A/N: Um... I really am sorry for any OOC-ness that occurs here. And for how slow the begining is... I didn't know how to start this.

This fic was inspired by the song "Not For All the Love In The World" by The Thrills.

Also... I was looking for flowers that bloomed late and also in Russia, and couldn't find any. So... the flowers Lithuania ends up buying him are Yellow Wax Flowers.

Russia pushed Lithuania's hair out of his face and tried to smile. Poor little thing… He had suffered so much… The bruises on his eyes and the cracks on his lips spoke of his endless abuse, and the cracks in his hands remained as a mark of his dedication to senseless cleaning.

"Toris," Russia muttered, "Wake up."

Lithuania's eyes opened slowly. "Oh… Mr. Russia… I have work to do, don't I?"

"No. It's dark. I woke you up to move you."

"To move me?" Lithuania groaned slightly. "From what?"

"From the couch. To the bed."

"No, thank you…" Lithuania pulled the small pillow on the couch closer to him and curled up again. "I'm going to just… sleep now. Thank you, sir."

With a slight grunt, Russia slid his hands under Lithuania's body and lifted the smaller man off of the couch. Lithuania flailed slightly, then wrapped his arms around Russia's neck and pressed his face against the larger man's shoulder. The bed upstairs was soft and familiar. It smelled of them. They were inseparable at times, as much as Lithuania hated to admit it.

He would have liked to remain angry, to keep a grudge for at least a week, but his fury was fading with his bruise, and as Russia took his shoes and shirt off and pulled the blanket over them, Lithuania realized it was ultimately hopeless. He would simply have to let himself be held, and hold the other man in return.

The morning came with the smell of oat-meal and the sound of laughter. Nervous laughter, yes, but laughter none the less. Lithuania sat up, rubbing his eyes and wincing as he felt the side of his head. He sat up, sliding out of bed, careful not to disturb Russia.

The kitchen smelled like oatmeal and honey. Latvia and Estonia were sitting at the table exchanging conversation. Latvia saw him first and rushed to his side, "We need to keep Mr. Russia in a good mood."

"You've noticed it, no doubt," Estonia said, "Unless you've been entirely self absorbed…"

"Estonia…" Latvia muttered, hiding his face behind his hands in embarrassment, "It's not Lithuania's fault that Mr. Russia is mean to him…"

"He has been nice these past two days," Lithuania agreed. "I don't know why."

"Well, neither do we," Estonia replied, "But we want to do everything we can to keep him behaving like he has been. You know the drill."

Latvia nodded furiously, "So, see, I made breakfast."

"And we expect you to go and find something nice in the market today. Preferably now," Estonia added.

Lithuania fixed himself a small bowl of the porridge and sighed, "We shouldn't waste our time with this, brothers. He'll simply break again. We don't want to make it harder on ourselves…"

"It'll be harder only on you, Toris," Estonia said flatly. "So why don't you go the market and buy whatever flowers are in bloom this season and set them in the vase in his office. Protect your interests, as it were."

"Right. Though…" Lithuania looked out the window above the kitchen sink and watched the golden sun rising slowly higher into the sky, "With winter fast approaching, I don't think I'll be able to find many flowers."

"Please, Lithuania, for us, try," Latvia murmured, taking his plate to the sink and smiling slightly. "I think it will be better for us."

Lithuania sighed, nodding. "Fine. If you two think it'll make anything different, I'll go."

"Thank you," Estonia said quietly, "It really does help at times. He's temperamental."

"I know," Lithuania replied, taking the keys out of the coat draped across the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "I'll be back shortly."

It was always a bustle in town, especially in the market. The people were a broom, sweeping him forward and backwards. Occasionally, a man or woman would take the time to speak casually to him in passing. The shop-keepers were always friendly, and everything smelled familiar and somehow over-whelming.

The only flowers that were still for sale were strange, bell-like flowers imported from Japan. Everything else had died in the first frost, the salesman said. But Lithuania decided to buy a dozen of them anyway. Flowers were the standard, after all.

Lithuania had long given up on trying to change Russia. He knew it was an impossible dream. There was no way to punish him for bad behavior, and rewards for good were always lost on him. He was always the same, even though his mood changed as frequently as the weather.

