But Let It Go, And You Learn

"Happiness always looks small while you hold it in your hands, but let it go, and you learn at once how big and precious it is." Maxim Gorky

"People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But the self is not something one finds, it is something one creates." Thomas S. Szasz

Author's note: I'm a AusHun shipper at heart, but wanted to try something different, and RuHun intrigues me. I felt I had to, as an author, branch out a bit and try something new, so here you go. There's even a PruHun chapter, go figure, but you can tell I see their relationship differently. I also budge some Hetalia rules, but just go with me here.

I've learned so many new things about the Cold War in doing research for this, and hope you all appreciate what I tried to put in and what I'm trying to show here. If anything is incorrect, I apologize in advance; I did the best I could, but I learned all of this from an American point of view, and so there were so many things we were never taught.

I know RuHun is kind of rare, so I tried to contribute the best RuHun fic I could, with events and quotes and the like. So enjoy and review so I know what I got right and what to continue with.

"The threat of a world war is no more." Mikhail Gorbachev

1949

There is a sense of finality as they are led into the room.

Gilbert can hardly stand. He has taken Elizabeta's arm to help him; Ludwig takes her other, to give the impression that they are escorting her as gentleman do ladies, and not that his brother is weak and dying, as they enter the room. Or maybe Ludwig is trying to get in every last moment of contact with her as they come to stand before the Ally countries. She can feel Roderich standing behind her, too close. His body is warm, just as it always was during those cold Austrian nights in a bed they used to share.

They had all been in Berlin: Ludwig, to protect his land; Gilbert, to protect his brother; Roderich, because he didn't know what else to do; and Elizabeta, because her ministers were afraid of what would have happened if she'd stayed in Budapest. She knows they were right and it sickens her.

Yao isn't there, she's noticed. Elizabeta's breathing is starting to quicken. Their clothing is all old, torn, all they had in the bunker. They'd laid in bed, Elizabeta holding Ludwig, Gilbert holding the two of them, Roderich at the end of the bed stroking her calves. They'd heard the bombs going off and the door fly open, an army desperate for victory coming to get them. But Yao isn't there; it's only the three European nations and Alfred. Kiku is probably with Yao now, she'd guess. Feliciano, who knows? But if he's not here that means he must be safe, and as she leans into Ludwig, and Ludwig into her, they both know they're trying to assure the other of it. Gilbert lets go of her arm, standing on his own. Roderich grasps her now-free hand behind her back.

"We've, uh." Alfred gestures to his allies. "We've made our decision. But as this is now a European affair, I will, um, well, excuse myself." Elizabeta has never seen Alfred like this, unsure of words, calm, reserved. He turns to Arthur, and they share a sad look before the younger man leaves. She's noticed something now: that Arthur and Francis, they're standing off to their right. Ivan, alone, is standing off to the left.

Roderich's hold on her hand tightens as Ludwig wraps an arm about her. Gilbert stands up taller. They've all realized it at the same time:

They're being split up.

Arthur gestures for Francis to speak, but as the French nation steps forward he grimaces in pain and shakes his head. Only Ivan looks happy, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He has bags under his eyes and there's blood on his coat, but he seems content with everything.

"Well." Arthur clears his throat. "Let us be on with this then. Belsch-" He begins the word, then stops, looking from Ludwig to Gilbert.

Elizabeta's heart begins to race like never before.

Roderich forgotten, she grabs Gilbert's arm again, the two brothers stepping towards each other, silently trying to say so many things.

"Germany," Arthur clarifies. "If you can come with us." From the shadows of the room, soldiers step forward to ensure Ludwig complies.

He's holding their hands, Gilbert's and Elizabeta's, as they drag him away. It happens as if in slow motion in her mind, another soldier coming to hold back the three remaining nations, though Roderich puts up no fight. Ludwig looks so small in that moment; not in his height, or in his muscles, but in his eyes. That glint of the child that's still there, the innocent hope that we can all get along. Ludwig has always believed there is a better world, and she's encouraged it. It's like seeing a fire Elizabeta spent all night kindling extinguished in a violent downpour. He'll always be the little boy she raised, so many years ago.

