This is dedicated to Mayurei13, soulglutton98, and orangepencils on fanfiction and a_lonely_scribe on livejournal for encouraging me to post and for, well, being encouraging. Thank you very much. Mayurei13, as MapleVogel, drew a piece for One Step at a Time and I am going to attempt to post it as the cover. I have her permission to use it. This is one of my favourite pieces by her but she has drawn so many for me. I hope to use some of the others as covers in the future. (Not many authors are so lucky.) I would recommend checking her out, especially if you love prussiaxcanada, on tumblr. There is a link in my profile.

Synopsis: Gilbert was a circus performer and he had been his entire life. The circus had a habit of picking up misfits and eccentrics but the performers here were some of the strangest characters he had ever met. He just had to keep reminding himself to take it one step at a time… And not look down.

Hetalia does not belong to me. Neither do any of the countries mentioned. Get back to me after 'World Domination Phase 3' is complete.

It's impossible to be certain
Stretch your arms out wide
Keep your mind on doing things
One step at a time
It's impossible to find balance
When you're up so high
It's not the time for looking back
You've left it all behind

Balance – Ash Koley

One Step at a Time

Chance Encounters

Gilbert wandered into the bright and colourful parade with his canvas pack hitched over his shoulder. There were ribbons and balloons and music wafting through the air. The smell of sweets and powdered sugar overpowered the worse, pungent smells he knew were lurking just beneath the surface.

An elephant marched in front of him and he ducked under the great stomach of the beast without thought to those giant, pounding feet. Someone else might have been frightened or worried. Someone else might have flinched. Someone else might have refused to take the risk.

But he was not someone else.

He was a circus performer and he had been his entire life.

The tourists gave him wide berth as he searched for the ringmaster but the other performers paid him no passing glance. In all the rest of the world he was unusual, strange, and not to be trusted. The circus had a habit of picking up the misfits and the forgotten and the lost and he was welcome here despite his odd colouring.

He was an albino.

His skin was so white that it put milk to shame; his hair was loose and soft and more like feathers than hair. His eyes were perhaps the most startling in a crimson that sent children running to their mothers. He was handsome, he thought, despite those traits or maybe because of them but it was difficult for most to swallow.

Thus, here he was; a lifetime of working in freakshows.

He was searching for the largest tent. He did not know for sure if that was where he would find the ringmaster but it was a starting place. Most ringmasters possessed a love of flourish and grandeur and wanted the largest tent, the largest personal tent, for themselves. Each circus was different, it was part of their charm, but there were forever similarities.

He was speaking from experience; Gilbert and his brother had joined seven circuses in their lifetime.

His brother was standing at the gate on the other end of the grounds because he was terrible with crowds. Sad, but true. Ludwig could not weave between the hordes of visitors. He could barrel through them, sure, or pick them up and toss them out of his path but it was sort of destructive.

Ludwig was a strongman. He could bend steel and snap chains, and it was impressive, but he would never be mistaken for graceful.

The two of them were orphans and a passing circus had thought them, or rather him, too sweet a deal to pass up fifteen years ago. Gilbert had been born a freak but Ludwig had grown into his role.

He stepped between the ropes that were pitching the tents.

His brother was protective of him; Ludwig would not stand for it when their last ringmaster started mistreating him behind the scenes. Ludwig packed their bags the night he found out and forced Gilbert to leave under the cover of darkness. His intentions were pure, of course, but it had the unfortunate side effect of putting them out of work.

It was not as if Gilbert could work anywhere else; the circus was his home now.

So, here he was; at a new circus looking for work… Looking for a new life.

Gilbert came around the back of a tent and found the surliest clown he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He was tall, taller than most clowns, with a painted face that was almost as white as his own and dark kohl rimming his eyes. He was wearing a loose, pale suit with black buttons and collar. He seemed to be the 'whiteface clown' and he was not pleased to see Gilbert.

"Ummm… Hello there. Could you point me towards the ringmaster?" Gilbert gestured left and then right to demonstrate his confusion.

The clown just scowled at him. His stare was intense and Gilbert thought it must be cruel, ironic fate that this man was a clown. He readjusted his pack.

"Please?"

The clown continued to scowl and it was starting to piss Gilbert off; he had tried to be polite because he and his brother needed to eat but this was ridiculous.

"Look, I'm not sure what crawled up your ass and died but…" He stepped forward and pointed a finger at the clown with the intention of sparking an argument. Another clown came tumbling out of the tent with a 'squeak' and landed at his feet in a comical heap. It distracted Gilbert from his temper.

