A/N: I am extremely sorry for how long this took to write. I've been busy with exams and studying and everything, so I have had little time to write this. I know I've written other one-shots, but these chapters take long to edit and write and everything. There's also an important note in the Author's notes at the end of this chapter, so please read that - it's about all that about why this did take me so long, and explanations and all that jazz. It's bolded and pretty obvious. Thanks for your patience, and I'll stop rambling now - off we go!

Warnings: this is where it gets messy. As in there's war-like situations, dark thoughts, downright murder (well kinda self-defence? but still someone gets killed), character death implications,... If you don't know already, read the warnings at the beginning of the story, that should tell you something.


"One thought alone preoccupies the submerged mind of Empire:
how not to end, how not to die, how to prolong its era."

- Waiting for the Barbarians, J. M. Coetzee

"Natalya!" Ivan shouted, stumbling across the rubble of a destroyed building. She whipped around, turned away from him at the sound of his voice. She then turned back to him and ran amidst the debris towards him.

"Ivan-"

"What are you doing here?" Ivan asked, catching her the moment she was close enough. He pulled her into a tight hug, and she grasped his coat tightly. He could feel her shallow, shaky breaths. Was she sick? Was she injured? Why was she here? How was she here?

"Ivan-" She pulled away from him, looking around with decided eyes. They settled on the building he had just come out of, and she nodded towards it. "We're in the open, get back to the building, we can talk there." And she untied herself from his grasp, marching to the building with certain steps. Ivan looked around momentarily, before turning and following her inside. To him, it didn't seem like she had any major injuries, her clothes weren't even that rugged. The only real difference was her hair being a lot shorter than he remembered. It wasn't as short as Katyusha's, but short in her standards. Her usual dress had been traded in for a military Ivan promptly entered the building, and saw that she was already halfway up the partially non-existent staircase. When he reached the top of the stairs, she was sitting on the floor with Ivan's rifle in her hands. It would always astound him how fast she could pin-point a weapon anywhere and make use of it.

"Natalya, what are you doing here - how are you here?" He asked, astounded at the entire situation.

"Ivan, I was so worried about you, I only knew what I heard and there were no news from you - I was scared," she said, her eyes filling with water. She wiped them away, breathing in deeply. She looked out the window that Ivan had been staring through for hours on end before she had shown up. "How are you?"

Ivan tried to gather his thoughts and form an answer. "I - I think I am fine-" He stumbled across words. "God, Natalya, what are you doing here?"

"I was worried, Ivan! Neither of us heard anything from you, and we heard so much was going on in your country - the last I heard, Moscow had fallen!" Natalya's voice was straining as she tried her best not to shout. It would give them away, and put them at risk. "Why are you here?"

"I retreated. I left Moscow once it was clear the city was too big to protect easily, and I knew that there were people here who stood a chance. It's..." The city had a sentimental value to him. Volgograd had been a city he had defended once before, (1) and he was sure he could defend it again. "I can defend this city, even if it's the last thing I do."

Natalya looked at him with sorrow in her eyes. "I left Minsk some time ago, when... When it became obvious that there was nothing left there."

Ivan frowned, the meaning not lost on him. "Natalya, what-"

"I mean that there's nothing left for me." Natalya sighed, shaking her head. "Anastasia now has Belarus. The only thing for me there was death, should she ever get her pretty manicured hands on me. She charmed the entire country with her smiles and her hair-swishing, and the people fell for her immediately."

"I'm sorry-"

"There's nothing to be goddamn sorry for."

There was a momentary silence, Ivan trying to find something to say. "How is Kat-"

Natalya didn't look at him. "Ivan, why do you think I'm here?"

Ivan froze. "Did you-"

"Yes, I saw her."

Silence. The wind whistled.

Ivan faltered, his balance giving out, and he leant against the wall. "What happened?"

"She wasn't as lucky as I was."

The only sound was Ivan's ragged breathing.

"We were trying to cross the border. She... She didn't..." Natalya wiped more tears from her eyes, looking away and leaving the her words to trail off.

Ivan steadied his breathing, his anger replacing his mourning.

They would pay. Ivan would personally make sure of it. He pushed off the wall, a snarl curling his lip, a hardened glare in his eyes. He turned to Natalya, who looked far from surprised at Ivan's reaction.