She turns to let Gilbert hold her, but Roderich catches her and holds her close. Somewhere far away, she hears Arthur's voice say, "Edelstein, you too please." The soldier returns to pry him from her, but there is no need. He goes willingly, kissing her hands before leaving, watching her with every step backwards. It has been so different, since the divorce. They only had one night to themselves, one night in the bunker where Ludwig and Gilbert sat in the hall, where they made love over and over like they used to. She doesn't know if he still loves her; she doesn't know if she still loves him. But she's so used to him being there, that a world without Roderich is a world Elizabeta cannot imagine.

It hits her, when she sees those two Germans that she's always been able to love so easily, standing between Arthur and Francis. It hits her like a train carrying bricks, that that means Gilbert and her are to go with Ivan. Roderich remains calm, watching her, but panic fills Ludwig, who has never been without both his adoptive mother and brother.

"No!" Ludwig is the one to scream first, trying to run to them; a soldier stops him. Another one stops Elizabeta, who's crying so hard she doesn't know if the no she keeps hearing is in her head or if it's out loud or if she's saying it or simply hearing it. Gilbert is behind her, his body pressed into her back, trying to reach Ludwig, trying to say goodbye.

They never got a chance to say goodbye.

It's all she can think the whole train ride to Moscow, where they are processed, and then the train out to wherever it is Ivan is taking them. She can still see the tears staining precious Ludwig's face. She can still see Roderich fading into the shadow in that war room. She can still see Gilbert punching the wall after they've left, when it's just her and him and their captor.

She clings to Gilbert, and he clings to Elizabeta. They never leave each other's sight. She's too afraid he'll be gone when she comes back, she whispered one night when Ivan had left to take a piss. He's afraid Ivan will touch her, Gilbert said, the way the Russian soldiers raped her women during the war. The look in Gilbert's eye is one of defeat, of having lost everything. She knows the feeling, knows it well from when she divorced Roderich. They have been reduced to nothing. This was the war to destroy it all.

They share a bed on the way, and it's not the same, but it does the job. Gilbert's chest is too big to be Roderich's and too small to be Ludwig's in her imagination; from the way he shifts, Elizabeta can tell he's never spent a night with a woman in his arms. Yet they've known each other for years, and that gives them a quiet knowledge of the other, a comfort they alone have, that not even Ivan can take from them. The Russian sits in the car with them every day, watches them, tries to make jokes that are never funny in a language they don't know. Elizabeta has spoken nothing but German for so many years, she's afraid of forgetting Hungarian. But she's never learned Russian, and Gilbert's never learned anything he didn't have to.

He's her best friend, Gilbert. She doesn't know when it happened, but there it is. Roderich was always the one to kiss her injuries, Ludwig to go take revenge for hurting someone he loves so much. But Gilbert always broke the fall, catching her, no matter what it did to him. They've become less important, these nations incarnate, to their officials. So much less important than they used to be. Elizabeta hasn't even been contacted about what's going on in Hungary in years, doesn't feel what her people feel inside like she used to. She's so dead on the inside, it doesn't matter; maybe that's why she can't connect to them. Only Gilbert's arms wrapped about her fragile body keep her going. He's the only real thing left in this world.

The house is far from the town which is days away from anything Elizabeta would call a city. But that's Russia, and she knew it'd be some place like this. Some place where if she ran she wouldn't know which way to go and would freeze in the cold. Or perhaps Ivan would catch her and punish her; she has no delusions of the cruelty he is capable of beneath that childlike exterior. A place from which there is no return, not for people like Elizabeta and Gilbert.

That's what frightens her the most, as he leads them through the house. He shows them rooms proudly: his study, the dining room, an antechamber that leads to a sitting room with a fireplace. The fire is going, but no one sits in the room. The other nations all sit outside it, in the antechamber. They have long faces, and Elizabeta knows as she holds Gilbert's arm closer to her, that they wear the same expressions. She doesn't even know their humans names, Ukraine and Belarus and Lithuania and Estonia and Latvia. Only Feliks is a familiar face, though she abandoned their friendship long ago. All her energy went into her three German men.

