Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews, alerts and faves! :D I come bearing news.

Goods news and bad news. The good news is I've decided to turn this into a multi-chapter short story. The bad news is while I have everything figured out I won't have time to write it. OH IMPENDING EXAMS, WHY MUST THERE BE SIX OF YOU? At least I don't have eight...

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) or the Prime Minister Stephen Harper.

Claimer: This fic is mine pft.

April 28th – 12:03 AM

"Hey Birdie..."

Matthew flinched at the sound of his nickname. "I thought you had head trauma."

Gilbert grinned and leaned on his elbows, eyes burning into Matthew. "Yeah, but the awesome me can't be kept down by such a silly injury."

Matthew didn't say anything. He just pulled himself over the ledge of the window and landed quietly beside Gilbert's bed. There was a moment of silence—Matthew refused to meet Gilbert's eyes, and Gilbert was shifting over in his bed, making room for Matthew to sit down.

"You didn't push me as hard as you could have."

Resigned, Matthew took the spot next to Gilbert, his back facing him. "How did you get hurt anyway?"

"First I crashed into the wall after I lost my footing, and then I hit the back of my head on the edge of a dumpster."

"That still shouldn't do anymore than give you a headache..." he muttered.

"Heh." The sound of Gilbert's sad but condescending voice startled Matthew, but he didn't show it. "I know you're smart enough to figure it out."

"So this is the effect of being a dissolved nation."

"Yeah," Gilbert yawned into his palm. "Oh well, I'll still recover, even if it's not as fast as before."

"So... what now?"

"What happened to your hands?"

Matthew glanced at his hands, eyes drooped, face nonchalant. "I broke my phone. It was an accident."


It startled Matthew how accusing Gilbert's voice sounded. He was suspicious. Of course. Who wouldn't be?

Careful Matthew.

Mindful Matthew.

Docile Matthew.

Gentle Matthew.

That was who he was supposed to be, and for the longest time, he was happy being those things. But now, something inside of Matthew broke. Everything he had bottled up in chains imploded from within, and to his despair, his thoughts were filled with schemes.

Last night, he had been plotting Gilbert's death.


"Hey Matt." An arm snaked its way around his waist.


"I really am sorry you know."

Matthew felt the bed shift and Gilbert's chin rest on his left shoulder, his cold breath sending chills down his spine. When he didn't make any objections, Gilbert wrapped his other arm around his torso, effectively locking him against his chest.

"I know, Gil," Matthew barely managed to choke out. It was strange. Seconds ago he could have skinned an infant, but now he was filled with an odd melancholy. It was the same feeling as before after he had thought about starting WW III after killing Gilbert. "I know."

"I was an idiot," Gilbert murmured his neck.

"Yeah," Matthew agreed absentmindedly. That same feeling grew until it overtook his breathing, and he began taking deeper and shorter breaths. It was so familiar, and he was sure he felt it before. But he couldn't put a name on it. What is this? I know I know it...

"Hey," Gilbert asked, concerned at Matthew's abnormal breathing. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing." Matthew broke out of Gilbert's hold and stumbled to the floor, barely holding himself up with his elbows.

"Woah! Birdie, what's wrong?" Gilbert began mentally panicking. He was stuck to the bed with IV in his left hand and Matthew looked like he was about to collapse on the floor. Screw this. His mind made up, Gilbert ripped the IV out and launched himself from the bed and beside Matthew. His first instinct urged him to support Matthew by helping him sit up.

"I-I'm okay, Gil..."

"Like hell you are!"

"Keep your voice d-down," Matthew scolded. "I-it won't do either of us g-good if someone saw me in here."

"Right. Sorry." For a moment, Matthew seemed to have regained his strength before he slumped limply against Gilbert's hold. Gilbert would have thought he died if it weren't for the fact that his eyes were still open and blinking.

"It's going to be okay, Matt, I swear." Matthew was effortlessly lifted from the ground and plopped down into the white hospital bed. "We're going to be okay."

4:30 AM

Matthew's eyes blinked open. He was oddly warm, but that warmth wasn't unfamiliar. When his eyes didn't focus, he realized that he had had a fit awhile ago and was still in the hospital—judging by all the white surrounding him.


Where were his glasses? When he scaled the wall of the hospital he had been wearing glasses, not contacts.

He closed his left eye and immediately saw an outline of his glasses beside the pillow. He quietly slipped out of Gilbert's arms and strode over to the window he came through.

