A/N: A late birthday fic for my bestie Echo Bancroft. Happy birthday to her. ^ ^
Echo's Log
January 25th, xxxx
12:36 pm
The morning has been pretty slow. Belarus is away, and Latvia is taking the morning off to nurse a hang over. Ukraine stopped by, but only to drop off some cheese. She tried to be secretive about it, but I could hear the sound of her chest bouncing all the way from here.
I've been worried these past few hours, though. The master of the house left early this morning, but Lithuania accidently broke the vase that I had planted Bug #47 in a few days ago, so I don't know where he went. I hope he returns by lunch time, because they're making his favo
"What are you doing in my garden, Маленькая девочка?"
The girl froze, her pencil dropping to the hard ground. She hastily picked it up and, clutching her Log to her chest, turned around. "Hello!" she smiled.
Russia was also smiling, though not for the same reason. It wasn't every day that one came home from the flower shop to find someone nesting in his rose bushes. A young girl, no less, with hair like fire, surrounded by a miniature arsenal of espionage equipment.
There was a small bank of television screens that changed images periodically, displaying various parts of his house. She was wearing a one eared head set, and he could hear little voices coming from it, presumably from the kitchen where his protectorates were working. Most frightening of all, however, were the pictures.
They were old fashioned polaroids, sprawled all around her, propped up against a half empty bowl of rice, stacked next to a large back pack. They were all of him, as well. Sleeping in the chair next to the fire, eating dinner, even brushing his teeth.
He lifted his pipe menacingly over his shoulder. "So America recruits his spies this young, does he?" he asked cheerfully. "He thinks sending a pretty child to learn my secrets will stop me from breaking her bones to little splinters?"
The girl should have been scared. She should have tried to run, or call for help, or at least beg for mercy like any normal person. But no. Her eyes were shining behind her glasses, and a rosy blush that clearly wasn't from the cold colored her pale cheeks.
"You think I'm pretty?" she asked breathlessly, absolutely unaware of her impending doom.
Russia blinked. "I- what?"
"I'm not a child," she said, scrambling to her feet, still slightly dazed from happiness. "Or a spy. My name's Echo Bancroft."
Russia's smile grew more alarming. "Good children do not lie," he said tapping his pipe on the frozen earth, walking slowly closer to her. "Do you know what we do with bad children in Russia, Echo?" he asked.
"I would never lie to my precious Russia!"
He didn't know what to make of that comment, so he ignored it in favor of plucking the leather bound notebook from her grasp, despite her cry of protest. He opened it and began to read.
Each page was titled Echo's Log, and meticulously dated. The hand writing was neat but unusual, somehow managing to be both angular and loopy. He flipped through it quickly, catching snippets.
-almost out of tangelos, I'll have to run into town tonight—
-wore a purple shirt today, it suits him—
-been upset lately, I wonder what's wrong—
It was almost completely full, and almost all about him.
"I will burn this and send its ashes back to America in a box with your remains, да?" he asked sweetly, looking up. He was pleased to see that her green eyes filled with tears. Finally, a sign that she was normal.
"Y-you're going to burn m-my Log Book?" she asked, broken hearted.
Never mind. Not so normal.
Russia's brow furrowed, his smile lost for once. "That's what you're upset about?" he demanded. "I'm going to kill you, and all you care about is the notebook?" Maybe she was just devoted to her work, the type who'd sacrifice even her life to get the job done. Yes, that made sense.
"I-I wasn't going to show it to anyone," she warbled.
"Lies," he said softly. "You are a bad child for lying to Mother Russia even after he told you not to. It is time for the American spy to say goodbye." He brought the pipe up over his head—
"I-I've waited so long to meet y-you, and y-you don't even l-like m-me..." she sobbed, burying her head in her hands.
Killing wasn't usually this complicated. "Don't cry, ребенок," he said, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. "I will make it painless for you." Anything to get this over with as quickly as possible.
"A-and it's my birthday t-too..." she blubbered.
"Ah?" said Russia, his expression instantly lighting up. This certainly changed things! "Why didn't you say so earlier?" he asked, putting down his pipe and crouching down to her height. "How old is довольно ребенка turning?"
"Sixteen," she said, wiping her eyes.
"That is a very special age, да? I will give you a special deal, then," he said, patting her hand. "All you have to do is become one with me, and we shall put this all behind us."
He had expected her to tear her hand out of his, to yell at him, to slap him, even- all the usual reactions. He expected her to storm off, making him chase after her to finally end her. What he hadn't expected was—
"Yes!"
She was glowing, her eyes wide with unaltered joy. "It's like a dream come true!" she swooned.
Russia stood, his smile (though surprised) genuine for once. He bent down to pick up the discarded bouquet of sunflowers, removing the smallest one and tucking it behind her ear, admiring the way yellow contrasted with red. "Come, Echo Bancroft," he said, taking her hand. "Lunch should be ready soon, and I will send someone out to collect your..." he glanced back, "...things."
He studied her as they walked, noticing how the gold of her glasses complimented the green of her eyes, and how happy she seemed. He wrapped the end of his scarf around her shivering shoulders. "When you go outside from now on, you must wear a thicker coat, да?"
She smiled up at him, snuggling into the scarf. "Dа!"
Now all he had to do was figure out what to tell Belarus.
Speaking of which...
Somewhere in Belarus
"Don't let it happen again."
