So sorry for anyone that was hoping for more from my other story, 'Effort of One'. During the writing of the second chapter, I felt like a horrible, horrible person for hypothetically killing thousands of people, and got depressed, so I stopped writing it. Maybe I'll continue it someday, but for now, I'm going to work on this! A nice, happy, bloody tale of romance and kidnapping! Please enjoy~! RussUs gogogo~!

A blonde man closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. He reached up and took off his glasses, leaning backwards in his chair and putting a hand over his eyes. His mind buzzed, so full of thought he couldn't focus on any single one...Letting his body begin to relax, he tried to force himself into a well needed sleep, to forget everything for a couple of hours, and let his unconscious mind sort everything out. Alas, slipping into that would-be blissful world of sleep was impossible. In an anxious need to move about, the man stood up and began walking in slow circles around his room, some wider, some narrower. He stared down at his feet, the process a lulling one, consuming the time aimlessly.

"I'm the United States of America, Alfred F. Jones..." he muttered quietly to himself, his tone dull. "Land of the Free...Home of McDonald's, and apple pie..." he told himself, "Pie...Pie sounds kinda good." he sluggishly change his path towards the door.

Outside his room the hall met him like a dark maze, but after groping the wall for the light switch, the maze disappeared and turned into his familiar hallway, with it's blue wallpaper and beige carpeting. America shuffled towards his kitchen, letting his feet drag on the carpet. He starting humming 'Amazing Grace', mumbled the lyrics slightly.

"...That's saved, a wretch, like me...I once was lost...But now, am found, was blind, but now I see," he sang quietly, opening his fridge and taking out a tin of a half eaten pie. Staring at it for a moment, he put it back and took out instead a Styrofoam container with a leftover burrito inside, deciding it sounded much better than pie did...After taking it over to the counter to find a plate to heat it up on, he realized the burrito had gone bad. Staring sadly into the white box, he closed the box and set it on top of his nearly full trashcan...He saluted it before heading back to the fridge to get the pie again. "The hero swoops in to save the pie from the evil food rotting God, preparing to hide each bite in his slim and sexy tummy!" he narrated, more energetic than before.

A hand clasped over his mouth suddenly, America lunged forward, out of shock and an attempt to break free. The assailant yanked him back with surprising force, gripping now one of his arms, America slammed his elbow back into the attacker's stomach, hearing a loud grunt, and the grasp around him loosened just enough America could dash forward a couple steps to distance himself from the attacker. Spinning around with his fists balled in anger, he caught only a momentary glimpse of his accoster.

The sound of metal on skin resonated in America's head, he doubled over, grasping his forehead and taking a few shaky steps backwards...Blood slipped through his fingers, and before he could regain his composure, he was hit across the head once more and he collapsed. His body made a muffled 'thunk' as his body hit the tiled surface, his blood dripping onto the clean tiles.

The assailant tucked away the small gun he'd used to knock out America into his pocket, glad he hadn't had to shoot down the man to get him to 'comply'. He knelt down and turned the unconscious man onto his stomach, taking a short length of thin but sturdy rope, and tying down America's arms. He grabbed America's ankles and dragged him out of the kitchen, and out of his home.

A man with glimmering purple eyes smirked as a gun was pointed to his head.

"You will not kill me. Even if I do not give you whatever you want, you will still need me alive, da?" the gun was lowered slightly, and the purple eyed man's grin widened. "Now, what is it you wan-"

BANG!

The man put a hand over his stomach, feeling his fingers wet with a warm liquid...The smile faded from his face as he collapsed.

America felt himself being shaken lightly, a pair of hands on his shoulders...His head was pounding, he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. His whole body ached, he could feel each pulse of blood go through him. Now, he heard someone calling out, still trying to rouse him.

"A-ahn..." was the only noise that escaped his mouth when he tried to tell whoever was pestering him to back off. After he took a second to realize that croak had been him, he realized how dry his throat was. He decided to force himself awake, thinking maybe he could get some water from whoever had been trying to wake him up. His eyes met purple, he stared into them for a moment before the other looked away, sat up, and stopped looming over him.

"I see they captured you as well," the other man said monotonously. America stared up at him blankly. "I doubt you will know for what reason we were kidnapped? Another political statement? I assume our captors are humans." again, America only stared at him, his confusion growing. Don't tell me he though I was the one who kidnapped him, Russia though, Like I would have any use for such a helpless...His thoughts trailed off. "America, you are looking more stupid than you usually do."

"America...? Is that my name?"

Russia sat hunched over his knees, a hand on his forehead. America had...had forgotten everything. Russia could tell from the blood down the blonde's face and shirt that he'd been hit in the head, or shot. After examining him a little closer, Russia found to exiting wound on America's head, and figured he'd only been hit...Though, hit with rather excessive force. It wasn't like it would kill either of them, neither would a gunshot wound, though such a wound could easily maim their human half. But Russia had never heard of a nation losing their memory. There were plenty of things he'd like to forget...But, to lose their memory would mean to a nation losing their history. And without his history...Was this even America anymore? Or just Alfred?

Russia sighed. He was alone in figuring out how to save them...What could they do? America was useless...Should he just leave him behind? No, he'd never hear the end of it from England if he left America. Maybe he could...No, but what if he...?

