Ivan blinked sleepily, finally waking up. As his vision swam into focus, he became aware of the uncomfortable position he was in, and the burning in his wrists. Soon, he was assaulted with other pains, like the dull throbbing in the back of his head, and the sharp sting in his chest whenever he breathed too deeply. Looking around the dark room, he struggled to remember why he was here. He looked down at himself, and had to stifle a gasp.
His coat was gone, as was his pipe. His clothes were ripped, and there was a large bloodstain on the front of his chest. His scarf was nowhere to be found. He tried to stand, only to realize that he had been tied to the chair he was sitting in, his hands bound together tightly with wire to the back of the chair, his feet bound to the back legs.
Now completely alert, he began to remember what had happened. He had been at home, something that he couldn't recall had happened, then there were angry Ukrainians, opposed to the re-unifying of Russia and Ukraine in his home, attacking him, and someone else. Ivan shook his head, trying to remember. Who was it? He could hear the panicked shouts of the other person, calling his name, but then, someone must have hit him on the head, knocking him out. More flashes of memories invaded his mind, pain, shouting, people hurting him, trying to get him to tell them where someone was, other people telling him that Ukraine didn't want to be unified to Russia, and that if he stopped trying to force them, they would let him go.
But who was the other person? Ivan groaned in frustration, trying to place the voice. He focused on it, wracking his brain for any clues as to who it was. Ivan! Help! No! Ivan! The voice was anguished, clearly concerned for him. Ivan almost laughed. Nobody cared about him. They were all afraid of them. All except… Yao!
Ivan jerked his head up, as the rest of the memory returned to him. Yao! It was Yao! They had been cleaning out another of Ivan's many deserted rooms in his massive house. Now Ivan could recall it all clearly. It was… The room had held all of the things Ivan had been able to save from Anastasia's room, when the people had revolted, and taken control.
That had been a hard time in Ivan's history, and he had been distracted, upset, not as quick as he usually was. They had broken down his door, like the people had to the Winter Palaces gates, and stormed in, firing in smoke pellets and tear gas first. They hadn't needed the tear gas, Ivan thought bitterly. He had already been crying.
In the smoke and confusion, he remembered losing sight of Yao, and then people grabbing him, yelling orders to each other. He remembered his pipe being wrenched out of his surprised hands, and Yao's panicked cries.
Ivan was jerked out of his recollection by the sounds of footsteps. He glanced down at his injuries, briefly wondering why they hadn't healed already, before the door opened.
The first man entered, dressed in Ukrainian colored fatigues. He was holding a machine gun, and straight off pointed it at Ivan, standing in one corner of the room. The next man who entered did the same, but he took the opposite corner. Finally a man Ivan distinctly remembered as a big supporter of the resistance entered. Ivan also remembered that he was the one who had done most of the interrogation, including the punishments. He looked at Ivan, studying him, appraising how broken he was or wasn't. Ivan looked back at him with the same childish expression he always wore. He found that it helped to keep both nations and people from bothering him too much. It was only around Yao that he let it fall from his face.
Ivan pulled himself back to the present situation, as the man began to snap out orders in rapid Ukrainian. Ivan listened, following along. He wondered if they knew that he could speak the language.
"Increase the guards outside the door, and arm all of them. Both of you go. Mister Russia won't be any trouble. Will you, Mister Russia?" The man faced him as he asked this.
Ivan blinked, once, twice, before answering in Ukrainian, "Where is my Jao-Jao."
The man laughed, and made a shooing motion with his hand. The two guards left and Ivan could hear them relaying the orders to the others posted outside.
"So, Mister Russia," the man said; now speaking in Russian. "The others wouldn't want me to tell you this, but Yao tried to escape, and we shot him. He is still alive, it was just his leg, and now he is in the room directly next to yours, right behind me, curled up in a corner, sobbing." The man looked directly at Ivan, his green eyes clashing with Ivan's violet ones.
Ivan had watched the man as he spoke. He was lying. Yao had gotten away, Ivan was sure of it. Ivan remained silent.
