Author's note: From « But Let it Go, And You Learn » arc.

This started off going one way to be posted right before the Russian presidential elections, and then Belarus showed up. I love their relationship, I really do.

Nika's accent comes from a combination of her youth, her love of American things, and her being the « child of the West » in this family. If you've read « Ma Famille » you know vaguely how she speaks. The girl's perfectly capable of speaking clearly and beautifully but I much prefer the youthful sound for her with her family, it better captures something just beyond words.

A Quiet Plead

"Who do ya think you're going to vote for?" Nika asks nonchalantly from the couch, playing on her laptop.

"Dunno," Vanya shrugs, his back to her as he writes at the kitchen table. The Russian nation had learned long ago that if he wrote everything down in journals he would never have to worry about remembering, about forgetting. He had also learned long ago that it in some ways kept him accountable for his actions, though normally he didn't reflect on them until weeks later, sins already committed and blood already spilled. "Probably Putin."

His granddaughter's head is thrown back over the arm of the couch as she asks, "Seriously? Didn't he like, just fire you or something Déduška?"

"The president did."

"Putin."

"He's not president."

"Maybe not in name yet."

He sighs, leaning back and rubbing his face. "I suppose you're right. But I also know he'll hire me back in a few weeks time. Plus we always got along well."

"Would you go shirtless doing manly things with him?" Nika teases.

"Your grandmother has the pictures," he mutters. The girl laughs.

"Can I ask a nation incarnate related question?" When Vanya looks to his silver-haired granddaughter she's got one arm holding her up over the back of the couch, her head just peaking over the cushions.

"Shoot, my little sunflower," he says in English much to her amusement.

"Oh Ivan," she laughs, English pronunciation of his name. Switching back to Russian she demands, "When you vote for someone, are you voting for them because you like them or because your people like them?"

"Dunno," Vanya says once more. "Haven't really had that many elections to vote in to figure it out I suppose."

"True dat bro," the girl says in English, sliding back into her reclined position on the couch, legs thrown over the edge. "True dat." Sometimes he wonders how the grandchild that does Russian studies is also the one with perfect American English and a Swedish boyfriend and southern French fashion.

The music changes from Russian to Hungarian. "What song is this again?" he asks, the back of his mind picking up the tune as he finishes his journal entry.

"Should'I change it?" Nika inquires, balancing a pen on her upper lip like a mustache while scrolling through some webpage.

"No," Vanya says, his mind drawing a blank as he stares at a spot on the floor. "No, I know it and can't figure out why."

"Repülj madár, repülj," the girl states. All the grandchildren were raised speaking Hungarian, having two Hungarian grandmothers. In passing they're referred to as «Hungarian grandmother» and «really Hungarian grandmother».

"Ah!"

"Remember?" Nika asks between singing lines of the chorus.

Vanya smiles wide at her, though he can only see part of her face. Standing he leans on the back of the couch, watching her type frantically in a mixture of French and Russian and Swedish to her boyfriend. Nika looks up after sending her message, smiling when she sees her grandfather's smile.

"Come on," she says mischievously, "tell me what you remember this song from?"

"My Erzsi," he starts, thinking back fondly, "used to sing your mother this song when she was just a babe."

"Do you have any pictures of when Mama was small?" Nika inquires. Vanya's very much aware that anything from Anya's life in the Soviet Union is few and far between for the children to find. As Erzsi had pointed out there was no reason for him to horde it all in the house in Nizhny, along with his tokens from the days of the tsar. But there's still that fear that it'll all be taken from him, and his flat in Moscow isn't that big or secure to risk bringing those things here.

It's rather just a place to sleep in late, to spend the weekend with the grandkids when they're studying at university, and to hide away with Erzsi in.

"I'll go look on my computer," Vanya starts, making for his bedroom. Erzsi had told Gil how he still had all his pictures in boxes, real pictures on photo paper like you don't find anymore. Gil had in turn told his brother, leading to Vanya finding his hotel room visited by the German after one world meeting. At least he had some of the pictures digitized now, Ludwig having done all the work.

"Your computer is old!" Nika's voice chimes as someone knocks on the door. He veers off in his course towards the door, opening it without checking who's on the other side. When Vanya looks up he knows he should have checked.

But there are tears streaming down Nataliya Arlovskaya's face, and Vanya knows his sister well enough to see that this is a lucid visit.

