Loose Canon: The Fall of the Soviet Union
Or, alternatively: The Five Times Belarus Thought of Freedom
This was a stupid idea.
Now, Natalya had always known, somewhere in the back of her head, that her brother had problems with trying to make friends. She wasn't stupid, and she most certainly wasn't blind. After all, forcing their neighbors to live with them under the guise of an "alliance" was a little much… And the world knew that it wasn't really out of true friendship: her brother was just terrified that the newly formed NATO nations were going to take his "friends" away from him. Especially America and the recent decision to rearm Germany…
But as much as it inconvenienced her, Natalya supposed there were bright sides to this. Hungary had been making tentative friends with her sister, which was good considering how shy her sister was. And Natalya had never seen Lithuania or Poland more relieved to see the other one alive. The Czechoslovakia duo were lucky not to be torn away from each other like Austria and Hungary just decades before…
The formation of the Warsaw Pact was in some ways a response to the creation of NATO, although it…was more directly inspired by the rearming of West Germany and its admission into NATO in 1955.
But it didn't change the fact that Natalya hated having people in the house. Mostly because people tended to shrink away at the sight of her. And she knew why: she had been at following her brother's orders for so long… It was almost as if she had no identity of her own.
Then again, her country was not her own.
It hadn't been for a while…
And so, as a trusted associate, it was her job to keep people from leaving…
She was not Belarus.
She was simply Natalya.
Russia's loyal watchdog.
His obedient servant.
And nothing more.
There was…an internal security component to the [Warsaw Pact] agreement that proved useful to the USSR. The alliance provided a mechanism for the Soviets to exercise even tighter control over the other Communist states in Eastern Europe and deter pact members from seeking greater autonomy.
But Natalya supposed that hers wasn't a completely horrible circumstance. After all, she had shared a house with Poland and Lithuania before, so having them in the house wasn't exactly new to her. She was used to Poland randomly challenging her to fencing duels, and she was used to Lithuania asking her to try something he was cooking. But most of all, she was used to their antics, enough so that she didn't feel the need to look up from her knitting when she heard the other two's loud banter.
"But Liet!" Poland whined, struggling away from Lithuania as he stood on a ledge.
"No, Poland," Lithuania sighed, tightening his grip around Poland's waist. "Jumping from a second-story window will not make you cooler than Prussia."
Natalya sighed softly. Now, she was used to this: Poland doing something crazy, and Lithuania chasing him to prevent him from doing so. Now, surely, there were other Nations that would take pity on the tired and ragged Lithuania, ones that would be willing to give him a break and keep an eye on Poland for him for a while. But unfortunately for Lithuania, no one stepped forward.
Mostly because Poland would kick your ass for even touching him.
Because Poland listened to no one. Not even Russia.
Especially Russia. Just look at how much Poland's people struggled in protest.
And yet…
Poland sighed, leaning back into the iron grip around his waist and letting Lithuania pick him up and lower him back to the floor.
"You really ought not to be so reckless, Po," Lithuania sighed. His breath must have grazed the quickly reddening tips of Poland's ears, because not only did Poland's hair move…maybe Natalya could only see Poland shiver because of how long she had lived with them both before. But Poland didn't move away from Lithuania, and Lithuania's grip lingered silently. And they stayed like that for just a beat longer than was probably necessary…
Eventually, though, Poland ran off again, probably off to prove that he was indeed the "coolest nation in the WarPac!"
("No one actually calls it that, do they?" Lithuania muttered.)
Lithuania sighed, staring after Poland. "Some things never change, do they?"
Natalya, who had been silently knitting in the corner until now, looked up. "I take it you mean that you still haven't confessed?"
In older days, Lithuania would have spluttered, blushed, vehemently denied… But these days, he just sighed resignedly. Not too surprising, old as they were.
"That's a no, then," Natalya answered for him. They'd had this conversation before. A beat of silence, then she asked the same question she always did. "May I ask why the hell not?" With no less annoyance than she always had. "And please give an honest answer this time. I've heard every single one of your other excuses."
Lithuania shrugged, leaning wearily on the windowsill. "Po has always been an independent spirit. His aim had always been to fly: high and away and to be forever untouchable…" It was as if he'd told himself these same words over and over for centuries. In fact, he probably had.
"You think confessing would burden him?" Natalya wondered aloud.
Lithuania gave a rueful smile. "If I asked him to stay, he probably would. Even though staying tied down in one place would probably kill him. No, he deserves someone who can keep up with him. He deserves to fly."
"To fly," Natalya repeated to herself. "No one can hurt you, when you're far and away from everyone else. To go wherever your heart desires…" She wondered—if only for a second—what such a feeling was like. But then she shook her head, returning to the subject at hand. "You know he only does crazy things to keep your attention, right?"