Russia stopped and stood up, breathing in slowly. He could handle this. He'd been alone for long enough, he didn't need help, and certainly not help from America. It would be easy to get out of this. All he had to do was stop and sort out his thoughts. This was nothing. Nothing at all! He would be able to get out in a matter of hours, if left to his own devices.

...But with that stupid, whining American? Russia slouched forward. No, no he couldn't get out of here with that guy holding him back. Perhaps it was best if he did leave him...

"Hey, dude, is there any water in here? My throat's killing me," America asked, looking up at Russia. Russia glared at him. They were hostages, the idiot, why would they be given water? "And dude, your coat looks totally disgusting, why're you covered in blood?"

"..You are as well," Russia bit back the 'moron' he wanted to add to it. America looked down at himself, and sure enough he was a trail of blood running down his shirt.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You are really stupid, da? If I knew I would have said so before now," Russia muttered, glancing up at the window near the ceiling, their only light source. A faint light came in from it's round opening...But it was small. Neither him or America would be able to fit more than a head and should out of it, even if they found a way to climb up high enough to reach the window. A grunt interrupted his thoughts.

"You are so not helpful, dude," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head, then moving his hand to scratch at the flaking dry blood around the wound on his forehead. "...Are you still hurt?" he asked, realizing his wound had all but scabbed over and stopped bleeding, though the other man's may not have.

"I am fine. Don't worry your pretty little head, you might give yourself a headache," Russia replied. He felt the glare from America without needing to see it.

"Alright fine! See if I care if you bleed to death!"

Russia turned and met America's glare with an intense stare, and smiled. America's gaze didn't falter, though his pounding head refrained him from getting up and giving the guy a what for.

"Perhaps if you weren't pathetic enough to lose your memory from such a trivial wound you would remember that neither you nor I will die from such a wound," Russia growled. America pondered the thought for a moment.

"Oh...That's cool then!" he laughed happily, his worry now gone, but instantaneously replaced with pain. He clutched his head and leant forward, "Ow, ow, ow, ow..." he hissed to himself, laughing was definitely not a good idea. Russia turned away from him, placing a hand over his stomach. The bullet had gone through cleanly, which was good, but the fact that he'd been shot at all was bad. It took him all his energy be able to stand, though most of the bleeding had stopped. He was light headed, the blood loss ebbing away his strength. Pushing aside his ailments, Russia examined the near empty room. There was a mildewy cardboard box in the corner, but the only thing inside it was an equally mildewy rag.

Russia then remembered something...His scarf was gone. No wonder he'd felt so exposed...Why had they taken that? Did they think he was going to strangle America with it? ..Well, he couldn't say he'd never thought about it...But they had stripped him of near everything. All he had left was his clothes and a small wilting sunflower in his pocket. Looking back at a very dazed America, he now saw his glasses had been taken, which meant his pockets were probably emptied as well. They had nothing to work with...Unless America wanted to eat the sunflower.

A clicking noise at the door alerted the two injured men, it was being unlocked. It was slammed open, a man walked in slowly, with precise steps, and his arms folded behind his back. Russia took a subtle step backwards, hoping it went unnoticed, as he felt the need for the support of the wall to stand, though he stayed as tall as he could.

"Good evening, gentlemen," a scratchy yet slick voice greeted them, deep and composed. "You two were rather pricey to track down, especially you, Mister Braginski."

Russia smiled slightly. "I'm sorry you had to be injured, but I presumed neither of you would come without a strife. I'm sure you'll understand the necessity of all this, of course."

"Actually, we do not. You will explain this to us, da?" Russia asked, retaining that smile of his, silently praying that America didn't speak up and give away that he'd lost his memory...Who knew how this man would react to it.

"Oh. I hope you would be more intelligent. It's really not complicated to figure out, but I suppose I got my hopes up," Russia wrinkled his nose a bit at the insult, deepening his grin and tilting his head slightly. Instead, he focused on the man's accent...It was mixed, for sure. He couldn't place it...The more he thought about it, the more he doubted whatever conclusion he came to. How many languages did that man speak? "If I must explain it to you...I would like you to tell me all about your countries. You see, we searched both your homes, but neither of you had left any sensitive documents lying about., did you?" Neither replied.

America looked at the man, befuddled. Why would he think he has 'sensitive' information? Was he that important? From all he could remember, he lived a perfectly normal, America life. Was he named after his country? That could be the only explanation for what the Braginski guy had called him. Still...That didn't explain why he should have any information about the United States of America.

"Mr. Jones, you've been quiet for a while now. Have you nothing to say to me? No questions?"

"...Jones? Hold on a sec, I thought my name was America," Russia felt his hands grow cold...There went any hope of hiding America's apparent amnesia.

"Mr. Jones, surely you aren't dense enough to not remember your own name?" the man inquired, his voice slightly exasperated. America now held his tongue, trying to connect the dots in his mind and solve the puzzle that was now his life.

Their captor solved the puzzle before America could. An ominous shadow crossed his face as he came to grasp the answer within his palms...

"I see..."

I appreciate any reviews with corrections or anything~!