Written for the help_japan auction. I'm so sorry this is so late! Thank you hoshiko2 and happy belated birthday, ladykidasuki!
America squirted another dollop of hair-gel into his hand and tried for the umpteenth time to plaster his cowlick down. Nantucket stayed obediently in place for three seconds, then sprung right back up again, earning a frustrated moan from America. Even he had to admit that this was a lost cause. Normally his unruly hair didn't bother him in the least, but today was special. This was the first time Russia had ever invited him to his Victory Day parade ever. This was important. Everything had to be perfect.
Giving up on his hair, America turned his attention to the rest of his appearance. The uniform was clean and crisp, the shoes were neat and polished...he would fit in perfectly with the other American soldiers marching in the parade, if only he could get his hair under control.
He considered venturing outside the room in search of a better hair-gel, but thought better of it. He'd probably never find his way back again. It was nice of Russia to let America stay in one of his many spare bedrooms, but the guy's house was just ridiculously big. Not to mention rooms seemed to disappear and reappear at random whenever America was trying to navigate the place. It was practically the Twilight Zone.
"Awright, ace," America muttered to his reflection in the mirror as he tried to adjust his cap to cover the rebellious cowlick. "You can do this. You can totally handle a parade. You're badass. You're a fucking bald eagle. Eye of the tiger, man. ...it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our-"
A knock at the bedroom door cut him off mid-song. America swore under his breath and tried again to fix his cap. "Be out in a sec!" he shouted.
The knocker either didn't hear or didn't care, as the banging on the door continued. Soon the knocking took on a rhythm, and after a few moments America recognized it as the Tetris theme. As if it wasn't obvious enough who was trying to pound the door down.
"Hold your horses, I'm coming!" America called, straightening his cap and giving his uniform one more tug. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to be good enough for now.
Russia's fist was raised to pound on the door yet again when America finally pulled the door open. "Good morning!' he said brightly. "I was thinking perhaps you had overslept. I expected you downstairs some time ago."
"N-naw, I'm up, just trying to...fix my hair..." America trailed off lamely. Russia was already wearing his old WWII uniform. Sweet Jesus, America loved that uniform on him. Something about it just turned his knees to jello. "You, uh...cleaned up nice. Looking good, big guy."
"Do you really think so? It does not fit as well as it used to-"
"No, you look..." Smoking hot, I want to jump your bones."...really good. And, uh...how do I look?"
Russia's eyes scanned America up and down, pausing briefly at a spot somewhat lower than his waist. "Very nice. Very handsome, as always."
America looked away to hid the beginning of a blush. "Shucks, you're just sweet talkin' me now."
"I never sweet talk. I mean what I say. Now, would you like breakfast? We have time before the parade..."
"I'm not really hungry." That was partially true; there was a swarm of butterflies in America's stomach that was starting to kill his appetite.
Russia's brow creased into a frown. "Not hungry? Are you sick? Did you eat something bad last night? I told you to eat with me instead of getting fast food-"
"Nonono, I'm fine! I'm just..." His voice failed him again.
"Just what?"
"Nothing. Don't sweat it."
Russia dropped his eyes, picked restlessly at his sleeve. "Do...do you not want to be here? You have been uncomfortable since you arrived, da? You barely talked to me at all last night, and now you do not want to eat with me..."
"No! It...damn, it's not you, okay? I-I do want to be here, really."
"Then what is wrong?" Russia huffed in frustration, crossing his arms. "Why do you not talk to me? We are friends now, da?"
America floundered for a moment. "Y-yeah. We're...friends." It felt nice to say that again after so long. It felt even nicer to know that it was true. The old hate seemed to melt away more and more every year, uncovering something warm between them, something they had tried to forget for the better part of the last century...
"America? I am asking you, why can you not tell me what is troubling you?"
"I'm...nervous about the parade, alright?" he finally blurted out, flushing a bit at the confession.
Russia's eyebrows inched up. "But you have been in many parades before, da? How is this different?"
"It just is! It's important, and everyone's gonna be watching-"
"America is nervous about getting attention? Surely this is a sign of the apocalypse."
"Would you shut up? Jeez, you badger me into opening up and now you tease me about it..."
"I apologize. I simply do not understand why you are worried."
America bit at the inside of his cheek as he tried to gather his thoughts. "I'm just want everything to go perfectly for once. I feel like I keep...screwing things up when it comes to you. A-and I want things to keep getting better with us, and I don't want to fuck up and push everything back-"
"What have you, ah, screwed up? I did not think you had done anything particularly horrible lately..."
"Y'know...stuff like...that reset button I gave you. Where I fucked up and spelled 'reset' in Russian wrong."
"You have been worried about that?" Russia asked incredulously. "That was a cute error. There were good intentions behind your gift. That is what matters more to me, that you truly wished to reset all our troubles in the past."
"Yeah, but-"
"Does it set back our relationship whenever I make a mistake with English?"
"Well, no-"
"Then why should it be different with you?"
"I-I don't know. But I still want everything to go perfectly today. No mess ups, not even cute ones. I know your Victory Day parade is really important to you."
"It is," Russia said softly. "Very important. But it is not only my people we are honoring, you understand? This is why I invited you, and England and France and the others. The war was not fought and won by only one nation."
