A/N: Because Moldova needs more love! As do unexpected friendships! (Lines indicate scene changes.)
America was surprised at how many other Nations he'd never personally spent much time with before. Well, of course he probably wasn't going to get that personal with all of them, but he at least figured he'd have seen all their faces and put names to most of them given he had hundreds of years to do so. But every now and then, a completely new face at a large gathering would catch his attention.
Right now his eyes were focused on a young child Nation dressed in a very ratty and patched-up piece of cloth - with some of the patches containing goofy drawn-on faces - and no shoes. Was he supposed to be a ghost? As much as he hated ghosts, the thought didn't unsettle America as much as it usually did. The "ghost" boy was wandering around the crowd largely by himself, capturing the attention of whoever else was near him. Many of the women especially were cooing over him like he was their best friend's baby.
The boy suddenly locked eyes with him for a moment. His face immediately lit up with joy. "Oh! Mr. America always has lots of sweets on him!" he shouted loud and clear enough for America to make out. The boy ran up to him, holding out an equally-ratty bag, practically pressing it against America's stomach, as if begging for scraps. "Don't you? Please?"
He hadn't even given him the chance to say no. Not that he would have, of course not!
"Yeah! 'Course I'll give you all the candy you want, little guy!" America dipped his hand into his stash in a bowl on the table he standing by, pulling out a heaping handful and dropping it into the bag. The boy's eyes widened at just how much he was given.
"Wow! Thanks, mister!"
Now, up close, America could plainly see why this kid was so popular. His face, voice, and personality were adorable. A vibrant twinkle in his eyes, little pigtails in his hair, he even had tiny fangs poking out from his mouth. Were they real? He knew Romania's were. Maybe they were related.
"Hey," he whispered to him.
The boy stood up on his toes to get closer to America's face. "What?"
"Don't tell any, but…" America glanced around the room, then cupped his hand over the boy's ear and said, "You've got the best costume out of anyone here."
"Really?" he shouted. America hushed him with a finger over the lips. "Really?" he asked again, correcting his volume.
"Yup," he said, nodding. "Nothing's scarier than ghosts. Believe me."
"Thanks, mister!"
"Aw, you don't need to call me 'mister.' Just 'America' will do."
"Okay. Thanks, America!" The boy started to merge back into the crowd.
"Oh, hey!" America called, successfully getting his attention. "What's your name?"
"Moldova!"
With that, he disappeared back into the crowd, likely to try and mingle with as many more people as he could.
America mentally kicked himself for not knowing a fellow Nation by name. Well, the kid did look like one of the Micros, or at least about as old as them. He didn't really know any of them besides Sealand and Molossia. He was a Micro, right? Or was he just a really small country? He'd have to look that up later. Moldova, he said to himself. Moldova. Don't forget.
But he really liked that kid! Sealand was funny and a good ally for pissing off England, but his behavior got annoying after a while. Molossia was a nice guy to America but a jerk to most everyone else. This Moldova kid was adorable, polite, and cheery, the kind of kid that America could see himself hanging out with.
In fact, he would try to get together with Moldova again in the future. He seemed to like America, too.
"What are you making?"
"Some cookies," America said. "I was thinking of actually doing something nice and dropping one off at everyone's place. Kinda like Santa!"
"Can I help?"
He looked down at Moldova. He was so much like a kitten, tiny hands sitting on top of the counter, wide baby-doll eyes gazing up at him, pigtails curled up and fallen back like a pair of ears. That green and white, reindeer-covered sweater America had bought for him was also a nice touch. He imagined waterfalls pouring from Moldova's eyes if he so much as thought the word "no."
"Yeah!" he said with a grin and a chuckle. "You can be my little helper! An elf for a day! How 'bout that?"
"Yay!" Moldova bounced in place. He scrambled to get a stool from the dining room, placing it next to America. He pulled his sleeves up to his elbows, ready to start.
"Well…" America stared down at the cookie, holding his bite in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He wasn't sure what exactly happened to them. Not success, that's for sure. Dammit, he thought he had it. Did he screw up the proportions when he, what, quadrupled it? Or was it one of those recipes that you had to follow by the letter if you wanted a chance of it working out? "Uh, what do you think?"
"We tried!"
America laughed. "We can always just dump 'em on England or something. And, uh, you got a bunch of flour on your shirt." He brushed a patch of powder off Moldova's chest.
"Maybe we can still sneak them to everyone and just pretend England did it?"
Wow. Polite as he was, Moldova had some pretty cruel ideas. America loved it. This kid was perfect in every way.
"I like your way of thinking, little guy," he said, patting his head. "Come on! Time to spread the Christmas cheer! Or wait, I'll get you a new shirt first. Then we'll go!"