"Natal-"

"Here, take the weapon, go find the bastard and kill him." She handed him his rifle back, her face cold, her eyes alight. She then removed her thick overcoat to reveal a submachine gun strapped to her back, with an ammunition pack. He was sure that that was not the only weapon attached to her. "But I'm coming with you."

Ivan tried very hard not to glare or reveal his displeasure. That was just about the last thing he wanted for her right now, to come with him - especially if she was now vulnerable. She had lost her country, and she was no longer immortal. But he knew better than to try and stop her, or he might be the one with a bullet in his leg.

"You stay close to me, then," he grumbled.

"I wouldn't dream of straying, brother," Natalya smiled, and started walking out of the safe spot.

"That's not-" Ivan followed her. "I meant for you to follow me!" He hissed, checking as he walked that the weapon was loaded and ready.

Natalya shrugged, and let Ivan pass in front of her. They walked down the crumbling staircase in silence, and came to the entrance of the house. Ivan poked his head out, and seeing nothing, he turned back inside.

"Watch the buildings on the left, I will watch the right side." He poised his gun, but Natalya fired first straight into the building opposite of them. Simultaneously, there were about multiple other shots, and shouts from one direction. There was a machine gun somewhere, so there were between four and six weapons around them. He had seen three on his side, and had mentally counted that there would most likely be two on Natalya's side. He had seen two windows from which the weapons had flashed their nose as the shots were fired, and aimed directly at them. He fired two shots, and was met with fire from Natalya's side. He heard his sister firing her own weapon, and soon enough Ivan had shot two on his side, not having managed to find the window of the third gun, and Natalya's side fell silent. The third weapon hadn't fired since the first shots, and so Ivan thought they could wait it out. He turned to Natalya.

"What the devil do you not understand about 'watch the buildings'? What makes you think I said fire at them?" Ivan asked incredulously.

Natalya shrugged, a bored expression on her face. "You have a rifle, I have a submachine gun. I have more ammunition. You were slow. I was ready."

Sometimes, Ivan found his sister to be extremely irritating and difficult to handle, but then again, he could do nothing about her. "Come on, we need to off that last man. There's one more weapon in one of these buildings, but I don't know where. This time," Ivan said pointedly, "you stay here. I don't care if you're a good shot, you're vulnerable and you are no longer immortal. You are staying here."

Natalya looked ready to argue, but Ivan cut her off.

"No."

She huffed, a pout settling on her face. Ivan knew that she would stay. He himself turned, and carefully stepped out the blasted doorway. He surveyed his surroundings, trying to see if he could find the last shooter. They were unlikely to come out of hiding that easily, unless they were sure they had a clear shot - Ivan would have to make sure not to give them that opportunity. He hated being at a disadvantage, but he knew himself to be dangerous when he hated something. He would make sure the person was dead before moving on.

Carefully stepping more into the centre of the square, he saw the flash of a movement in a window - he wasn't sure which one, but now knew which direction to watch. He pointed his weapon, looking past the pipe into the windows, trying to see-

A flash, a shot and another one, silence.

Ivan stood for a moment, having seen the bullet hit its target, the weapon clattering distantly as its owner collapsed. He then came back to his senses, looking down to see whether the bullet had hit him. Looking down at his trousers, he saw that the bullet had grazed his leg, and there was little more than a scratch. He decided to ignore it - he had lived through much worse.

Although, he had a haunting feeling that it would get much worse.


Alfred's finger tapped incessantly against the table he was leaning against. He now found himself at his apartment, even though the President had 'strongly advised' him to remain in the White House. It was something Alfred had done multiple times before, during times of crisis when he was needed just about 24/7. He mostly found it irritating and stressful, having a kind of constant buzz of people around him, whether it be feeling the eyes of Secret Service men or just politicians and other officials running around when he was trying to catch a coffee break. But he knew it was necessary, on occasions.

Probably occasions such as these, when he should be among his leaders constantly, ready for the smallest alteration in the situation, to act and to decide on the best course of action in the fastest way possible. He was now in his apartment in Washington D.C., some distance away from the centre of the hubbub, and was basically unreachable.

He was still debating the logic of that decision.

Depends on whether you want to think or be interrupted every five minutes.

But he did know that had he not taken himself forcibly away from the constant back-and-forth of people and messages, he would be finding it very hard to keep his country whole at the moment. Having woken up in pain, with a whole new set of burns and slashes across his left shoulder and back, he knew he had lost new territory to Allen. And he had simultaneously felt a wave of anger, hate and nausea wash over him, directed all at his counterpart. Well, mostly directed at Allen. There had been nagging thoughts that aimed their disdain at himself, for being so weak to defend himself, for not acting like a nation should - for not protecting his people in their time of need.