When he lost consciousness, he had dreamt about a past event in his life that reminded him of what that particular chest constricting feeling was. I can't stay here. I have to get to Parliament. Now.

"Goodbye Gilbert," he whispered. "I hope we'll meet again."

The stirring figure was his cue to leave, and he slid the window closed gently before quickly climbing to the back of the building on the ledge and making his way down. He didn't need to risk an earlier jogger seeing him.

The steps needed to carry out his plan needed to be completed in less than twenty-four hours. Usually he'd have more time—at least a week—but it seemed that his relapse was much more spontaneous.

Step One: Inform Kumajirou of the situation and get him a month's supply of food. It may stink up his house but it had to be done.

Matthew ran a few blocks to a public parking lot where his car awaited him. He got in, turned on the ignition and sped his way out of there forgoing all traffic laws. It was too early for police to be around these areas anyhow.

Not the smartest decision, but certainly the fastest.

He reached his house by five o'clock and flung the front door open. I have got to remember to lock my door...

"Kumagi!" Matthew called. "Where are you?"

A black nose followed by a fluffy white head poked out from the living room entrance. "Who?"

"Matthew, the person that feeds you. No time to talk, Kumachi, it's happening again." Matthew picked up his polar bear, or at least tried to before he realized how much bigger Kumajirou was. Right, when this happened Kumajirou would always grow two or three times. "Follow me."

Matthew with Kumajirou at his heel descended into the basement where Matthew usually kept his stock of food in case of emergencies.

"No good," he muttered to himself. "There's only enough to last you two weeks."


"Remember what happened thirty years ago in April?" Matthew crouched in front of Kumajirou. "And twenty years before that?"

"Yes. You left me for three weeks."

Well, when his bear put it like that... "But I always came back. And it's happening again now, so I'm asking you, please be patient and don't leave this house."

Kumajirou's eyes drooped, but he understood. "Yes."

"Thank you." He gave Kumajirou a long hug and buried his face into the soft fur. It was so warm... "I'll be back soon, I promise."

The sentimental moment over, Matthew and Kumajirou headed back up stairs. There was no time to restock Kumajirou's food supply, so he would trust someone from the government that knew of his situation with the job.

"Don't let anyone in unless they know the password."

Matthew was at the front door in no time, checking his pockets to make sure everything was there.


"Not him. If he comes around tell him that I'm too busy and my boss asked to see me for an emergency meeting."

Matthew didn't see the way Kumajirou's eyes lowered to the floor. "How long?"

"To be on the safe side tell him I won't be in for the next month or so."

"Too long," it came out barely whispered, but Matthew still picked it up. He finished his checklist and smiled at Kumajirou.

"For a meeting? Yeah, I know. Ummm..." He wrecked his brain for ideas, but could come up with nothing. "Tell him anything you can think of. Tell him I'm not feeling well if he comes back or whatever—just that I need to stay at Parliament."

"What if—"

"No time, Kuma. I have to go. Make sure no one follows me!"

The door slammed shut and the lock clicked.

Kumajirou stared at the door for a few minutes. He knew that person would come back sooner or later to feed him. But he couldn't stand this perpetual feeling of loneliness. And it didn't help that he prohibited him from having any human contact until he returned.

Not even that Gilbert guy.


9:44 AM

It took him forever to get to his boss's office, and even more time since security was called. He didn't expect to see a newcomer once he burst through the doors, and when he yelled at her to get out of the way and it was an emergency, she screamed and called security.

It didn't take long for the security guards to recognize him, but it still hindered him. By the time he got to Harper's office, he fell to the floor in a spasm.

There were shocked gasps and the paramedics were almost called before Harper stopped them. He had never seen anything like it before; Matthew was convulsing with seizure like movements, his head smashing against the floor—but he was talking, giving them instructions on what to do whilst yelling at people to get out.

Most people cleared out on Harper's command and Matthew was left alone with Harper and a few secret service members. They knew who he was and about his condition.

Alan Hayes was forty-three and had assisted Matthew before. He was given the details of Matthew's condition a few years ago when it was suspected to going to repeat. But of course, no one had seen it until now. Well, all expect one retired secret service member that was called back. He arrived in record time.

Sebastian Veal was his name, and he was seventy years old. When he saw what was happening to the blonde he immediately knew what to do.

Granted, they may have been able to handle the situation on their own, but having someone with experience was much more comforting. Especially since no one was sure how to carry them out.

Matthew was taken into the basement of the building. Only a few select people in the country knew of the tunnels connecting Parliament building to Langevin Block. It was essentially a network of underground communication systems that spanned from Ottawa to Toronto. They were still under construction as of today, but because the need for one was unlikely to ever rise again, progress was slow.

