Too Quiet


It had been a while since she had seen him. Really, Nataliana wasn't upset about it either. She knew that he was serving his country- their country now. Her application had passed. She was now officially a US citizen, just like they're soon to be born daughter- or son. He didn't want to know until the baby was born, so the nursery was painted a warm red. It wasn't quite pink, but not the bright, glaring apple red that Alfred had so desperately wanted her to cover the room.

Still, the wall were a color she loved more than anything. It brought together the only color that America and Belarus shared, and Nat found that absolutely beautiful. Her homeland's presence was still evident around the house in the paintings she hung and the songs she let float from her lips when no one was around. And so far, this big house still had the same empty feel as her country, just waiting for the love of a family. Granted in this case it was of one that hadn't yet started rather than one that had hopelessly fallen apart, but the feeling was close enough for the silvery-haired woman to call familiar.

This home lacked his touch. Alfred had yet to step foot in the place. So far all of Nataliana's help was coming from her brother and sister, but with Ivan and Iryna still living in Russia, there wasn't going to be much help for much longer. They had only been able to come to help her move in and to wait for the baby to be born, but once Nat was back on her feet, she'd be all alone in this big, empty, Alfred-less house...

The only time she could hear his voice was through the time he was allowed to call. Had their child already been born, she knew he might have been able to weasel in some videos of him reading to his baby, but apparently resources were on short supply and so was time. This so called War on Terror was causing more pain than help, to Nat at least. Still, she liked driving a car and being able to walk onto the streets with the hope that no one would attack her just because their beliefs clashed- not that she ever really thought that in the first place, but apparently the world was much more dangerous than she would have known had it not been for this new government telling her what to think. Yet again, that was so wonderfully familiar that the Belorussian accepted it with as warm a greeting as she could give. Ah the ever present delight of propaganda.

"Nat, sweetie, why'd you go quiet all of the sudden?" his voice rang through on the other end of the phone. With a long sigh, full of effort due to the extra weight she was carrying, she began talking again.

"I'm just thinking, Alfred. You do not need to worry so much about me," her voice would sound cold to the world, and that was the way she liked it. But somehow, for some reason, Alfred heard something different in the near monotonous tone. He had already seen past her facade, and had been the only one outside of the blonde's small, broken family that she had ever grown to trust. He was special, and she knew that, and that was the reason why she was now living in his country, with his baby ready to be born any day now.

"I'm always gonna worry about you, babe. I think you forget that way too much," his smile could be heard through the other end and it made Nataliana's chest tighten with longing. She just wanted to see him. She just wanted to see his face and know he was okay with her own eyes. She wanted him to hold her close again, to whisper those stupid American things he would say to her throughout the night, whether he was awake or not. Nataliana did not cry for much, but she felt as if she could create rivers with her tears- or however that saying went.

"I know you will, and that makes you an idiot, moya lyubov," she almost chuckled, and she knew that Alfred could hear that through the phone and that warmed her heart. For a few minutes the two listened to the sound of each others breathing, knowing the call was to be cut short soon and that they'd have to spend another week or two waiting to call again. For a moment, Nat wanted to curse Alfred's intelligence. She wanted to wish he was the idiot he acted like and that his importance to the military was all a joke so he could just come home.

But that was all just a childish dream, and an expecting mother should not have such desires. She should be proud of her fiancé, and proud of his usefulness. Proud of the money he was able to send back to her and of the comfortable life he was giving her. No matter how proud she knew she should have been, Nataliana did not feel so proud when she spent countless nights lying awake with an aching body, wondering when her lovely American would ever return from war.

"I have to go, Nat," Alfred was the one to finally break the silence. Nataliana felt a surge of anger at herself for having let the minutes slip by so soon, "Just... hey. Know that I love you, okay? And I can't wait until our little girl is here and kicking~ Tell her daddy says hi, alright? And that I love her too. I can't wait until I can see you both, Nataliana."

"You seem so certain that this baby is going to be a girl," she said, snorting soon after, "if I birth you a son, will you not be so happy and wanting to see him?"

"Nat, you know-"

"Yes, dorogaya, I know what you are meaning. Now go, before you get in trouble. I love you too, and I want you to hurry home. Stay safe and make sure to keep your team safe too," Nataliana heard him laugh and say another quick 'I love you' before being forced to hang up and hand the phone to the next guy in line. And it was back into the wilderness with the wild blonde, another two weeks of waiting to hear if he was okay and if he had gotten permission to go on leave yet.

In those moments after the phone's tone died down, the house never felt quieter.


A/N: Written for my friend as a Christmas gift. Nataliana is Belarus' name in place of Natalia. Sorry if this is really bad, because it's my first AmeBel story! Original prompt idea from imagineyourOTP on tumblr. Any Russian is from Google Translate, so I apologize if it is awful...

* moya lyubov – my love

dorogaya – love, sweetheart