So, you realize that now? Pretty late, don't you think?

He felt the wooden table creak under his hands. Sighing in defeat, he began pacing around his kitchen, trying to sort out his thoughts. He felt the increasing tension in his body, drawing his muscles into readiness - readiness for what, he would not like to know. He was tempted to take up his phone and try to call someone - even though he knew that if his phone lines had not yet been cut (which he wasn't sure of, but he liked to think they were still operable), the probability that other nations' weren't was slim. He hadn't been able to contact a single other nation in a few days, and it was beginning to gnaw at him. What if something had happened? Matthew's government was falling to pieces, what was happening with him? Ivan had been drawn into a nearly full-out war with himself - was he still alive? Arthur... he had no idea what was going on with Arthur - he had heard there was something about a bomb in central London; where had Arthur been then?

He knew that his phone, had it had any battery, would probably have been ringing off the hook since the morning. However, after having let it run out of battery, Alfred had taken the battery out. As a measure of precaution, he'd also carved out the tracking chip that was in his phone, should he decide to make a run for it. As far as his government was concerned, Alfred was just extremely late for his day of work. As far as Alfred was concerned, he had no idea what he was going to do.

He knew that should he leave the house - to his government's knowledge - there might be some worry. Some panic. Fear of where he might be going. Probably annoyance, since he would be dashing off without letting his officials know anything about it beforehand. And Alfred knew too damn well that where humans were involved, worry and panic and caring were never a good combination. He wasn't sure he could remember a time when he felt humane enough.

Sometimes, he wished he had never heard that voice, that kept drawing him away from himself - but also towards himself, in another way.

You're speaking to yourself. That's the voice. Your voice.

Sometimes, that voice was all that kept him together. That voice was his grounding, his safety net, his protection. The days when his facade of over-enthusiastic bubble of joy and idealism threatened to chip, he would freeze a smile onto his face long enough for his thoughts to gather themselves, the voice (his voice, it was his own voice, damn it) to talk his smile wide once again. He'd forgotten too much of his humanity - but he wasn't sure any other nation could claim different. He knew that whatever emotion he felt was not human - much more feral, primal, vicious and dangerous.

Well you came to the same conclusion as everyone has. Took you long enough though.

He felt anger; a cold burn. It didn't feel, it saw and heard. It was a beast in and of itself, growing into wrath and churning out of control. It was its own being, a monster. It wasn't humane, it was much deeper, much more feral, much more foreign. Vulnerability was a threat - it was an uncertain, volatile, sizzling mess, that thrived in corners of the mind and drove men insane. It fed on thoughts, a parasite that bred and spread weakness in a mind, cracking it slowly until nothing was left. It destroyed. Paranoia was a demon, a headless voice whispering to men of betrayal, treachery, of weakness, of every other parasite he could imagine.

All of these bred fear, the ultimate weapon and monster of a man's mind.

Buddy, the only weapon in this room is you.

Alfred could fool himself and the world all he wanted, and he knew this. The man he could be would always push and tug at his mind until the curtain fell. He knew that the more time passed, the more he teetered on his edge, and the more he knew that he needed to save his people. Every single death of his citizens, be it by his own hands or Allen's, he felt it - a deep scrape to his heart. A wound that didn't bleed, but stung. Didn't scar, but left a mark. And he hated it, hated how it drew him closer to the edge, hated how he couldn't protect them, hated how he was tipping over and his people were dying and it was his fault.

You could help it, you know.

He did, he did know he could help it - but little good would that do when the rest of the world lay aflame, at ground level - non-existent. He knew he was capable of it, if he had to. The matter was, how far was too much? How long could he hold Allen back, if self-doubt riddled him, his steps too cautious, his worry beyond his own borders and with every other nation in the world? How much could he take until he would forcibly crack under the pressure? How long until Allen was too powerful, and he would have to choose between his life and the world's?

And what after? If he did defeat Allen, what then? Would he - could he kill him, without repercussions? Would he help other nations? How would he help other nations?

There was so much at stake, so little time.

Your choice is real easy, to be honest.

You die or you don't.

He knew his logic behind the words - because they were his words, that was his voice, his mind, his thoughts, but not his moral - he knew it was simple as that, he knew that after everything else was stripped bare that was the final question.