Lithuania shut his eyes: a defeated, forlorn stance overtaking his posture and expression. "I know. But be that as it may, I can't give him the one thing he values over anything else."
Freedom.
Natalya didn't have to hear him to say it. She knew what he meant.
The first revolution of 1989 took place in Poland, where the non-Communist trade unionists in the Solidarity movement bargained with the Communist government for freer elections in which they enjoyed great success.
"Do you know what it's like to be free?"
There was it was.
That word again.
Freedom.
"What kind of question is that?" Natalya scoffed, swinging her practice blade at Hungary.
Hungary shrugged, their swords clashing together. "I'm trying to get to know you better."
Natalya scowled. Well, deeper than she was already. She wished that Hungary would just focus on sparring instead of asking such ridiculous questions. What did it matter if she was in love? Her duties would always keep her away, and besides: female Nations were trophies. Hence why her brother kept her and her sister, why Switzerland kept Liechtenstein. Hell, Hungary was living proof of what happened to female Nations in a world meant for men.
The question was pointless. So why…?
"Where are you going with this?" she said quickly, before Hungary thought there was too much of a hesitant pause.
Hungary simply repeated the question. "Have you ever been in love?"
As nice as it was having more estrogen in the house, Natalya was starting to get a little irritated with Hungary. Mostly because Hungary never made sense to Natalya. Hungary was so…girly. And yet…
She had once been a terror in Eastern Europe, but she had allowed herself to be reduced to little more than a trophy housewife. She once had all the freedom in the world…
Hungary made no sense.
Natalya irritably swung her sword again. "Why would you ask that me that when you gave up your freedom to be with an aristocrat that doesn't even acknowledge your housework?"
Hungary must have heard that one too many times to act truly hurt, but she still stepped back out of Natalya's range. "Okay, I know you're not as sociable as your sister, but—"
"I ought to thank you for that, actually," Natalya interrupted.
Hungary blinked, lowering her sword. "What?"
Natalya also lowered her sword, recognizing a pause in the duel. "Thank you," she replied. "My sister is a rather shy and doesn't have too many friends. Thank you for reaching out to her. Not many people give her a chance. So…thank you."
A beat of silence. Two. Then Hungary smiled. "You're welcome. After all, everyone deserves a friend."
Natalya's brow furrowed. A friend? Was that how Hungary viewed her allies?
She realizes that she was nothing more than a chess piece in Austria's Empire, right?
They were Nations, not people. So why—?
"What's this? Hungary is actually being nice?" came a sly voice. One Natalya was quickly getting to be familiar with.
Hungary whirled around, pointing her sword at Romania. "Shut up! I can be nice if I want!"
Natalya rolled her eyes. "Why are you here anyway?"
"Well," Romania replied airily, purposely ignoring Hungary to anger her further. "I was going to tell you that your sister wanted to eat lunch with Hungary, but…"
Hungary's eyes widened, and she cursed. "That's right! I lost track of time…" She turned to Natalya. "We'll talk later, okay?" And before Natalya could reply, Hungary was out the door. But not before angrily throwing her sword at Romania.
Romania barely managed to catch the thing, seeing as she had aimed for his face. Thankfully for him, he was wearing gloves, so the blade didn't hurt him. (Not that it really mattered. It was a dull practice sword, after all.)
"Well," Romania stated aloud. "I guess I should have expected that."
Natalya ignored him, instead staring after Hungary. We'll talk later. Hungary had said it so casually. As if… As if they were friends…
Romania was staring at her now. "My queen?"
Natalya whirled on him. "I am not your anything! Why do you insist on calling me that?! If you continue with your pathetic attempts at flirting, I will be forced to take drastic measures…"
Romania smirked a little. "So you do admit that we are currently flirting?"
At this point, Natalya was shoving a finger in his face, so she growled lowly.
"I'm kidding," Romania said before she could cuss him out. He held his hands up in surrender, but he still had the nerve—the nerve—to chuckle. "I must say, though: if you think that is flirting, I wonder what would happen if I actually tried…"
Natalya turned away from him. Of course the flirting didn't actually mean anything to him. In fact, he probably charmed ladies all the time! And that fact shouldn't mean anything to her either, for that matter… So why…?
"When was the last time anyone talked to you?" Romania asked suddenly. "And I don't mean flirtatiously? I mean, as a person."
The question made her stop and think of Hungary's words.
Everyone deserves a friend.
Natalya didn't need to answer Romania's question. She knew what the answer was.
Soviet influence in Eastern Europe waned. In 1989, every other communist state in the region replaced its government with a noncommunist one.