The man asked, "You don't believe me? Well you should. It is, after all, the truth." he said, again, meeting Ivan's eyes. But Ivan was not to be fooled. He willed his face to remain cheerful, and went over all of his training. The man was trying too hard to prove he was not lying. But he was. His breaths were almost imperceptibly faster, and as Ivan observed him behind his guarded face, he started moving around a bit. The man finally stood up, a mask of fury dominating his face as he strode over to Ivan and punched him across his jaw.
Ivan head jerked to the side, and he let the smile drop from his face, now keeping a dead, blank expression on his face. The man kept punching him, elbowing his ribs and kneeing his stomach. But Ivan never allowed himself to flinch or react. The man was cursing him now, asking him questions, trying to crack him. But Ivan would not give in. Finally the man took out a knife, and slashed Ivan's forearm with it.
Pain, greater than all of the other times, overcame Ivan, and he cried out. The man raised his knife again, triumphant, and brought it down to slash across Ivan's other arm. Just as he did, the door opened, and Ivan's next cry was forgotten, as a panting soldier started talking about an angry Asian man attacking the base, demanding to know where Ivan was.
Ivan's heart soared, and he couldn't suppress his delight. The man cursed, and started out the door, slashing Ivan across the face as he went. Ivan groaned, the last cut hurting most of all.
Now able to hear how close the conflict was, he yelled out, "YAO! YAO!" The man spun around, and went to stop Ivan's calls, but before he could, a large skillet hit him in the back of the head, and he crumpled to the floor. Yao darted in past the other soldier, and hurled the skillet back at him, crumpling him as well. He then ran to Ivan.
"Ivan! What did they do to you, aru? Are you okay? Can you walk? Ivan, listen to me aru, stop laughing." Yao was speaking franticly, worried about Ivan, showing love and concern for him, and it filled Ivan with immense joy. He laughed, loud and long, ignoring the stinging pain from the last cut.
Yao sighed in exasperation, knowing Ivan well enough to know that he was fine, just happy. Yao stood up, and walked behind Ivan, cutting the wire binding his wrists. When he walked around to cut loose Ivan's feet, Ivan wrapped his arms around him, pulling him up into his lap, and planting a kiss onto his surprised lips. Yao sighed, and after a bit, pulled away.
"Later, aru. I need to cut you loose, and then we need to get out. I am glad to see you too aru, but we have to escape first. Please Ivan, I was so worried." Yao's tone, as well as his face, melted Ivan's heart, and he nodded, containing his joy at being with Yao once more in order to concentrate on protecting them.
Once Yao had freed his legs with a small knife he pulled out from his long red sleeves, he stood up, and, much to Yao's protest, picked him up, with the skillet, and ran out the door, not allowing the pain of his injuries to stop him.
Yao huffed at being carried, but proceeded to direct Ivan out to the front, passing the many knocked out soldiers on the way, to where Yao had a helicopter waiting. Ivan charged towards it, aware of the few soldiers that were following them, trying to form enough order to recapture them. He lept in the open door, holding Yao tight, and the pilot, one who Ivan recognized as one of Yao's best helicopter pilots, took off, leaving the station far behind. Ivan pulled the door closed, and buried his face in Yao's dark hair, sliding off the tie absent mindedly, and running his fingers through the silky tresses. Yao curled up into Ivan's lap, sitting for a while. It was only after a few moments of silence that Ivan heard a small sob, and, alarmed, he looked down at Yao.
"Jao-Jao, my little sunflower, what is wrong?" he murmured, gently lifting Yao's delicate face up to his, looking into the brown eyes with concern, brushing the tears away with his thumb.
"I was so worried, aru. I didn't know what you would be like when I found you again…" Yao leaned into Ivan's form, careful tentative hands resting lightly on Ivan's shoulders. Ivan was suddenly conscious about what he might look like, and how scared Yao must have been the whole time. Glancing around, he caught sight of himself in the window, and almost gasped.