"'Course not. A world war ain't exactly a one man show."
A wistful smile crossed Russia's face. "Do you remember the times we met during the war?"
"How could I forget?" America grinned. "You almost shot me the first time I ran into you in Germany."
"And I have apologized over and over for that. But I was very tired and did not recognize you at first from that distance. When I first saw your troops I thought they were German-"
"Even though I was yelling at you and obviously not speaking German or anything-"
"I said I was sorry. And I gave you cigarettes to make up for it."
"Which tasted like burnt shit, so I ended up giving you a pack of my Luckies 'cause I felt sorry for you having to put up with such godawful cigarettes."
"I am sorry that your palate is too delicate for my cigarettes. I will have to remember to stock up on something more lady-like for you."
America kicked at Russia's shin halfheartedly. "Dick." He probably put a little too much affection into that word. "See if I ever do you any favors again."
"Oh, how will I ever survive?" Russia sighed with a dramatic wave of his hand.
"You'll have to struggle all on your lonesome, big guy. Tough luck."
"You have broken my heart."
"Boo hoo hoo."
Russia only managed to keep the morose act going a few more seconds before the facade cracked and his usual smile returned. "There, you are back to normal now, da? No more pointless worrying?"
America managed a crooked smile. "I guess not. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"
"Mm, you could trip. That would be bad." America winced at the thought, and Russia quickly added, "But it would not ruin the relationship we have now. The Cold War is over. Things are not so fragile between us anymore, da? It was all difficult before, of course, but now...now we are not enemies, and I can call you my friend again. You were important in the war too, and now I want to celebrate this day...with you." It was Russia's turn to avert his eyes bashfully.
America could feel heat rising up in his face and tried to laugh it off. "But it's not like I'm the only nation you invited to your parade this year, right? You invited England and Poland and a bunch of guys."
"Ah, but you are the only one staying in my house with me," Russia said with a small secretive smile. "I admit that this is partially because I can not trust Poland to not sneak into my liquor cabinet when I am not looking and replace everything with Polish vodka, but I digress."
"Oh. S-special treatment for me, huh?"
"Maybe," Russia mumbled, picking at his sleeve again. "But the others are staying at very nice hotels, nicer than my house, so maybe you would rather-"
"No way! I'm cool here! Sure, it's kinda drafty and stupidly big and rooms keep moving around like the Twilight Zone-"
"I have told you, that is your imagination-"
"But I've got you here, so it all balances out." Russia's eyes widened, and America suddenly realized how close he was too saying something entirely too honest. "B-because you can...um...be my tour guide after the parade!"
"You have been to Moscow before. A number of times."
"Y-yeah, but it's not like I have the place memorized. You need to show me around and stuff. Wouldn't you feel like an asshole if I got lost just 'cause you ditched me?"
"I would be a very poor host if I abandoned you."
"Right, so it's a date. You and me, post-parade. I wanna go see the Candyland Castle."
Russia folded his arms and pretended to frown. "You do know that is not its real name."
"I like calling it Candyland Castle. It's colorful enough."
"But you know the real name. I want to hear you say it."
"Do we have to play this game?"
"You started it." When America didn't give in right away, Russia turned on a sad puppy face. It was really a masterful pout, perfected with years of practice. America didn't stand a chance against it.
"Fine, you win," America said with a roll of his eyes. "It's not called Candyland Castle. It's St. Basil's Cathedral."
"Very good!" Russia began, but America promptly cut him off.
"And," he continued, "It was built in...um, wait...mid 16th century? Yeah, when Ivan the Terrible was your boss, to commemorate...shit, don't tell me. To commemorate you guys beating...the Tartars?"
"Now I am impressed," Russia laughed.
"Oh yeah?" America smirked. "Does it turn you on that I researched stuff about your landmarks? Yeah, I googled that shit. Pretty hot, huh? Used Wikipedia and everything."
"How scholarly of you. We really must visit, since you have done your homework like a good boy. But first, parade."
"Yeah, yeah," America sighed. "I didn't forget."
Russia's hand came down heavily on his shoulder. "It will be fine! You are worrying for nothing. And remember, you could trip, or...or march in the wrong direction, or rip your pants, or faint, or-"
"Stop, you're gonna jinx me!" America moaned, pulling at his gel-hardened hair.
"Or any other terrible thing, and I will still be your friend. Such trifles will not change that."
America looked up. Russia stared back, with such warmth and sincerity that America could almost forget the Cold War, that there had ever been anything ugly between then. He could almost imagine that his old friend in the 19th century had never changed at all. Maybe that was what it meant to move on.
"Well, the same goes for you!" he said, putting on his most confident grin. "You can fall on your face right in the middle of the parade and we'll still be buddies. In fact, you can come to me for a band-aid if that happens. You'd probably have one hell of a scraped up nose if you fall on your face. Now come on, we better get some breakfast so we have plenty of energy for the parade and Candyland Castle."
Historical Notes:
Last year was the very first time American troops were invited to march in the Victory Day Parade in Moscow in May 9. The title refers to both the misspelled 'reset' button in 2009 that was supposed to symbolize resetting American and Russian relations, and the New START treaty that was recently signed.