"Please," she whispers quietly in Belarusian, "Vanya." A quiet plead from a pretty girl, and he just doesn't have the heart to hurt his sister ever again.

His arms wrap around her, holding Nata to his chest tightly, her body shivering and shaking as her hands pull at his shirt, tears wetting his chest. "Shh," he whispers into her hair, kissing the crown of her head, "it's ok Nata, I've got you. I'm here, Big Brother Vanya is here."

The moment is quiet until Nika, without noticing who's at the door, starts singing the last refrain of the Hungarian folk song. Nata tenses immediately.

"Who's that?" she demands, slipping back into her crazy side that sometimes scares Vanya, sometimes eggs on his anger. She steps into the apartment viciously, Nika not paying attention; a hand pulls his baby sister back by the arm while he locks the front door.

When the song finishes Nika pauses in her typing, sensing that something has changed and looking around to discover what. That's when she notices her grandfather at the door with a woman she's never met, though Vanya can see her instantly put together who this woman is.

Nata makes to step forward in anger but Vanya squeezes her elbow and she calms, stepping to him instead and wrapping her arms around his waist. Her head is buried into his shoulder, her face turned to glare at the girl. "Who is that?" she asks again in her native tongue but Vanya can hear the tears returning, knows that this is the insecure Nata from their childhood who couldn't share her brother with anyone.

"Go into my room," he whispers, "and wait for me there." Wide, lost eyes find his before Nata leaves quietly, slipping into his bedroom that for so long was off limits to her and yet still at the end of that long-ago memorized path.

Nika's already closed her computer, sitting with it on her lap. She's smiling but it's a sad kind of smile. "I can come next weekend, it's no biggie." She doesn't study that far from him, and it's easy to spend the weekends together when Nika's boyfriend is off somewhere else and Vanya is stuck all alone. "Email me the pictures of Mama if you find them though, da?"

"Da," Vanya says as he stands behind his granddaughter, already feeling guilty for kicking the girl out. But she takes it like a trooper, turning and hugging him and kissing his cheek. "We're still on for lunch on Monday right?"

"Of course!" Nika says brightly as he walks her to the door. "Sigge might be there with us."

"That's fine," he mutters, rolling his eyes. He's yet to make up his mind on the Swedish boyfriend, who's nice but a little too like Berwald Oxenstierna for Vanya's taste. But he makes Nika happy, the girl waving as she goes down the hall to the stairs. He likes to see Nika happy, the girl so physically like her unfortunate great-aunt sitting on his bed, unlike her in the simple pleasures she enjoys. What Vanya ruined in Nata he promised he would make up for in Nika.

Entering the room he can see Nata sitting in the middle of his bed, her hands constantly smoothing down her skirt. Her shoes are kicked off somewhere, her hair falling over shoulders in a way that's so beautiful, slight curl from the rain.

She turns to him when he closes the door.

"Was that," she starts in a low voice, "the granddaughter that will make you proud as a great Russian writer, or the granddaughter that will make you proud as a great Russian scientist?" It's nice to know at least Irunya and Nata still talk.

"Writer," he replies in the same hushed voice, slipping his shoes from his feet to let them lay on the ground with his baby sister's. With his back to the Belarusian he removes his scarf and sweater, putting them away in their drawer. He takes off his belt, throws his socks into the closet, switching out of his regular pants for sweat pants to sleep in. Finished he turns, eyes cast down, before sitting on the edge of the bed and finally looking to his sister.

He knows. Oh, he knows perfectly well that she's crazy, that she's in love with him and that she wants to marry him. Part of it's her people; like voting in an election, it's hard to know where the people's opinion stops and the person's starts. But part of it is also Nata and Vanya will never forgive himself that.

It was his fault, after the Communist Revolution he let himself slip into that dangerous place he'd sworn he'd never lose himself to. He'd lost Timo, a true friend who had kept him grounded, and the tsar's family, the closest he'd ever come to a real family, not just immortal « sisters » because their lands were similar. And when he lost himself Nata stayed by his side, coming to him in the evening, leaving her door open at night.

He was awful to her; Erzsi told him about it all one day where he'd demanded the truth, because memories from those days are still fuzzy red blurs that he can barely make out. His Hungarian lover had told him how it'd make her sick to hear Nata crying at his door that she loved him and wanted to be with him, forever, but how the worst was when he would give in, memories he can only vaguely recall but that come back in full color when Erzsi retells them. Ivan, rough and demanding. Ivan, abusive and manipulative. Ivan, telling her to get on her knees like a slut, telling her to take off her clothes, not to stop. Ivan, dirty talking his baby sister and fucking her for hours on end, Nata screaming over and over.