The boy nodded frantically before running in the opposite direction, stumbling in his haste. Belarus smiled slightly, though if there were anyone present to witness the action they wouldn't have noticed. That would teach him, nasty boy, to try to charge her for meat that would be used to feed her precious big brother...
She wiped off the blade on her sleeve and concealed it once again, carrying the meat to the kitchen with both hands. What a wonderful meal she would make—
She froze.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, something tingled.
There was a disturbance in the Russian force.
Her hands tightened, puncturing the packaging. Someone was going to have hell to pay.
"M-Mr. Russia? Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Russia turned to look at the small country. "Why wouldn't it be?" he asked serenely.
"W-well," said Latvia, shaking as usual, "if your boss were to find out that you had taken in an American girl, where she was in a position to easily use you to collect information-"
"Latvia," Russia interrupted, placing a hand on his head. "Why are you so short?" he asked.
"B-because you keep pressing down on my head..." he said miserably, feeling his spine beginning to compress.
"Then it is best not to talk nonsense so you will grow taller, да?" He tilted his head to the side as Latvia struggled to nod. "I cannot understand you~"
"Y-yes, you're right," he said, and the pressure was lifted.
Russia turned away. "My Echo would never do that. If I hear you speaking like that again, we will take a trip to the basement, да?"
He walked off before Latvia could respond.
"No, you have to cream the sugar and butter first," said Lithuania, patiently moving her hand to prevent her from cracking an egg into the bowl. He handed her a mechanical egg beater. "Here, use this."
"Oh, I have something like that!" she said, rummaging through her back pack and removing an electronic egg beater. "It's battery powered," she said, flicking it on.
"Just beat it for a couple of minutes, until it's nice and whipped, and add the eggs and flour," he said. "Tell me when you finish, and I'll—
CRASH.
They both jumped at the noise.
"I'll go see what that is," said Lithuania, who hurried off.
He found them in the entrance hall, surrounded by shards of broken glass.
"Where is she?" hissed Belarus. "I can smell her."
"I-I don't know," sniffled Latvia. "I don't—"
"Belarus!"
Latvia looked around, hoping to be saved, but was quite disappointed to find Lithuania coming toward them with a bright smile and a blush in his cheeks. "You didn't call ahead, we weren't expecting you," he said breathlessly, extending a hand to help her to her feet.
She ignored it and rose on her own, dropping the little nation she had been abusing. "Where is the girl?" she asked, glaring hostilely.
"Oh, Echo? She's in the kitchen, we're—hey, where are you going?" He hastened after her.
Latvia moaned and clutched his head.
Russia was going to be after him for this one…
"No, Belarus! You can't kill her, that's not nice," Lithuania scolded, holding her arms behind her back.
"Let me go!" she growled, struggling against him, but to no avail. "I must kill her… for tempting big brother…!"
Right on cue, they heard the front door open.
"Echo, I have bought you the best tangelos rubles can buy~ Latvia, why is the window gone?" they heard Russia ask.
"Big brother! BIG BROTHER!" Belarus cried, struggling harder than ever. After a moment, Russia poked his head in.
"Lithuania, what-?"
He stopped. The scene before him—his sister being restrained by his territory, and his new friend bustling about the kitchen in a lacy apron—was… rather unusual. He considered his options:
a. Abandon his friends and run for his life.
b. Stay and die with them.
c. Try to reason with his sister.
Of all of them, C was the least likely to happen, but he decided to take the plunge anyway. He inched into the kitchen. "B-Belarus… why don't you calm down and I can—"
"What is she doing here?" she screeched. "You—mmph!"
"The cookies are done!" said Echo, who had just shoved one into Belarus' mouth. "Do you like them?"
She chewed and quickly swallowed, gasping for air. "Are you asking for me to prolong your death?" she spat.
"Echo, милая, come here and bring these tangelos to the pantry," Russia said, interceding quickly.
Echo cocked her head to the side. "But don't those belong in the refr—"
"The pantry is cold enough," he said patiently. Echo hefted the enormous bag in her arms and left.
Lithuania reluctantly released Belarus and studied his fingers, which were bent every which way, in shock. "I was wondering why she was holding my hands."
"I won't have that girl harmed, sister," said Russia, his voice not quavering.
"Why. Is. She. Here?"
"She…" Russia floundered for a moment. "She is my American maid. All countries have them now. They are very fashionable, да?"
She considered for a moment. "I have never heard of such a thing," she said, suspicious.
Lithuania decided to step in. "Poland was telling me about them the other day," he said. "All the richest countries have them, especially the, uh, red haired ones."
There was a long pause. "Will big brother let me make him draniki?"
"Of course."
She nodded decisively. "Then I will let her live. For now," she warned. She walked out of the kitchen.
After a moment, however, she returned, only to snatch another cookie.
"…and they lived happily ever after. The end."
"That was a nice story," Echo murmured sleepily, snuggling into her blankets.
"I hope that you will sleep well tonight, сладкие луны," said Russia, standing.
"Wait…"
"Yes?" he turned.
"Gimme a good night kiss," she said, struggling to keep her eyes open.
Russia smiled, and pecked her lightly on the lips. "Good night, Лапушка," he whispered, closing the door gently behind him.
The future was going to be interesting, to say the least.
(Fin)
A/N: There just aren't enough fics about Russia out there. :( On another note, to anyone reading TMID, I had a temporary lapse that will soon be fixed. The next chapter will be posted soon.