And there was also an obvious choice in it.

Alfred just wasn't ready to take it until he had to.

Suit yourself. At least pull yourself together. You have a government, a people, a war on your hands, and you're sitting here mourning your distorted thought process. So much for a hero, huh?

Alfred grit his teeth, willing his own mind to shut up. He was irritating himself, and that was not something usually heard sane and normal people say. Or even other nations.

Well, they wouldn't go around telling you that, would th-

Alfred turned on his heels to get dressed, plugging his phone to charge. He tore out a relatively clean suit from its hanger, and found a clean white shirt in his clean laundry pile. He pulled on his clothes in anger, tugging and jerking the jacket and tie on and into place. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he saw his steel blue eyes reflected back at him - but in his anger, he couldn't find himself to really care about it now. At this point, he found that as he was going back into the middle of a nationwide crisis, a somewhat cool head would not hurt in the least. When he was ready, he snatched his phone and saw the fifteen missed calls and double the messages he had received in the last few hours. He sent a single message relaying his coming to the White House. A blur of a taxi ride later, he brushed past the security who caught a glimpse of his set gaze and tight-lipped face, and he didn't need to flash any ID. He was well-known enough for his caprices and antics.

"I'm here now, what's the latest?" Alfred announced as he walked into the Oval Office. People were rushing in and out of the room, and the President had been talking to another secretary... or someone, Alfred wasn't quite sure who this was. He frowned. It was abnormal that he didn't know who a citizen of his was. Perhaps they were from the Western states, most of which had now been taken by-

He stopped the thought where it was, pushing it aside.

You're keeping a cool head. Let's see how long that lasts.

"Alfred - we were worried, we heard nothing from you," the President said as he turned to Alfred.

"Yeah, phone ran outta battery," he stated, eyeing some people rushing about. "Sorry," he added as an afterthought.

The President sighed, looking about to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I've told you, it would be much better for you to live here, for now. We really don't need another person to worry about, and-"

"I really do understand, sir, and - yeah, I guess I kinda have to move in by this point. I came here to speak to you about that, among other things, and that I'll need some people to come and pick up some things from my place before I do."

The President paused for a moment, as if the whole thing had taken less convincing than he'd thought. "Good. That's good. As such, we can then move on to other things. No new pains, today?" He asked, looking Alfred over for signs.

"No, not yet anyway," Alfred mumbled.

His boss ignored the last part. "That's good, then." He turns to Alfred again, his eyes questioning. "Why did you decide to come here after not answering for the entire morning?"

Alfred's thoughts stop for a moment, before they're whirling again, faster than a moment ago. "Iwsdoinsm - I mean - I was doing some thinking, and just... then I finished thinking."

Even his thoughts go silent at that explanation.

Are you sure you're capable of thinking? Because that explanation doesn't convince me. And I'm you, for fuck's sake.

Alfred tries to keep his expression neutral as his boss seems confused, but doesn't ask further. He seems to be satisfied with nations being odd.

"Alright then, there's a few reports on your desk, try to see if they make any sense or are of any use, alright?" He began walking away.

Wait 'til he sees the best side of you!

Alfred was willing his mind to shut up, but it just would not leave him alone. He had a nagging feeling that Allen was planning something, even if he couldn't hear his thoughts.

Think about it further...

Alfred paused.

A bit more...

He couldn't hear Allen's thoughts.

You're getting close...

Shit.

There we go.

"Mr. Boss - President!" Alfred shouted, running after his President. The man stopped and turned around. "The reports - what are they on?"

"Generally updates about the situation down West, or propositions on courses of action, why?"

"Any news on Allen?"

"No, not that I know of. Why?" The President asked.

Alfred stopped. "Nothing, it's not... it's nothing, just thought something." He plastered a bright smile on his face. "Never mind, it's cool, nothing to worry about, Boss!"

Alfred turned around, walking as slow and casual as he could with his state of mind. What he wanted to do was dash to his office, riffle through the papers and reports, and then demand updates from everyone about everything. What he did, was walk away slowly and smile at some people who crossed him, feeling the confused eyes of his boss trained on his back.

Back in his office, he did exactly what he had wanted to. He opened and closed and skim-read through the files on his desk, twice, but nothing came up. He slouched into his chair, his eyes staring blankly at the topmost beige file. He picked up a pen, about to write a post-it to remind himself to check everything, but instead found himself twirling the pen in his hand.