The second clown scrambled up and held his hands out in a peaceful gesture. He was flustered and earnest.

"It's not his fault!"

"… What?"

"Berwald is just intimidating, that's all. It's not his fault. He doesn't mean to be; he just is."

Gilbert pointed at the scowling clown and the shorter clown nodded his head in affirmation. The second clown was wearing almost the same outfit except that the buttons on his suit were blue and so was the paint surrounding his eyes. He came up to shoulders of the first one but somehow the two of them managed to be a matched pair.

"He's an asshole, that's what he is."

Berwald muttered under his breath but the words were incomprehensible.

"He's not. He's just…" The second clown trailed off with a frown as if he were looking for the exact words to describe Berwald. Gilbert thought 'asshole' would do just fine.

"I'm looking for the ringmaster."

The shorter clown blinked wide violet eyes and cocked his head to the side.

"He's on the other side of the grounds," he said and he sounded apologetic. "You've been going in the wrong direction."

"Damn," Gilbert twisted on his heel and began retracing his steps. The shorter clown shouted after him.

"I'm Tino! What's your name?"

Gilbert granted him a wave of his hand without glancing backwards.

"Gilbert."

He turned the corner.

Gilbert was right back where he started; he had no idea where the ringmaster was but he had relied on blind luck so far and he was too proud to ask the clowns for more specific directions.

The tourists seemed to be slowly trickling out but there were still too many people milling about the grounds. The show must be over but no one would be leaving for at least an hour or so. At least most of them skirted around him.

There were forgotten sweets coating the ground and the odd article of clothing but that was to be expected. He was stepping over a lost tie when someone stormed out of the tent to his left and almost ran into him.

"All you had to do was pull the bloody rabbit out of the hat!" He was blonde with substantial furrowed eyebrows poised over brilliant green eyes. He was waving a wand as he ranted. "Hat. Rabbit. Hat! Rabbit! What is so hard about that?"

Another blonde came running out after him wearing an overabundance of sequins and glitter. Most men, or women for that matter, would have been uncomfortable dressed like that but he seemed perfectly at home in the outfit.

"My sweet! I was simply distracted by your lovely visage!"

"Francis, I am this close to killing you and hiding the body, mark my words. This close!"

"Arthur! How you've wounded me!"

"Not yet but when I get my hands on you…"

The first blonde, Arthur, turned and started chasing the sequined man, Francis, through the crowd. The two of them disappeared and Gilbert watched them go. He sighed.

Magicians.

Gilbert slouched against one of the tents and wondered if his brother was worried. He probably was.

His feet were a bit sore but he had been in worse circumstances. Much, much worse. He knew that this, at least, was an ache that would come to pass but he still just wanted to give up. He wanted to go home and curl up beneath warm covers and forget about finding the ringmaster but... He did not have a home. Not until he found the ringmaster and secured work for the two of them. The circus was his home and so, right now, he was homeless.

Gilbert was still leaning against the canvas tent when he heard that wet sound of fabric tearing. He glanced right to see the shining blade of a knife piercing the tent two inches from his skull.

"Son of a…" He leapt from the tent.

"Natalia!" Someone from within the tent shouted before switching to a rapid foreign language he did not understand. Her voice was panicked.

He was still touching his scalp, checking for injuries, when two women emerged from the tent. The first one was beautiful but her expression would have even Berwald running for the hills; the adorable bow in her hair could not compete with the two dangerous knives clutched between her fingers. The second woman was anxious and possessed the largest pair of breasts he had ever seen. Her short hair was held in place with a headband.

"I'm sorry! We're sorry! We're so, so, so sorry!" The second one was almost tripping over herself apologizing and if Gilbert had been upset before, it was hard to be now; she seemed sincere. The one with the knives did not seem apologetic at all and she pressed her finger against one of the blades as she stared at him to prove the point. He wondered if she had been aiming for him.

"That's alright, Miss…?" He waited for her to fill in her name. If he wanted to work here it was better for him to know as many of the performers as he happened to, literally, bump into. Which had been quite a few so far now that he thought about it…

"Oh, how impolite of me! My name is Yekaterina, or Katyusha for short, and this is my younger sister Natalia."

