A/N: I don't own Hetalia... other wise this would be cannon. Pl0x review with criticism (not flames, criticism) - Karskin Ghost

The cold of the dead of night, in Budapest, sent a shiver down the East German's spine. He strode onwards, for it was not the cold that made him give off a shiver. He walked, at an incredibly slow pace, getting the occasional look from the drunkards and Soviet soldiers that filled the city's streets at night. He made his way toward the Danube and walked out onto one of the bridges that crossed the flowing monster. On the other side of the bridge there sat a destroyed and rusting Königstiger tank, his Königstiger. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out two medals, an Iron Cross and an Eastern Front Service Medal. He ran his thumb over the Stahlhelm protruding from the Eastern Front Service Medal. There may still be a Germany, but there wasn't a unified Germany.

Two Soviets came down the bridge, clutching their sub-machine guns close to their chests. One was complaining about the cold and talking of Azerbaijan, the other rolled his eyes and said something about Leningrad. As they came past the solider from Leningrad turned to the East German;

"Comrade, are you alright?" the Soviet asked.

Thrusting the medals back into his jacket pocket, he turned and answered, "Ja, I've just had a bit too much to drink is all." before hiding a, "Bolshevik scum." beneath his breath.

The Soviets turned and continued on their patrol. The East German looked back into the Danube, the bridge had pock-marks along it, an artillery shell here, rifle fire there and all in all not repaired since 1945. Below the water swirling around the flaking white posts of the bridge was a thick, cool green. A particular shade he didn't want to be reminded of.

Now's as good a time as any ,he thought as he allowed himself to fall to the water below.

"Gilbert!" came a woman's shriek as he fell, well he was supposed to be falling. His jacket had caught on something, the few pieces of gravel that had fallen with him splashed into the Danube below.

"Gilbert?" the woman's voice carried a much more worried and urgent tone now.

The German looked up and saw the same thick, cool green that was to be seen below him. Yet, unlike the uncaring, fast flowing green below, the warm green above held more care than he could imagine. If he dared to say, the green above held more water too, as tears fell onto him.

"Eliza..." the German started to say, staring into the green pools above him.

"Gilbert, what the fuck were you just d-doing?" Eliza replied, catching herself on the last word.

Gilbert directed his gaze into the Danube in shame. Slowly the river grew further away as Eliza drew him upwards. She pulled him straight into a hug, nearly crushing his bones. He felt the guilt rise in his stomach.

"Y-you followed me?" he managed to get out.

"You've been different since 'forty-seven'. All ways sneaking out for beer at night, you never used to do that." Eliza started.

"But I go out for beer every night, were you following me all that time too?" Gilbert asked.

"No." Came Eliza's response, before Gilbert could get another word in, she continued, "You didn't take any money for beer this time... and... well... I got worried..."

Eliza broke down in tears. Gilbert did the first thing he could think of, and drew her close to himself. He held her as water poured from her eyes. His jacket's shoulder was soaked.

"I-I'm sorry." Gilbert said, his entire heart behind the words.

He was an idiot, leaving her behind. Not to mention his brother, Ludwig, who'd been lucky enough to escape to the west in 1945. To prove his sorrow; Gilbert tilted Eliza's face up, and as tear-soaked green met loving red, he pulled her into a kiss. She pulled out of it and Gilbert looked at her confused, the sudden appearance of a red hand mark on his face only increasing his confusion... and pain.

"You're an idiot Gilbert!" Eliza shouted.

"Huh- I- uh..." Gilbert tried responding.

"Shut up!" Eliza said, and brought him back into a kiss, "You're never going to think about this again, are you? Because if you do I'll kill you."

Gilbert's mouth twitched upward.

"Look," Eliza continued, "you may have lost your fatherland, you may have lost your war, your rank and your brother, but, you still have me. Now, come on, five minutes and it'll be 1953. Let's go find a party, okay?"

Gilbert smiled and nodded his head. Sharing one last kiss, the couple walked away from the bridge. Gilbert walked away from his doubts, Eliza from her worries. They walked back to Budapest, where, in the middle of the car-less street, Gilbert's hand found Eliza's. She squeezed his hand as it slipped in place with hers and he looked up and smiled.