Because she took it all, the sex, the violence, the name calling: she took it all because she is dedicated to her brother, his prized possession and lone companion for so long. He doesn't remember the sex but he does remember waking in the night in Nata's bed, the dark room with no windows, too small for a sister he was that attached to. He remembers waking to find his back to her, Nata shivering because he'd taken all of the blanket. Those moments he remembers, when he'd let go of his anger and stopped being the monster, when he'd become Vanya the brother once more, holding his baby sister in his arms to stop her shivering while they slept. Years they'd spent alone, and Nata never stopped him, only fueled the fires because she had thought that that was what he'd wanted.

She's only ever done what she thought he wanted. Only once did she go against him, slipping Erzsi a note while he was gone, telling the Hungarian where in Soviet Russia they had been living. She'd confessed when she'd seen him.

Vanya reaches out a hand to stroke the side of her face; immediately Nata's eyes close, her face turning to increase the pressure on her skin. She had told Erzsi the truth in one moment of vague lucidity, about how everyone leaves him in the end, everyone except Nataliya. She saw the signs first, of the coming collapse, but she never made to leave, in the end was dragged away from him in the middle of the night. Vanya had told Erzsi he wasn't good at having a family; he'd really meant that he had failed his baby sister.

Nata's hands come up to hold his, bringing his knuckles to her lips to kiss. "You did not send me away," she whispers. Whatever the good course of action to take has always been with Nata, Vanya takes the wrong one. "Thank you."

"Don't say that Nata," he whispers, shifting so that he can wrap his arms around her shoulders, holding her to his massive chest. Her hands rest on his chest, her body shifting so that their legs are side by side, chests pressing against each other. "You should not feel unwelcomed here."

"You do not like me."

"Nyet sunflower," and sighing Vanya allows his back to fall onto the bed, Nata coming with him to lay on his chest. She curls up like a cat, her head on his heart, and he buries his fingers in her silky hair to massage her scalp the way she likes. "I do like you, just not the way you like me. We both know that."

"I am sorry."

"For what Nata?"

"Causing you great pain," she whispers.

"Nata-"

"I-" She sits quickly, a hand still resting on his chest, to look in his eyes. "I cause you trouble," she says, brows knit in confusion as to why he was not seemingly agreeing with her. "And that upsets you. You despise me and so when you see me I cause you anguish-"

It truly does break Vanya's heart to see her, so calm, saying such things about herself. He shakes his head, smiling in pain, and the Belarusian stops speaking to take him in with those big blue eyes before laying on his chest again.

"Vanya?"

"None of those things," he says into her hair, a hand stroking her arm, "are your fault."

"Da, they are."

"Nyet, they aren't. You should not feel so worthless because I've treated you like you are." The way she speaks about herself, it's always submissive, always deferential to her brother. Nata is actually quite a pretty girl and it does make him happy to see her with Toris who can see that beauty, finds it attractive even if his sister does hate the Lithuanian. Vanya lets his mind slip back to when they were children and how adorable Nata had been, before he'd ruined her. "Everything was my fault. Could you ever forgive your brother that, though I do not deserve it?"

Nata shifts, laying on his large chest, and Vanya locks eyes with her, a hand stroking her cheek. It had always started off innocent enough because the Russian considered himself close with his sisters, would kiss their lips chastely to show that love. There had never been anything romantic to him because though they were not his blood, they were his sisters.

Her lips are as soft as ever under his, no pressure behind the kiss. Nata used to be the one to deepen the kisses and Vanya would only laugh because he didn't understand, couldn't yet see that she loved him because no one had ever loved him. It was always wrong but then again, they were always the perfect pair: Ivan Braginski, the cold-hearted Russian, with Nataliya Arlovskaya, the scorned Belarusian sister. Nata is different than Irunya who is sweet and kind and the sister he'd look up to to defend him; Nata was the one looking up to him.

She nuzzles her head against his, noses rubbing, and Vanya sighs contently making Nata smile just a little before asking, "Can I stay?"

"Da."

"Thank you." They kiss once more before laying in silence until night falls.