He had to be sure. Somehow, he had to make sure that Allen was not planning anything - and if he was, he needed to know what it was. He had been too quiet, far too quiet over the last few days. Had he severed their telepathic-magical-whatever connection? Had he died? Would Alfred not know if he had been killed?

His leg began bouncing up and down as his thoughts grew agitated.

He had to be sure, because otherwise he was tormenting himself over a non-existent issue. He was slowly drawing himself closer to the edge for nothing. His mind was whirring fast, faster than he could process most of the thoughts going through his mind, and-

D'you know how loud you are when you think?

Alfred could easily say that he did not like this at all.

Missed me, Alfred?

I can safely say I miss the desert more than I missed you.

Ah, come on, I'm not that bad. Well, apparently compared to you anyway.

He'd figured it out.

What, d'you think I wouldn'? I wasn' born yesterday.

Then again, I guess you weren't either.

There's a good and polite way to go about this, and there's a proper way.

His mind was battling with itself and its evil counterpart - or rather, deranged-in-a-different-way counterpart. He was feeling himself coming apart at the seams.

So I guess I just have to sit back then, yeah?

Not if you want to live, you don't.

This your real side? He's an asshole. Well, you are.

The more you keep this up, Allen, the more I lose willpower and the closer you are to your pathetic death.

Alfred wass trying to block them both out, but when one of them was himself and the other had some sort of twisted, telepathic connection to his mind, it wasn't not easy.

You couldn' kill me without destroyin' 'bout half your country.

I don't mind, his mind snarled, and Alfred was glaring at the file.

Oh, well, this is new! Isn't that a bit... un-heroic?

There's a side of Alfred you know. There's a side even I don't quite know, Alfred thought.

There was a momentary silence, but Allen was bound to return.

Nice try, Alfie, but you ain't gettin' me to back down because o' that. 'S pretty good, but not good enough.

You haven't even seen the beginning of it.

It better get good soon then, 'cause this is just borin'. I ain't here to waste my time, I was here to see you destroy yourself from within.

"It's not gonna be destruction."

He hadn't realised he said it out loud. He didn't realise it afterwards either.

Then what's it gon' be?

"You really want to see? You real keen on dying, or just playing with death for the hell of it?" Alfred snarled, his eyes narrowing.

Well, I don't mind dying, if it means you're gonna end the world. We came here to wreak hell, don't mind if it's the last thing I do.

"Fine," Alfred snarled, his teeth baring angrily in a wicked smile. "Have it your way then." The pen in his hand snapped.


"Well, this is brilliant," Ludwig noted, his hushed voice carrying far. Gilbert shot him a look that said 'really?'

"Ihh you wanha shpeach, i' hach 'o be inngonchpi'uous," he whispered.

Ludwig paused for a moment, trying to decipher what the hell it was his brother was trying to tell him. "What?" He wasn't sure what language Gilbert was speaking.

Gilbert motioned with his hands to shush him, poking his head around the corner they were hidden in. He came back around, this time looking exasperated with his little brother. "Has no-one ever taught you the proper way to whisper inconspicuously? You don't pronounce s, t, k, f, d, g, or any other letters that are easily audible!" Gilbert tried to think of something to describe it. "Whisper like you have food in your mouth!"

"What if we don't whisper at all, and instead do the smart thing and use our hands, hm?" Ludwig suggested.

Gilbert thought about it for a moment. "Okay, that might work too. I go up front, check the coast is clear, and -"

"Yes, I know the hand signals. Use standard military, alright, not your own... invented... language," Ludwig said apprehensively.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it! Don't worry, Luddy, I'm too awesome for this to go wrong!" Gilbert grinned, and ruffled Ludwig's hair at the annoyed huff he got in response.

Ludwig glared at his brother. "What exactly are we doing here, pray tell?"

"Well, number one is we're doing the whole awesome infiltrationing-"

"Infiltrating."

"Yeah, that thing, getting some info on what our enemies are doing, finding out their plans, and hopefully messing them up so they can't do shit," Gilbert stated proudly.

Ludwig frowned. "You do have an escape plan, don't you?"

"If we have to, we run."

"Where?"

"Out."

Silence.

Ludwig sighed. "Genius plan, Gilbert, congratulations," he deadpanned.

There was sudden motion, a door opening and shutting, voices carrying in the large room. They were in a room that seemed to be kind of the centre of heating, water, gas and electricity. (Gilbert had, upon their arrival, proposed fifteen ways to blow everything up and plunge the place in utter darkness. Ludwig had positively shot down every one of these.)