What a wasted effort.

Ivan shows Gilbert his room first, which is by the other men down a long hall and around a corner. As Ivan walks away, he gestures for Elizabeta to follow him. Her heart races as Gilbert steps forward to follow.

"No," Ivan says happily. "This is your room. I am taking her to her room."

"I want to know where her room is," Gilbert says defiantly, and Elizabeta knows it takes every ounce of strength he has. She knows him, can see the lines cracking. She hopes Ivan can't.

The Russian simply smiles and shakes his head. "No, you will stay here, or I will end you." He walks down the hall.

Gilbert grabs Elizabeta. "Erzsi," he says quickly, "I will not let anything happen to you, find me and tell me where you are, scream if he tries any-" A hand on her shoulder pulls her away from the once-proud Prussia.

"I said we are going now," Ivan states. Elizabeta chances one last look back at Gilbert. It's like she is all he has left, no more Ludwig to protect or Roderich to tease. No Francis or Antonio to go out with. Only Elizabeta.

As Ivan leads the way down the hall in the other direction, they turn another corner. There are four doors: on the left three of the doors are evenly spaces; on the right the fourth door stands alone.

"That is me!" Ivan states proudly, pointing at the lone door. It must be the biggest room. "And those are my sisters." He points to the two doors closer to them. "And that is you." Ivan walks to the end of the hall and points at the last door, before opening it.

Elizabeta's steps are slow as she takes it all in. The first door says "Ирина", a cup attached to it with some wild flowers. The next door reads "Ната", and Elizabeta thinks it must be Belarus's room; there is something eerie about it. She chances a look across the hall, where Ivan's room bears a sign reading "Ваня". It must be their names in Russian, but she does not understand how to read it. She passes Ivan, who is still smiling at her, and notices her door reads "Елизавета". There is something in it, something disgusting about seeing her name written like this, like she is no longer Hungarian.

The room is lovely. A large four-post bed stands in the middle, matching furniture scattered about. To the left there's a door leading to what must be a bathroom. To the right the room's straight walls change, and a bay window makes room for a small sitting area. But the landscape outside seems barren in the late hour, and part of Elizabeta tells her she has to hate the room. As beautiful as it is, this is her prison cell. At least in the last jail, she could hear the others, could see their hands sticking out through the bars. They were together.

Ivan follows her in as she steps into the open area between the bed and sitting area. Turning to face him, she sees a half-empty bookcase, the writing the same as the signs on the doors.

So many languages she speaks, and yet she does not know Russian.

Ivan says something with great affection, but Elizabeta doesn't understand any of it. She stares at him while he looks back, before he sighs and repeats in French, "My sister will get you in the morning for breakfast. I will lock the door when I leave." Because she still knows where Gilbert's room is. He may as well say it. "Do you like your room?"

There's something in his voice, an edge of hope that maybe she'll say yes. She knows he wants her to.

"Nein."

It only serves to make him smirk.

"Too bad."

He leaves, and the lock clicks behind him.

From her bra she removes three old photographs. They've been with her for years now, the only personal affects she could bring with her from place to place.

The first is an old black and white photograph that someone colored in years ago. It's from her wedding to Roderich, her dress large, his suit fashionable for the time. Their smiles are stiff but it reminds her of happier days.

The second is another black and white photograph, but she loves it the way it is. The edges curl but you can still see a little Ludwig smiling between Elizabeta and Gilbert. She can see the blue in those wide eyes; he must have been only nine or ten.

The last is a color photograph. She's standing between Roderich and Ludwig, Gilbert having thrown his arm around his brother. They're all in their uniforms, which are still nice and fresh and decorated with medals. Their smiles are small but genuine. It had been so long since they could be together like that.

Elizabeta holds them to her heart and cries. She's so afraid they'll never have another day like that again, a day to just be.

Together.