Until the Wall had been erected, Prussia seemed almost fine with being part of the Eastern Bloc of the so-called Iron Curtain. Natalya had assumed it was because at least he and Germany still had Berlin. But then the Wall ruined all that. Now, Prussia knew, with his quasi-immortality, that he could survive the barbed wire and the dogs and the spikes and the guns… In fact, he threatened to leap the Wall at least once a week. But he stayed, because his people couldn't survive the journey over the Wall like he could. And so he helped to arrange escapes, mapped out routes, scraped together food and care packages…
And that's why Natalya found Prussia with quite a few bullet holes in him. Not that those would have killed him… But to this day, Natalya will never know what possessed her to move forward and save his stupid German ass from the Wall guards.
The soldiers had looked terrified to see her. "Lady Arlovskaya…" they squeaked. Pathetic.
"Go," she growled. "I will handle this one personally." And they left. After all, she was the Soviet watchdog. They had no reason to doubt her. Hell, she had no reason to doubt herself.
And yet…
Everyone deserves a friend.
Natalya found herself nursing Prussia back to health.
Even though he was less than cooperative.
"I'm fine!" Prussia hissed angrily when the disinfectant hit his wounds. "Now let me go!"
Fortunately for Prussia's well-being, thanks to her long, long life of being surrounded by masculine pride and stubbornness, she simply continued on her task of bandaging him.
"Oh, suck it up," Natalya snapped. "You should be thankful that I'm helping you." She bound the last bandage, then turned around to rinse her hands.
Prussia was quiet for once, but she could feel his curious gaze. After some silence, though, he began to cough up blood. But Natalya, having tended to her brother countless times before, just let him cough and cough, until he coughed up all the bullets.
"I'll take those," Natalya said when he finished coughing. He took the bullets from him and gave him a clean towel to wipe his hands. And Prussia was a little stunned that Belarus, dresses and ribbons and all, wasn't the least bit fazed by touching someone else's blood and phlegm.
More stunned silence. And suddenly, Prussia asked the million dollar question. "Why are you helping me?"
Natalya was taken aback by the question, but years of emotional control didn't let her surprise slip through. She silently rinsed the bullets and placed them to the side.
"I mean, it sort of makes sense," Prussia continued, grunting as he gingerly sat up. "Like, your brother wouldn't like it if I was dead, sure. But you could have let those soldiers beat me up. I mean, after what the soldiers under my last boss did to your people…"
Her people.
As if they hadn't been forced to be Polish or Russian for generations.
As if they still existed.
Natalya found herself shrugging, surprising herself with her own response. "You want to see your brother again, yes?"
Prussia was apparently surprised by the answer too. "Well yes, but…" he shook his head. "Aside from keeping me alive, I didn't think you'd care very much for my condition."
Natalya turned slowly to face him, drying her hands on a towel. She didn't know what to say to him really…
When was the last time someone talked to you as a person?
"Can I ask you something?" Prussia asked suddenly.
"You just did…" Natalya replied, "But yes. What is it?"
For all his rebellious energy and trademark bravado, Prussia was almost scary when he was serious. "Why do you stay with him?"
There was no need to specify. She knew who "he" was.
"He's my brother." Her automatic answer was out before she could stop it. Before she was aware of saying it.
Prussia sighed. Because… Well, what else was he expecting?
"What is it?" Natalya frowned.
"Nothing," Prussia replied quickly. "It's just… When was the last time he actually acted like he was your brother?"
Natalya turned to glare at Prussia. "What?"
Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was blood loss or painkillers or exhaustion. But Prussia wasn't fazed by that famous icy glare. "I'm just saying. You do nice things for him all the time. When was the last time he did something nice for you?"
Now, that should have sealed a dark and irreversible fate for Prussia. And yet…
Natalya shook her head. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."
The Berlin Wall stood until November 9, 1989…That night, ecstatic crowds swarmed the wall. Some crossed freely into West Berlin… More than 2 million people from East Berlin visited West Berlin that weekend to participate in a celebration that was, one journalist wrote, "the greatest street party in the history of the world."
"My queen, may I have this duel?"
Now, Natalya should have known that not all of the Nations would leave peacefully.
Hence, why she was fencing—fencing, of all things—with Romania. Never mind the countless advancements in modern weaponry. Instead, Romania decided to be old-fashioned and asked her to duel instead. Natalya accepted, if only so she had an excuse to hit him. After all, the way he asked her, one would think he was asking her to dance. Complete with a sweeping body and an extended hand. Only his hand was offering her a sword.
"A fine sword for a fine lady?" he smirked a little.
She snatched the sword from him with a low growl. God, he was annoying.
But in a way, they may as well have been dancing, and she was surprised to find that Romania could keep up with her. After all, she'd spent countless hours sparring with Poland and Hungary, so the fact that he was keeping up spoke volumes about his endurance. A lot of girls would probably swoon over the fact that this flirt of a Nation had skill with a blade: their own personal Prince Charming. He probably had countless girls lined up back home, each eagerly waiting to see him…
The harsh clash of swords brought her back to reality.
