyes. I'll talk to Hungary, she thought, she'll help me, she'll know what to do.

"But you have to let go of me, Vanya," Latvia said quietly as the others traipsed into the house, "You can't keep hold of me forever... I mean..." she stuttered. Was he going to hold her like this for hours?

"Tea, sir? And I found biscuits!" Lithuania shouted from the kitchen where Denmark and Estonia could be heard arguing about the latter Nation's sudden ascent to sexiness.

Russia, his head still snuffling in Latvia's hair perked up and slowly released her.

"Thank you, Vanya," she smiled at him and considered telling him her news, "Vanya..." she whispered.

"Da, Aija?" he murmured back, fumbling in his pocket.

"I'm..." she was about to say 'pregnant', when Russia pulled out a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, clipped one cuff to her left hand and the other to his right.

"Where? What? Hang on!" she said, utterly outraged.

"They are Polska's. I found them!" Russia beamed. She couldn't run away now, he thought.

"I don't care who they belong to, take them off!" she yelled and started hitting him on the shoulder with her free hand.

"Nyet, Aija is staying with me now..."

"But... but... I'm right-handed... I..." she struggled and pulled, fruitlessly. She may as well have tried to move the Himalayas.

"Ooooh..." Russia rubbed his head, forgetting for a moment he was manacled to her and lifting her up into the air.

He sighed, produced the key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the cuffs – to Latvia's relief.

"Thank you, Vanya... honestly... you had me going there..." she laughed nervously.

Russia smiled softly, undid the manacles and then re-attached them to her left hand and his right hand.

"There," he said, "I can still fight with my left hand."

He then, popped the key back in his pocket and strode off into the house, dragging her with him. "Now, nothing can keep us apart," he said confidently.

Watching from the bushes, crouching next to a rather smutty ensemble of gnomes was Romano and Miss Bollockoff.

"Ha! Any minute now and Vodka Bastard will be feeling the effects of my latest weapon..." Romano said, confidently.

Miss Bollockoff sighed. She'd put away her gun, realising that it only made the small Italian almost wet his pants. She should really have warned her Nation before he'd drunk that vodka, but really she was quite interested in the effect – if any – herself. Now the other Baltic Nation was here, she could safely arrest Latvia she thought, and use her as leverage to get Russia to come home without further ado. However, his handcuffing himself to the smaller female Nation made her pause. Now what?

Author's Notes:

Plaisir d'Amour – The Pleasure of Love – a classic French love song.

Next chapter: someone steals 'Mr Pipe', assassin!Romano fails again and an ex-Nation returns.