His nose must be broken, and had created a path of blood down his chin, which mixed with that of the cut on his face, which stretched from the top far end of his right cheek down horizontally, ending at the left side of his chin. The rest of his face was marred with bruises in various shades of color, purple, blue, green, and yellow. His platinum blond hair was stained with blood near the back, which was the source of his ever present headache. His body was no better, with several cuts in his uniform that he wore under his coat, which was not there and… his scarf. It wasn't there. Ivan panicked, looking around the helicopter in hopes that Yao had grabbed it, or that he had really had it with him all along, and had dropped it in the helicopter.
Yao noticed his distress, having been watching him, and pulled it out from where he had hidden it, under the seat. It was blood stained, and held the faint odor of tear gas, but Ivan wrapped it around the two of them all the same, calming down from the comforting feel of the scarf against his neck. He looked down at Yao, his precious sunflower, the love he had been searching for his whole life, and wordlessly, kissed the top of his head.
After a few moments, Yao pulled out a first aid kit. He took out a soft looking cloth, and put some water on it. He then looked up at Ivan, asking silently for permission. Ivan nodded, and Yao carefully pressed the cloth to Ivan's face, cleaning it carefully.
Ivan tried not to wince, but when Yao got to the long cut, he flinched. Yao simply leaned up and gently pressed his lips to Ivan's, mindful of the cuts, and continued to clean the cut, all the while looking into Ivan's eyes lovingly and shyly. Ivan nearly laughed out loud at his adorable Yao. So shy, yet so wonderful. Perfect for Ivan.
Satisfied that Ivan's face was clean, Yao turned his attention to the two gashes on his arm. They had stopped bleeding by now, but still stung. Yao cleaned them as well, and then carefully wrapped them in bandages, watching Ivan's face for any sign of discomfort. Once finished, he studied Ivan's chest, looking in confusion at the bloodstained area. Ivan hadn't shown any discomfort there, but it was a large stain.
"It doesn't hurt, Jao-Jao. You don't need to worry about it." Ivan said softly, remembering what had happened to earn him that injury. He hoped Yao wouldn't ever have to see it. It was bad, and ugly.
Yao frowned at him, and studied it again. Seeming to come to a decision, he quickly started to unbutton the uniform, sensing that Ivan didn't want him to see it. Ivan grabbed his hands, and looked down. Yao frowned again, and pulled his hands loose. He waited for Ivan to relax.
"It is not pretty, my little sunflower. I don't want you to have to see it. It really doesn't hurt. I can't feel anything there. You don't need to see it." Ivan said his voice unusually quiet and somber, instead of being light and childish.
Yao began to undo the buttons again, but slower, and said, "I have seen bad wounds Ivan. I hope you don't think the wound will lessen my opinion of you aru. I'm not a shallow as that. I love you, aru. No matter what." Yao finished the buttons, and pushed the jacket aside, starting the work on his shirt.
Ivan stopped his hands again, but this time, it was to embrace him, pressing a long kiss to Yao's forehead. "And I love you, Yao." He sat there with Yao leaning into his embrace for a while. Finally, he released Yao's hands, and Yao began to undo the buttons again. Once he was finally done with them, he parted the shirt, and took in the mess on Ivan's chest and torso. There was a lot of blood, and eventually Yao found the wound. He gasped. It was a bullet wound. Ivan had been shot. Yao looked to his pilot and asked in Chinese to land the second there was any sign of a hospital, and to fly as fast as possible.
Ivan looked down at the outside ground, and recognized it. "It will be about two hours till we reach a hospital." He informed the pilot in fluent Chinese. He and Yao had learned each other's languages a long time ago. Yao swelled with pride and joy at hearing Ivan's near flawless use of his language. He pressed a quick kiss to Ivan's cheek, flushing a bit, and cleaned and bandaged the wound as best he could.
Ivan sighed, finally done. He smiled at Yao hopefully, and Yao blushed, consenting. Ivan leaned down and pressed his lips softly to Yao's, content when he felt Yao curl up in his lap, his hands returning to their usual post on Ivan's shoulders.