Still… It was so sweet how the other two clung so desperately to the idea that Russia could ever be kind to them. Perhaps he could. 'Maybe,' Lithuania thought, sighing deeply, 'It's only me that Mr. Russia isn't kind to.' It couldn't be an impossibility, but then…

If Lithuania was the only one that Russia didn't like, then… why could he be so nice at times? Why did he say that he was in love with Lithuania? Why did he make himself so damn hard to hate? No. This was preposterous. He shouldn't be hard to hate. He was a complete monster four-fifths of the time.

On the way back, Lithuania couldn't help but wonder what kind of mood Russia would be in. Perhaps it would have been better if he had woken the other man up that morning… But he had wanted to save that memory; of Russia's sleep-tussled, white-blonde hair and peaceful face, his hands still and warm, not hurting anyone.

Lithuania finally reached the house, parked the car in the garage, and sat for a moment in silent reflection, then decided it was far past time to simply go into the house. He did, carrying the flowers close to him, almost protectively.

Latvia was sitting on the couch, his shoes off, and his hands covering his face, trembling as though he might break. Estonia and Russia were in the kitchen, and someone was whistling a tune. Latvia turned slightly as Lithuania closed the door, and then rushed to his side. "I'm glad you're back."

"What? Why?" Lithuania gently pulled Latvia off of him and stared, dumbfounded, at the swollen red marks on Latvia's face. The beginnings of painful, long lasting bruises. "Latvia…"

Latvia forced himself to smile, "You weren't here. But now you are."

Lithuania nodded dumbly and walked back to the couch with Latvia, sitting the boy on the sofa and then heading back into the kitchen. "Mr. Russia," he said quietly, "I'm home."

Russia spun around, a knife in hand. Lithuania took a quick, nervous step back. "Lithuania! How good to see you, да. I was cutting up the beets for lunch. Estonia is helping me. He's cutting onions, see?" Estonia's eyes were rimmed with red and he was sniffling slightly.

"I see, sir," Lithuania replied gently, "I'll take his place, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," Russia laughed slightly, "By all means."

Estonia nodded gratefully, taking a handful of ice out of the ice-chest as he left the kitchen. Lithuania set the flowers on the counter and then picked up the knife. "I bought you those, sir."

Russia's eyes widened, as did his smile. "Whatever for?"

"You… You were… Good. It doesn't matter. They're foreign flowers anyway. I couldn't get you what I know you'd want."

"The first frost came already, да. Nothing grows now."

Lithuania looked out the window and prayed again for the warmth that summer had briefly given them. It was all useless. "I know. I simply thought…"

"That was your mistake then. Thinking. You aren't good at it. You're very good at doing dishes and cooking and being my housekeeper. But you aren't good at thinking. Leave that to me and perhaps Estonia." Russia was chopping beets furiously, he knife flashing.

"I just thought I might be able to give you something you'd like, for being as good as you'd been to us."

"As I am to you, you mean?"

"If you want," Lithuania sighed, "But it doesn't all matter now."

"Why not?" Russia set the knife down and looked at Lithuania, his smile falling, and genuine confusion in his eyes.

Lithuania couldn't bring himself to chide Russia. It was the times when he looked most vulnerable, as he did now, that he needed the most protection, the most understanding, despite knowing that he really deserved to be. Still… Latvia was in the living room with bruises that weren't meant for him. Perhaps Russia really did hate Lithuania the most. But he couldn't dwell on it. He needed an answer. "Because… These are bad, foreign flowers and they aren't what you should get for the way you treat us. You deserve something different entirely, sir."

Russia's fingers tangled in Lithuania's hair as he leaned in and kissed the younger man tenderly. Lithuania didn't move. He felt his heart breaking again. Why did he let it heal in the first place? He should have known that trusting Russia just resulted in pain, both physical and emotional. Always.

His gaze landed on the flowers on the counter, and as he let Russia kiss him, he hated them. He hated those beautiful, wrapped up, foreign flowers that would be displayed and never hurt until they died, when the vase they had stayed in would no doubt be used as a projectile or a blunt force weapon.

Those flowers could never fix Russia. They could never condition a mind so hopelessly lost to recognize behaviors that were right or wrong, much less continue them. They were golden-petal, expensive, hollow, stupid reminders of failure and longing.

And what hurt was how beautiful both the broken man and the flowers truly were.