"... you see his face? Best thing ever! Ah man, if I knew he was that jumpy before, I'd of done that way long ago!" Laughter and a set of coughs, raucous and lung-racking.

"Well, have fun getting your head chopped off next time. He looked pretty damn pissed at you for that."

"Nah, it's cool, he likes me. I don't know about Klaus, but I find Lutz cool so his brother's gotta have like sympathy for me, don't he?"

"Suppose so. I'm just saying I'm not participating next time. I mean he was pissed already because of Hans yesterday."

"Hans? What did Hans - ohh, that." A chortle of laughter. "That was the shittiest story ever. His face is plastered everywhere, how did he not realise it was the idiot brother? I don't know, 'f I walked straight into an obnoxious albino, there aren't gonna be a lot of names running through my mind, are there?"

"True. But I mean if they really are nations, then who knows what they're capable of."

"Wait but what's the deal with those two anyway? Like they're telling us the 'nations' are bad, but then they're not nations, but they're not mortal? I'm just confused. D'you bring the tools?" A lone cough.

"Yeah, I did. I don't know, maybe it's like magic or something."

"Is that button supposed to be red?"

"Yeah, it is. I think it's just gonna be a loose screw - see, there, the screen. Pipe five."

"Oh yeah. Listen, if you're willing to believe the nations are a real thing, then you can believe in magic. Hand me the screwdriver, I might have to unscrew and use some force on this thing."

"Here. Well, what do you think? It's not like there's not a lot of theories running around, I'm just saying that I don't know how to otherwise explain everything. Makes sense, in a way."

A snort, and one of them cleared his throat, the sound squelchy. "Right, in a way. Think about if every single goddamn war in the world had been just like relationship problems, or nations taking out their anger on someone. Man, America's gotta be downright pissed at someone with a hell of a grudge if that's anything to go by. I just think they're a bunch of political assholes trying to gain support with this. I mean it's the stuff of books, ya know? Hey, push here a bit - yeah good, hand me the screw back. The whole "immortal country" thing, I don't know, bit too much in my opinion. Why would this not have leaked out before, huh? There's always gonna be someone pissed at the government enough to leak it out."

"Well, maybe it's just that there's just really few people who know about it, like the country's leader and then heads of security or something. I don't think it would be widely broadcast if it's supposed to be secret."

"Well, whatever, it ain't my problem. At least this is a change from what we used to have. Maybe this time we'll really have a country run by the people, not a bunch of self-righteous assholes who think they're two steps from nobility."

Gilbert turned to his brother, motioning to a spot ahead to them, from where he guessed there would be better visibility. They could get there behind a set of pipes, hidden from view. Ludwig nodded, and they began moving quietly to the place, the conversation between the two oblivious people still continuing.

"It's pretty funny to see how easily the government fell. Just - take away the army and the police, because half of them were bought anyway, and they got no-one to stop the flow o' things. I don't know why no-one thought of this before. The only downside is, we know nothing of what's happening in other countries. Then again, I guess it's good so we can focus on this forsaken place first."

"One thing at a time, focus on the pipe now."

"Sure, sure." There was a silence, and Ludwig and Gilbert reached the spot. Gilbert peeked out from behind the pipes, and saw that the two men were turned away from them, examining the pipe they were working on. It was hissing vapour, and Gilbert estimated he had a good five minutes before they'd finish fixing it. Their tool box was just slightly behind them, a good five metres away from him. He glanced back at Ludwig, who tilted his head slightly in question. Gilbert turned back, and tried to get a look at what was inside the box. He could see a sledgehammer, some screwdrivers, a set of keys, gloves, screws and nails... There was a good chance he would be unconscious by the end of this, but he might as well try. If anything, it would cause a good enough distraction for Ludwig to... to do something. Gilbert turned back to Ludwig, nodded (which really meant nothing at all to the other German), before prancing up and quietly moving to the tool box.

He could feel Ludwig's confusion, anger, and want to shout him back. He approached the box, and the conversation was still going on.

"What's the next thing on our list?"

He was closer.

"Checking that no other pipe is malfunctioning?"

He was at the box, and decided to take the set of keys and the sledgehammer. Access and a weapon. A good combination.

"Thanks, genius, but after that?"

Now came the complex part. How to get the keys without alerting the two men?