The only reason it was still in progress was because of Canada's condition. A nation spirit's well-being may be connected with their respected countries, but they were still individuals with their own life. And Matthew's was fading.

It took a great deal of effort to restrain Matthew and two CSIS members were kicked and punched before they grabbed a hold of his arms and legs, lifting him through the tunnels. It seemed that it was true that Matthew's condition was chronic, because awaiting them a few dozen metres down the first tunnel was a first-aid kit and a note.

A note with further instructions that were probably written by Matthew himself.

Sebastian quickly swiped the note and barked an order to Alan to take the first-aid kit. He quickly scanned the paper and said, "Drop the boy."


"Hurry up and drop him!"


"To the floor, now!"

They did as told and set Matthew on the dirt ground. It wasn't long before he began foaming at the mouth. The only face that didn't look shell shocked was Sebastian. It didn't take a fool to guess that they probably had a million questions rushing through their mind right now, and no one there was a fool.

"This note," Sebastian began, "outlines everything we need to do from here on. Memorize it and follow it to the dot." He then handed it to Alan.

The CSIS members all seemed have accepted their job with a resigned face. Their first time meeting their country's spirit and they had to see him dying.

What was happening to their country?


Sebastian nodded curtly. He knew Matthew had started thrashing again. This time much more violently than before. He frequently tried to get up but only succeeded in smashing his forehead into the ground. No one moved a muscle.

"What do we do now, sir?"

Sebastian motioned for the CSIS members to clear from Matthew and make room for the thrashing boy. "As cruel as it seems, our job does not start here. We must wait for him to stop on his own."

Shocked faces stared at him in question: Why?

He sighed. "I'm sorry to say that I don't know how to cure this. The last time this happened I was like you as well."

"What about a doctor? We can get one here in—"

"I'm sorry Mr. Harper," Sebastian interrupted. "But Mr. Williams' condition is highly confidential, top secret if I do say so myself, and no one else must know about this."

"Not even..."

"I'm sorry, but doctors are not an exception," Sebastian backed up a few steps and slumped against the wall. His age was taking a toll on him and never did he think he would have to witness his nation die—again. "I suggest you all take a seat. Mr. Harper, you may go back if you would like. We are capable of handling everything from here."

Harper looked like he wanted to leave, but at the same time he was torn. Damn it, this was his country and he was the boss, he was supposed to be preventing things like this from happening.

He felt responsible.

He shook his head, "I'm staying. It's the least I can do. And besides, he did come running to me so that must mean my being here is somehow significant, right?"

Sebastian nodded idly. "I suppose so. By the way, cellphone signals do get through here, so it would probably be best if you send an email or text message to someone and let them know you haven't been kidnapped."

Harper let out a strained and joyless laugh. "That would be smart."

The rest of the CSIS members all followed Sebastian's example and took a seat, far, far away from Matthew.

Two hours passed.

Matthew hadn't stopped screaming.

While Sebastian was only reminded how slow this process was, he showed no other signs of disturbance. The other secret service members also could handle it relatively well.

But the Prime Minister... he didn't look too good.

Whether it was from a mixture of guilt, horror or disgust, they didn't know.

Many times someone spoke up and tried to get him to leave, reassuring that Matthew was in good hands, but Harper refused to budge. This display of perseverance was impressive, and they had to give him props for that.

But the worst had yet to come.

On that note was a list of all the stages Matthew would have to go through. He looked like he was in his third.

The first two were just the tip of the iceburg. The third stage, as emphasized by the capitals, was to last six hours.

By the time this ordeal was over, at least three days will have passed. Food and water would be supplied by other CSIS members from Toronto, and the team here would meet them one kilometre away to collect the supplies.

And although there were no showers, bathrooms were installed and there was one every five kilometres. The upkeep of them... was another story.

8:45 AM

"Mr. Weillschmidt, how are you feeling?"

Gilbert had half the nerve to glare at the nurse. "Fine."

She took the hint and didn't bother asking him more courtesy questions. Instead she just left his medication and a glass of water on a table left of his bed and left the room. "You're very lucky." He heard her whisper as she closed the door.

Lucky, sure.

Birdie, why did you leave again?

There are tunnels because I really really really want there to be a labyrinth underneath Parliament hill. So bad ;A; Thank you for reading! Reviews are loved -hinthintnudgenudge-

Oh and! Poll on my profile on what I should write after this!