The snow was cold on his body, and Lithuania shivered, from cold and defeat and fear. But then, his hand was warm because Feliks had it clutched tightly in his and Toris felt the warmth travel up his arm and swirl around his body—a jolt of electricity. But he was torn away from the warmth, the familiarity, so quickly and cruelly, and he was dragged into a house that was even colder than the snow.

"Po—Poland, save me," he cried, reaching out to the young boy who was still laying on the winter ground.

The blonde watched him leave, and would rather have been stabbed a hundred times because it couldn't have hurt more than his shattering heart, but he smirked and replied, "Your face is like, totally hilarious right now," because it'd be easier for Liet if he hated Poland when he left.

And Liet did. He raged at Poland, and rebelled against Russia, and he got whipped for his defiance. He sat near the window with his back aching, gazing out at the snowy landscape, and wished that his wounds would hurt more than the emptiness in his chest. He burrowed in his bed and cried, and wished that Poland would have saved him.

But that changed too. Soon, he was wishing that his wounds would heal so that he could fight Russia again, and he was wishing that Poland would lay in bed beside him. He missed the blonde so much that it was driving him mad.

He sneaked out of Russia's house one day and went to Poland's, vowing he would beat Feliks up and make the boy come save him. But all he came to find was an empty grassland where Feliks used to live, surrounded by grain on all sides.

Feliks was gone.

Toris dropped to his knees and cried, because he finally understood that he wasn't the one that needed saving.

He couldn't believe it. Lithuania stared at the barrel of the gun, tracing it back to the hand holding it. The hand that used to bandage his wounds, a little careless and a little concerned; the hand that used to tug and pull at his hair, all pleasure and love; the hand that used to take a hold of his and never let go. And now it held a gun to his head, and the voice that used to scream his name told him "Wilno is mine."

The lacerations across his body couldn't have hurt more than the cool, controlled voice of his friend if they had dumped him in saltwater. The world could say that it was just one war they were fighting against each other, it shouldn't mean much compared to their thousands of years of friendship. But they were wrong, because the trust developed between them those thousands of years was more delicate than the resentment that grew as they fought. The more trusted that person was, the more it hurt when they pulled out a knife and held it to your throat. And Toris had trusted that person very, very much.

Toris wanted to keep fighting, he wanted to stand up and beat the blonde down the earth (he wanted those soft lips on his own), he wanted to grab that gun and point it at Feliks' heart and pull (he'd turn that gun on himself if it meant Poland would be safe), but—but—

"I want to go back..." he whispered, staring into those green eyes, and a tear slipped down his cheek. He didn't know if Poland heard, and he didn't know if it that was a sob that left the blonde's lips, and he didn't know if the words that accompanied it were "me too," but Feliks lowered the gun and walked away and the soldiers grabbed Toris to lead him out of hisPoland'stheir city.

But all he could think of was why didn't you shoot?

Poland was falling. He wouldn't last long, and everyone knew that. Germany knew, Russia knew, Britain knew, France knew, the United-fucking-States of America knew, and Liet knew. But nobody reached out a hand to pull him back up. Germany wanted Poland to fall, Russia wanted it too; France, Britain, and USA didn't care, but it tore Lithuania apart. But neither could he look away.

Because he was beautiful. Feliks was beautiful as he stood, tall and proud, drenched in his enemy's blood (or was it his?), defiant and arrogant, his city ablaze behind him. He was a phoenix being consumed by his own flames; a wildflower that was smoldering in the fire. And he was beautiful as he stood, silhouetted against his burning city, trying his hardest not to cry.

Lithuania had seen him. Oh, had he seen the blonde when he was beaten to the ground, kicked like a dog, and his people were led soundlessly away. He was bleeding, he was bruised, he had a huge slash across his temple, but his eyes... Oh, his eyes. They stared unblinkingly at his enemies, all pride and scorn, and they said You won't win. You will never win. And Lithuania knew it was true, as he looked at his friendloverenemy, kneeling on the bloody soil that had once been covered by rye. We won't win. We won't win because it's a sin to kill a mockingbird; because it's impossible to stop a phoenix from rebirthing; because the flower will bloom again after the fire.

And Poland had spotted him. Those emerald eyes caught his gaze and never let go, and Toris read the accusation, the resentment, and the guilt. And it was the guilt that broke his heart (because dammit, he was the one who should feel guilty right now), so he turned away, but he kept feeling Poland's gaze on him. A gaze that said Yeah, alright. You hate me. I get it. It hurts, but I guess I deserve it. And as blonde kept staring, Lithuania suddenly realized how much blood he had on himself. Polish blood.

When he finally dared to look again, Feliks had been led away.

Independence. The word tasted sweet on his tongue as he gazed with pride at the buildings, at the parks, at the people beaming with joy as they strolled down the streets. It was hope that glimmered in their eyes now, hopes for a new life, hopes for decisions and uncertainties, hopes for freedom. It wasn't the shine of tears deliberately held back. They were happy, just like before. They talked, and they smiled, and they laughed, and they cried, and it wasn't just a front now. It wasn't just We're not giving up yet. It was genuine. It was We've won. We didn't give up, and look at us now.

And he wanted to laugh and he wanted to cry and he wanted to shout and he wanted to scream, because it was such a relief. Because he wouldn't have to fight Russia anymore, because his government, his people, were his again, and because—and because he could start mending the broken relationship he couldn't before. He could start mending it before the pieces fell to the ground and disappeared in the bodies and in the blood.

"Liet! Liet!"

The familiar nickname had him stopping dead in his tracks, barely daring to hope. But there was a feeling rushing through him, and the urge to cry became even stronger than before.