"Well, how's a coffee break?"

He grabbed hold of the key ring, lifting very carefully.

Gilbert snorted mentally. Ludwig would be amazed at his patience, and Alfred would laugh that it was impossible for him to be that slow and quiet about something.

"Sounds good, I'm actually dy- ah, fu-" Coughing, loud and-

The perfect opportunity for Gilbert to lift the keys a bit louder and a bit less carefully. He pulled them up and left them hanging, neither man noticing.

"You really need to get that cough checked out."

"We've been here for ages, all I need is a bit of fresh air, how about that?"

And now to the sledgehammer. And easier task, seeing as it was right on top of the toolbox, and unless Gilbert made a mistake, it shouldn't make too much obvious noise. He took a hold of it, and lifted.

"Fine, we can have a coffee break outside, hm?"

"Good."

And it was up, and in the air, and he had it in his hand. And he was in the clear. Now to move back.

He began moving backwards, back towards safety, and back to his brother.

"You done?"

He was now moving faster, a lot faster, looking back to make sure that he didn't slam into a pipe.

One man wrenched on the pipe, it groaned, and slid into place. "Lemme just - yeah, I am."

He was moving very fast. And he was very nearly - almost - there-

One man turned, Gilbert ducked just behind the set of pipes. And he held on to his sigh of relief. His brother looked downright pissed, but Gilbert quietened his breathing.

Silence.

"Where the fuck are my keys?"

Ludwig froze, his glare icy. Gilbert's eyes widened. He should have thought about that, to be honest. He hadn't. Now they were in a pickle - so to speak.

"Did you drop 'em?"

"No, they were just there!"

"Well, they don't just up and walk about, do they? Look around."

"Help me, will you?"

They had the option to either stay or run. The door was all the way across the room, and there was no way they wouldn't be seen. If the two men were to look around, they would be seen anyway. Gilbert shoved the sledgehammer to Ludwig, and himself turned to look around.

The place was, what, how old? Dated originally from the late 1800s. Expanded in the 1930s. Taken over by the US in 1945. So, these pipes had to be about 100 years old. Good. (1)

He saw a small pipe, slightly dislodged, easy to wrench out. He went to it, and that was exactly what he did.

The noise, however was not easily ignored.

"What the-"

"Who's there?!"

Gilbert grinned. "Oh, it's just me, fellas!"

The men paused, marching towards where Gilbert was still hidden. Ludwig rounded some ways away.

Gilbert stepped out from his hiding spot. "Jus' your awesome nation of Prussia," he said.

The men froze, and one of them ducked for the toolbox, the other lunged for Gilbert. Ludwig came from the other side of the set of pipes and crossed immediately to the other man, wielding the hammer. Gilbert slammed the pipe into the man's skull, watching him dazedly stumble backwards. Ludwig swung the sledgehammer, but the man ducked. He tried again, this time grazing his shoulder. Gilbert gave a finishing swing of the pipe into the other's neck, and he collapsed. If not dead, he was at least unconscious. Then he whirled on the man Ludwig was trying to down, and walked behind. The man stood back up, back towards Gilbert, and Gilbert nodded. Both he and Ludwig swung at the same time.

In trying to dodge, the man's head made contact with Gilbert's pipe first, and then Ludwig's hammer slammed onto the other side of his face.

That one was probably dead.

"Well," Gilbert said, swinging the pipe over his shoulder, Ludwig propping the hammer against the floor. "I have two things to say."

Ludwig glanced up at him with disbelief. "Only two?"

"Believe it or not," Gilbert grinned. "Number one, we probably should get outta hear before anyone comes looking for them."

"Really?" Ludwig tried the pulse of the other man, apparently not finding any as he shook his head.

"Really. And number two," he swung the pipe back in front of him to examine it, sporting a coat of red from the man's shattered skull. "I have a newfound appreciation for Ivan and his love of that damn pipe of his."


María hadn't seen such a scene in years - and she most definitely could not name the year, not even the decade that the last time she had seen such a thing was. And her own fidgeting was not common, either. She nervously kept glancing at the phone, as if it were to blow up any second. People were passing her office, the same office she had been holed up in for the past week - her occasional naps and trips to wherever she could get food (so far, the government cafeteria held up well enough - for now) being the only times she wasn't sitting at her desk. No-one had told her anything since the beginning of the day, and she was beginning to become irate. She was the country, and she was being thoroughly ignored.