When Vanya's legs get antsy he sits up, Nata rolling over beside him. "Do you want my clothes?" he asks, throwing his head towards his dresser; he no longer keeps his sisters' clothing wherever he lives.

"Yes please," Nata whispers. Vanya gets her an undershirt that'll be too big on her and shorts that will probably be more pants-like on her lithe frame. When he goes to close the drawer she asks, her voice still as light and happy but with an edge, "How often does she visit that you have that much of her clothing?"

"Enough," Vanya shrugs, handing his sister his clothes. "Are you…." He struggles for the words. She'll never be ok with Erzsi, Vanya knows that.

"I've made my peace," Nata says shortly, fingering the clothes.

"I'll get us dinner," he mutters, kissing Nata's forehead before heading for his small kitchen, heating something up for them while grabbing his computer charger and a bottle of water. Back in his room Nata is still carefully pealing off each layer of clothing: apron, dress, slip dress. Vanya bustles by her with his ladened arms as she undoes her thigh-highs from the garter belt, stepping out of them. "Hand me my computer sunflower?"

With no embarrassment, nothing sexual or romantic, she hands the Russian nation the old computer in her bra and panties, removing the garter belt. The shorts she pulls on, Vanya stealing a glance while his computer turns on and plugging the thing in, are a shiny purple. Francis had picked them out that trip to Paris where they'd bought all new workout clothes for their morning jogs like they'd taken during the war. With her back to him Nata removes her bra, pulling on the white undershirt. She lets her hair down last, hands going to braid it.

"I'll do that if you'd like," her brother murmurs, connecting to the wireless network Martie had set up for him. There's a dip in the bed that means Nata has climbed on beside him as he finally loads the video he'd wanted for dinner. "Cheers Nata," Vanya chuckles, smiling at his sister and handing her a fork.

"Cheers," she says lamely, taking a small piece of food to her mouth. In relative silence they watch the American show Nika had gotten Vanya turned on to, the Russian laughing while leaning against his headboard. Nata sits up properly, eating slowly, until she too starts to smile, leaning against the pillows comfortably. They take turns sipping at the water until Vanya hands it to his sister, picking up his phone to send a text.

The reply comes a few minutes after they've finished dinner, pausing the next episode to clean up and get dessert and vodka. Nata brings it in to his room for him, Vanya texting as he follows her.

« -Vanya: I've got some good news and some bad news.

-Erzsi: Are you pregnant again?

-Vanya: Good news is I'm not.

-Erzsi: What's the bad news?

-Vanya: Well, I'm anticipating you thinking Nata being here is bad news.

-Erzsi: … Where's Nika?

-Vanya: She went back to her dorm, I'm having lunch with her and the bf tomorrow anyway. She insisted on leaving.

-Erzsi: And what's your sister want?

-Vanya: I honestly think she just wanted her big brother. She's lucid tonight. »

"Is she in Budapest?" Nata asks before taking a bite of the chocolate cake.

"Da," Vanya says, feeling slightly guilty though he shouldn't as he settles in on his large bed. The phone on his legs vibrates with the response.

« -Erzsi: If you say so. Be careful and I love you so much.

-Vanya: Gnight Erzsi and I love you too. »

No words could express the simple swelling up of his love for Erzsi at her text, the phone being turned off and placed on the bedside table for the night. Looking up he finds the Belarusian watching him suspiciously; Vanya shrugs.

"Can't a man text his girlfriend?"

"Wouldn't know," Nata says cooly, continuing the video. To console his under-loved sister Vanya wraps an arm around her, kissing her forehead and holding her to his side until they finish for the night, the man tucking the computer back away on his small desk before getting under the covers. Nata turns her back to him, holding a hair tie over her shoulder.

In silence he braids her sleek hair in a French plait that runs down her back, just as it has for centuries. Finished Vanya kisses the back of his sister's head. They lay under the sheets, their bodies not touching.

In the dark, light still streams in from the street below, the sounds of Moscow at night louder in the quiet room. "Vanya?"

"Yeah Nata?"

"I love you Vanya."

He smiles, shifting to hold his sister in his arms. She fits perfectly, her head tucked under his, their legs intertwining. They've done this for centuries, when the temperature outside dropped down so low many around them froze to death.

But they've always survived the winters and the madness.

Together.

"I love you too Nata," he whispers, kissing her forehead and settling in for sleep.