He wondered if he should explain that 'Katyusha' was not much shorter than 'Yekaterina' but decided against it. Natalia was still fondling the knife and she might just be waiting for an excuse to use it. He would hate to be the one to give her that excuse.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." And his brother thought he had no manners. Granted, it was easier to be polite around attractive women. "Can you point me towards the ringmaster?"

It was a matter of pride to ask Berwald for directions but another matter entirely to ask Katyusha.

"Ah, you're almost there." She pointed left. "Keep walking east and turn right at the tent with the blue polka dots. It is the red tent at the end with the yellow flag on top."

Tourists thought that the dreadful, tasteless coloured tents were there to dazzle and amaze them but their true purpose was for directions. Otherwise, the performers would never be able to find their costumes or props or even their own tents.

He thanked her and backed up without turning his back to the women and presenting a clear target. He held his hands out in front of him as if dealing with a wild, dangerous animal. Katyusha seemed confused but he was not turning his back on Natalia while she still had two more knives in her hand.

He was not suicidal.

He was beginning to wish that he had left his pack with his brother but it was too late to go back now. Gilbert was not even sure where he was anymore, never mind where he had left his brother. Ludwig would be worried about him now, if he had not been before, and it was heart wrenching.

Gilbert decided would find the ringmaster first and then deal with the remaining issues, such as locating his brother, in order of importance. He was sort of impressed that his voice of reason was overwhelming all of the other voices in his head. It was rare.

He ran his fingers over the tents as he walked by; keeping an eye out for blue polka dots, and relished the familiar texture beneath his fingers.

It was quieter at this end of the grounds. These must be the personal tents rather than those used in performances.

He caught sight of the blue polka dots, although it was more turquoise than blue, and hurried towards the tent. Each step made his pack little lighter and his feet a little less swollen; he was almost there.

He turned the corner, expecting to see the red tent, and instead found a charging horse heading straight for him.

"Get out of the way, you idiot! Get out of the way!" There was a woman in an emerald dress chasing after the rogue horse, waving her arms, but it was background noise to the feral animal about to trample him.

His life did not flash before his eyes; this was not a cliché. Instead, he had a moment to regret his wasted afternoon before someone wrapped their fingers around his wrist and hauled him out of the horse's path. The two of them fell backwards onto the dirt with a 'whumph' of dust and grime. He had dropped his pack at some point.

The horse went galloping past and the woman went screaming after it.

He just sort of laid there with his eyes still closed, listening to the horse in the distance, and wondered at his luck. It was a conundrum; was he unlucky because there was a horse or lucky because someone had grabbed him in time? He snuggled against them and listened to their heartbeat.

It was hammering against their ribcage but Gilbert was sure that his own was tapping out a tango rhythm.

It was good to be alive.

"Ummm… Excuse me? You're, um, crushing me."

Gilbert allowed himself one last moment of peace before raising himself up with his arms so that he was hovering over them; still touching but without the weight. He opened his mouth to make some tongue-in-cheek comment but all of his clever words died on his lips.

The most beautiful man he had ever seen was pressed against him, covered in dirt and scrapes, and blushing.

"Well, damn."

Author's Notes:

Oh, I went there. The circus is in town.

Sometimes I am just sitting there, unfocused, and entire stories just appear out of nowhere. Bam! This one appeared like that. There was no precursor; it just sprang to life without permission (I have a dozen other pieces that need attention). The scene, the characters; it was all in place before I had even realized what had happened. I think our subconscious mind, or mine at least, entertains ideas and weaves plots together behind our backs. And then it jumps me in the darkness of a back lane…

This piece is set in the late 1800s or perhaps the beginning of the 1900s. The circus was a constant during that timeframe so an exact date does not matter so much. It is set in Europe because it allows a travelling circus more cities to travel to and from.

Yes, this is PrussiaxCanada. You know me so well. Yes, This is another piece that introduces a lot of side characters.

Yes, I know Tired of Waiting is still, well, waiting. I had thought that everyone else had lost interest in it as well but there has been quite a bit of interest as of late so I am deconstructing it and continuing. There is no point if I am not pleased with it. The next two chapters of it are written so this week or the next I will start setting aside time to lace it back together. This piece, on the other hand, is easy and fun. I have mapped most of it out (which I learnt after ToW) and I have written a quarter of it before even posting it here. But I like it, I am proud of it, and I wanted to share.

I hope you like it too.

Please leave a review and feel free to offer opinions, advice, or criticism. All are welcome. You are free to leave an anonymous review, I do not mind, just please let me know what you think of this piece.