Fuck Yeah Hetalia!

He stopped his horse in front of the small church that the address indicated. The main bell tower was missing, its stones still piled high but the marks of destruction and abandonment still very much clear, and there was man on top of the roof fixing a part that was caved in. At the front, inspecting the work, was the priest in his dark robes.

“Good day, Father,” Arthur called, and the priest turned, frowning at him like the rest of the villagers. “My name is Arthur Kirkland, Lieutenant Colonel or the British Army.” He dismounted under the priest’s watchful eyes and produced a letter from the inner pocket of his coat. “I served under Lord Wellington. I was a Lieutenant then, of the 95th Foot Division. I am searching for a man, his name is Gabriel da Costa, he was a Lieutenant of the 3rd Caçadores Division. We served together, but I’m afraid I lost contact with him after the civil war. This parish is his last known address. I was hoping you might be able to help me find my friend.”

The priest’s face opened with understanding the moment Gabriel’s name was mentioned and he received Arthur’s letter in his hands, reading over the lines quickly, before folding it again and handing it back.

“I’m afraid you are out of luck, Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Kirkland of the British Army,” he said not unkindly, putting the letter back on Arthur’s hand and giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “I have not seen Gabriel in two years.”

“But you have seen him, sir?” Arthur insisted, holding on tight to his letter. “After the civil war?”

The priest nodded. “Last I heard he had taken a job in the colonies.”

Hope filled his stomach and Arthur had to restrain himself not to smile. “Which colonies?”

“Goa, if I’m not mistaken. He has a cousin who works for the Governor. I might have his name here somewhere.”

“Please, Father, if you would be so kind. I have spent many years trying to find him. Anything that might help me locate him would be of great value to me.”

The priest looked at him in silence, then nodded, waving a hand at him indicating that he should follow as the priest turned and headed inside the small church. “He must be a good friend of yours,” was the priest’s only comment, and Arthur bowed his head before entering the quiet cold halls.

He was.

-

The winter of 1810 was brutal on the troops. Chasing after the retreating French Army and battling against constant torrents of rain and half rations. When he received his approval for a three-day leave in Lisbon, Arthur’s first reaction was to cross the camp to the Portuguese side and barge into Gabriel’s tent.

“I got mine, did you get yours?”

Gabriel was just finishing with the buttons on his brown uniform and grinned when he saw him, looking at him over his shoulder, pulling his hair from under his coat and grabbing his approval letter from his things to show him as well.

“Pack your things, Kirkland, we’re going to Lisbon,” Gabriel said lively, grabbing Arthur’s face and giving his cheeks a kiss each in his excitement.

-

Through his uncle who worked for the East India Company, Arthur managed to be transferred to serve in Bombay the following year, 1836, and he would remain in India until 1844. During that time, he greatly distinguished himself in the protection of the Crown’s interests. His contributions for the solidification of the Empire were acknowledged and awarded with a good, albeit small, fortune.

When his uncle died, having no other heirs, and being Arthur his favorite nephew, he left him his estate in Norfolk.

During his eight years in India, Arthur never once stopping looking for his long lost Portuguese friend. But after his uncle died, Arthur sat alone in his room, heavy-hearted and grieving, and decided it was maybe time to go home.

-

Lisbon during the war was a mess of British and Portuguese soldiers, fidalgos that were left behind when the royal family escaped to Brazil, common folk and refugees from other parts of the country that sought protection behind the city’s walls. It was bursting with life in every corner, balls held to entertain the British officers, the opera, the theaters, the bars of every kind, the brothels. They said the best girls were hiding in the convents and Gabriel told him he knew a guy who knew a guy that could get them inside one. Arthur was 19 and this was his first time away from England. Everything was new, the people, the language, the war. His bones ached from the marching and his stomach longed for good and plentiful food, and he did not want to waste any second of these precious three days of leave with something as mundane as sleeping.

After finding a hotel room for the two of them in the crowded city, the trashiest place Arthur had ever set foot on, with creaking floorboards and leaks everywhere, but with two very real beds that felt too soft for someone who had spent the majority of the last two years on his feet or sleeping on the hard ground wrapped on his coat, Gabriel took him to a bar where they had to elbow their way inside and yell to get the barmaid’s attention. But finally Gabriel put a tankard of ale in front of him and offered a shouting toast that was accompanied by the soldiers around them that happened to hear.