"Liet..." Arms were halfway around his shoulders before they froze, hesitant, and then pulled back. Feliks fidgeted, unsure of what to do with his hands, and finally clasped them behind his back. There was an awkward silence, but then he breathed in and spoke in a small, nervous voice so inappropriate of him. "So... You're like, independent now..." He refused to meet Toris' eyes.

Toris was barely able to form a coherent reply, so affected by the blonde's sudden appearance in Vilnius (his Vilnius, won back by the Soviets, he remembered with disgust), where the two had stood seventy years before, with one holding a gun to the other's head.

"Yeah... I guess I am," he responded, staring hard at Poland, as if daring him to disappear like a dream, like a distant memory.

Another silence, and Liet hated the way it teased them; reminded them of how different things were, of times spent apart, and of times wasted. Wasted in mutual destruction. But, he decided, it was time the destruction ended, because Feliks wasn't something he could afford to destroy. With that resolution, he leaned forward and pulled his lover to his chest.

Feliks was taken by surprise, and his green eyes widened, but his body assimilated the situation quicker than his mind, and his arms automatically wrapped themselves around the taller man's waist. He buried his face in Liet's shoulder, and Liet could tell that he was trying to hide his tears.

The brunette smiled, breathing in Poland's soft scent of gunpowder and smoke from battles fought not long ago, of sun-dried flowers and harvested rye from the past that still hadn't left. And he knew that it wasn't too late to save their relationship. It wasn't too late to save them.

"You can cry, if you want," he whispered.

"'M totally not crying," Feliks responded cheekily, but he couldn't repress a small sniffle, and Liet pretended not to hear.

In the midst of the commotion, of the laughter and the shouts, of the seas of people wandering through their own lives, never fully giving up on hope, Toris and Feliks stood together, their arms wrapped around one another, knowing all too well that peace wouldn't last forever. But that didn't matter now, because the cities were being rebuilt, the bodies were being buried, and their bridge was slowly, without hesitance, extending across the river of blood, and towards each other.

A/N: These four moments are heavily based on historical context (but don't rely on it for 100% accuracy) from, what I judged, as most important in the history of Polish-Lithuanian relationship. The history of Poland and Lithuania wasn't as nice as Himaruya portrayed it, and it still isn't, due to the elements I wrote about. The facts are listed below.

1) The Partitions of Poland: The first part is based more on Himaruya's interpretation than history, but perhaps you would recall the strip of Lithuania's flashback where it showed the destruction of the Commonwealth, and as Lithuania is being led away by Russia, he is begging for Poland to save him, while Feliks replies with "Your face is like, totally hilarious right now." Sadly, Poland was then partitioned a total of three times, once in 1772, the second time in 1793, and the last time, which completely wiped Poland off the map, in 1795. Of course, you can see that I twisted these two together for my own Liet/Pol purposes. For more information feel free to search for the Partitions of Poland on Wikipedia. (I know, it's not the best source, but I think it serves my fanfic-writing purposes.)

2) The Vilnius Conflict: This takes place during the Polish-Lithuanian war (though both countries claim they fought each other only as a part of a greater war), during 1919-1920 (Polish and Lithuanian accounts vary). Poland had just been resurrected after WW1, and Lithuania was newly independent. Poland was after two things: one, Lithuania's capital, Vilnius (known to the Polish as Wilno), which the Polish claimed had been a part of their country, and two, another union between the two nations. Lithuania saw this as a loss of their independence to Poland, and refused, but with both of the two nations fighting the common enemy, Russia, in the Lithuanian-Soviet and Polish-Soviet wars, relations were still okay, and not exactly hostile. That changed when Poland staged a mutiny with their 1st Lithuanian-Belarusian unit with the goal of capturing Vilnius. They succeeded, and needless to say, anti-Polish sentiments ran rampant, especially when the international community set a demarcation line (that later became the Polish-Lithuanian borders) that did quite an efficient job of handing Vilnius over to the Polish. Lithuania did not recognize the border, and broke off all diplomatic relations with Poland until the Polish ultimatum (another dickish move on the part of Poland) of 1938. Search: Polish–Lithuanian War

3) World War 2: Anti-Polish sentiments in Lithuania were high during WW2, due to the affair with Vilnius, and they were, at the same time, trying to keep their independence. In the period during Germany's invasion of Poland, Lithuania did not make an effort to aid their former partner (which can also be said of the West). Well, Lithuania got occupied by Germany in 1941, who treated them a lot better than Russia did, and even promised Lithuania independence after the war. Their government collaborated with the Nazis, and their treatment of the Polish people was particularly bad. Thousands of Poles died at the hands of Lithuanian collaborators, and tens of thousands were deported. Poland, however, did not leave the war with clean hands. Both sides lost many civilians to the other. The reference to Poland's burning capital was the Warsaw Uprising, an uprising by the Polish underground due to prompting by the Soviets (who, in the end, did absolutely nothing to help their Polish "allies"), before the Nazis were expelled from Poland. The Polish expected the Soviet units to join them to eject Germany from their capital, but the Soviets never came, and by then, they were pretty much fighting a losing battle. They were low on food, water, ammunition, and civilians were being massacred by the Nazis in retaliation for the acts of the underground. Nobody helped them, or at least significantly. Not Russia (who could have), not the USA (they tried, but their attempts were hampered by the Soviets), not the UK (managed to drop some provisions until they lost too many planes and were diverted to less high-risk locations), and sure as hell not Lithuania. Search: Polish-Lithuanian relations during World War II

4) Lithuania's independence: Lithuania finally became independent of the Soviet Union in 1990, and the Soviet scope of power faded from Poland after a series of rebellions in 1989. Lithuania first declared independence on the 11 of March of 1990, the first Soviet state to do so, with which the Soviets retaliated with thirteen dead. Poland became one of the first nations to recognize Lithuanian independence.