And on top of that, her only issue wasn't her own country, but her damned northern neighbour and his daughter. Who she had happened to grow fond of, fond enough to have worried about her for the past - however long it had been since the gringo's frantic call.

It had been two hours since she had last spoken to anyone or heard anything new. And most of it had been about how activity of laundered money had picked up.

It wasn't hard to guess why.

She reached for the phone, picking it up and dialling. She paused for a moment before pressing 'call', hesitating before pushing down. She lifted the receiver to her ear, and heard the small, dial beeps. And she waited. And waited. And waited. And-

"Alfred F. Jones, speaking." His tone was uncharacteristically flat, dull and morose.

"Jones, it's María."

"Mar - oh."

"What, 'oh'? I should be the one sounding disappointed here at the least!"

"What do you-"

"What is going on, Alfred? Where is Callie? Has something happened to her? What the hell is happening?" She fired, question after the other.

There was a haunting pause at the other end of the line.

"She's not there?"

María frowned. "Where is she, Alfred?"

"I don't... I haven't felt any of my westernmost states in days. California was the first one I lost. Allen has control of them. He's settled camp, and I don't know anything that happens there. I was hoping some of them might have crossed the border."

The clipped tone in Alfred's words deepened the frown on her face. "They haven't - is she - could she-?"

"Yes, María, she very well could be dead. And I would have no clue. And I don't have a clue. I have to go."

"Jones, don't you dare hang up on me!"

"What?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You just bluntly said she might be dead without so much as a flicker of the voice, you're morbidly blunt - what is-"

"It's nothing. I just have a lot on my mind."

"What-"

"Fair warning, though, there's a chance that the West Coast might get... busy in the next days, weeks at the most."

"Busy-?"

"A war zone."

She was stunned. What the hell was going on?

"If California hasn't crossed the border by now, Allen's caught her. That also means - with how little I've felt any western states - that he's most likely killed her. I need to get my people back, I need to keep my country safe, and that means I have to kill Allen, one way or another - sooner rather than later." There was shifting on the other end, mumbled words, and then he was back. "I have to go, and I am hanging up on you. If she shows up, call me immediately."

Dial tone.

Apparently, the situation had gone from worse to worst in the blink of an eye - and she'd been sitting here with her basically eyes closed for hours.


Notes

(1) The base they are in was originally built in the late 1800s, to be the main military academy within Barracks was originally constructed in 1873-74 as the Imperial "Hauptkadettenanstalt" - the main military academy of the German Empire. After WWII, it was then taken hold of by the Allies, and more specifically by Americans. So it's really old, so pipings would also be old.

A/N: I seem to now be once again inspired with this story, I have a much clearer idea on where I will go from here - I think/hope? But from now on, I will have much fewer characters per chapter than there used to be, because I have a lot of character development and action going on. Wouldn't do to have chapters far too long and too confusing, would it? (sobs because they are anyway)

And I'm now nearing 100k words! This is unbelievable, I never thought I could or would write something this long. Although, it has taken me far more than a year to do so... Oh well. Anyway this was an extra long chapter just for your entertainment!

Character arc and development is just killing me. I hate it. I love developing my characters but it's also the worst thing ever, because every time I develop a character I feel like they're just going OOC. I try to build it up, but then I feel like it just boom happens and it's out of context and arggghhhh I hope this chapter wasn't too OOC. If it was, I'm sorry, I tried (and failed miserably). I liked the idea of this chapter, I still don't know whether I actually like it. I feel like this whole fic is just becoming a jumbled mess but I have a plot, I swear I do, I just need to actually get to progress it. I'm getting there. And I think that I've now really gotten the whole thing going, what with the whole character thing. And next chapter will have the other part of our protagonists and their sides of the story. Promise!

However, and this is important: I don't know when I'll get the next chapter posted. My AS-level examinations are coming up, and for those who don't know, they're a set of major exams that will take up the entirety of May and a part of June. So, I am extremely busy with studying and revision, so I have no idea when I'll get to the next chapter of this. If I write something small like a one-shot, it's because it serves as stress-release. However, these chapters are long and I work on them long, so it can take a long while until I'm posting the next chapter. I am so sorry, this is only a hiatus until this school year is done and over with, and I'll get back to this as soon as possible. If you happen to read Since That Day, the same notice applies to that story as well - I will try to write in between revision and stuff like that, but I can't promise anything at all. I am sorry, and thank you for understanding.