“To the best friend life has ever given me!”

-

In April 1847, a few years after he had established himself in Norfolk, he woke up in the middle of the night with pain radiating from his left knee. It was not an unusual occurrence; he had been injured in India years before and the injury had never properly healed. He limped his way down the stairs and into the darkened kitchens and sent a quick prayer of gratitude for the lumps of coal still warm he found in the stove. He would make himself some tea and use some of the warm water to relieve the stiffness on his knee.

But as he pulled some old newspapers from a basket to rekindle the fire, his eyes fell on an outdated advert from weeks before.

Gabriel O. G. da Costa

R. de São Jorge 201, Lisbon, Portugal

IS prepared to pay a handsome reward for

good and helpful information

in finding a friend.

-

They decided to spend their first night in the city going from one bar to the next, to the next, to the next, and drink as much as their wallets would allow. Inevitably, by the fifth bar Arthur’s nerves were itching for a fight and the first git to step on his toes, drunk out of his mind raving about how much better and cleaner Madrid was in comparison to Lisbon, Gabriel’s face contrite with annoyance, Arthur had thrown the first punch and the crowd had cheered them on as he the other solider viciously rolled around the filthy floors of the bar, people placing bets and shouting excitedly above them.

Gabriel tried to break that fight and received a punch in the face for his troubles, and from there on out the fight escalated to a full out brawl. He dragged Gabriel out by the collar of his undershirt, ducking under flying fists and kicking legs to get them out into the cold quiet of the steep cobblestone streets. Arthur would forever remember laughing outside like an absolute lunatic, holding a hand around his stomach where the soldier had caught him and spitting out a little blood, Gabriel’s jaw rapidly swelling and purpling from the punch.

“Why did you do that?” Gabriel asked, still a little winded, but grinning, looking at Arthur with his eyes so brilliant, the street’s oil lamps casting everything around them in yellow light. But Arthur just shrugged, trying to stand straight but wincing, laughing again. He then felt Gabriel’s cold hands on his face, making him face him. He looked so deeply into his eyes, quiet for a moment that seemed to last forever, that Arthur felt helpless, completely at his mercy. And maybe it was the alcohol in their blood, maybe it was the euphoria from the fight. But when Gabriel leaned down to kiss him, he immediately knew what was going to happen and pulled him forth with his hand fisted in his shirt.

They stumbled back to their hotel, hands unable to keep to themselves, lips red from their frantic, incessant kissing. They made a ruckus of pushing their two single beds together and received thumps on the walls from other guests for that, but to them it didn’t matter. Between uncoordinated hands and breathless gasps, they undid buttons and laces and undressed each other, falling on the joined beds smiling and giddy, having eyes and ears only for each other.

Not a second of their three-day leave was laid to waste.

-

Arthur paced the hall restlessly, hands clasped behind his back. He had grown tired of checking the time. He had woken up that day checking for the time and knew it would do him no good. When he could no longer bear the wait, he decided to take his dogs for a long walk in the fields around the estate, and asked his maid to get the dogs ready and his valet to fetch his boots.

Either by fate or coincidence, the moment he stopped waiting was when he heard the screech of a carriage outside his front entrance. He jumped in front of the servant who went to answer the door, wrenching it open and taking to the two short steps to the gravel, while at the same time the door to the carriage opened and a man of similar age and stature hurried out, his hair still long but less brown than he remembered, his nose still very sturdy, his black suit and long black coat of high quality wool, so very different from his old brown Caçador uniform, but it was, unmistakably, Gabriel.

“I found you,” Gabriel whispered as he met him, his hands framing Arthur's cheeks, his green eyes watering with emotion. “I searched for you for so long.”

And Arthur could only close his eyes and laugh, weakly, pathetically, water building behind his closed eyelids. Gabriel pressed his forehead against his and Arthur pressed back, leaning into him, smiling so openly, with so much relief and gratitude, closing his hands around his back.