"My queen?" Romania asked. "What's on that beautiful mind of yours?"
And suddenly, Natalya had had enough. "I am not your queen!"
Romania froze, and suddenly, the only sound between them is the snow they kicked up in their duel settling to the ground again. Oddly enough, Natalya didn't take the opportunity to attack him in his moment of hesitation. Instead, she watched him lower his sword and turn to look up at the moon. The cold winter air wound around them: just enough to be a sobering wakeup call as opposed to a soothing breeze. The snow glittered, the swords glinted… And yet Natalya knew that despite the eerie silence out in the wilderness, there was an angry storm of Romania's people rebelling back in civilization.
"I owe you an explanation," Romania said suddenly, shattering the silence and startling Natalya. He gave her a serious look. "I know you're not mine. Not in any capacity. And frankly, I know you never will be."
…well, Natalya wasn't expecting him to sound so hopeless. "Why do you sound so sad? You're certainly flirtatious enough to get any woman you wanted."
Romania choked at that, but she kept going. "In fact, I'm sure you have quite a few hopefuls waiting for you, hoping you're okay, what with all the chaos in your streets at the moment…"
A beat of silence. Two. "...well. Nice to know you think so highly of me. That I'm such a catch that I have troves of women waiting at my back and call…" Romania sighed and continued before she could kill him for his arrogance. "But no. I'm usually too busy working to spend time with my brother, let alone any women…"
Natalya blinked. She had forgotten about Moldova…
"I hate this," Romania said suddenly, throwing his sword down. "I always have hated it, you know. How freedom has to come at such a high cost…"
Freedom… How did it feel to be free?
"But no," Romania chuckled darkly. "My people have always been too passionate to not be violent." And for a second, Natalya remembered a flash of something…
Memories of past wars? Blood, pain, tears, screams…
Her people. And what it meant to have people to call your own…
She had nearly forgotten.
"You have a unique culture, my queen," Romania said softly. "Your own language, your own identity. You should be proud of who you are."
Natalya doubted that Hungary would approve but… Everyone deserves a friend.
"I never understood your choice of endearment," Natalya admitted suddenly.
Romania blinked. "What?"
"I understand you don't mean to claim me as yours… But why 'queen'? It's an unusual choice. Most flirts just say 'princess.'"
Romania looked absolutely stunned. The corners of his lips twitched. A smile. A grin. Then suddenly, he was outright laughing. "You are one hell of a woman," he managed to say. He shook his head, wiping away his tears. "No, it would be demeaning to call you 'princess.'"
Now Natalya was really lost. "What?"
"'Princess,'" he explained, "would imply that you were nothing more than a game piece. To be married off to the highest bidder and paraded around like a trophy. It would mean that you needed to be rescued by some shining knight or brave hero or handsome prince…
"I call you 'queen' because you are at the mercy of no one. Hell, you could conquer the whole chessboard if you so chose. You are ruthless, merciless, and you know how to play the game. I call you 'queen' because you are powerful. You don't need someone to save you, and you certainly don't need me…" he gave a defeated sigh, the same one Lithuania gave whenever he talked about Poland…
"But above all else, just remember: you don't need a king to be a queen."
And then they were silent again. At least, she was silent as he turned away from her and began to descend from the wilderness above to civilization below.
Natalya took up the sword he had discarded. With one in each hand, she swung them around to get a feel for their weight.
Fine swords for a fine lady.
Indeed.
In December [of 1989] violence reigned: A firing squad executed Romania's Communist dictator, Nicolae Ceaușescu, and his wife.
Natalya found her sister crying. Not too unusual of an event, but Natalya knew something was different this time.
"Sister?" Natalya called.
Her sister then whirled around, and Natalya realized what was different. Normally her sister was hunched over because her "gigantic boobies keep hurting my back." But now… It was the straightest Natalya had ever seen her posture, even as children.
"I'm leaving," her sister declared.
And Natalya realized that right then, in this moment, the woman standing in front of her…
It wasn't her sister.
It was Ukraine.
"Don't try and stop me," Ukraine said. Her voice was steady and firm, despite the angry tears leaking down her face.
Now, there shouldn't have been any problem stopping her crybaby of an older sister.
And yet…
At this point, Ukraine was halfway out the door.
"Before you go," she whispered to Ukraine. "Why are you leaving? Why now?"
Ukraine stopped. A beat of silence. Then, "I can't keep babying him like this." She looked over her shoulder. "And frankly, you need to start making your own decisions. I've let this go on for too long… Just once, just once I want to do what I want. So please…" Her sister turned around, placing her hands on both of her shoulders. She looked her straight in the eye. "You're a grown ass woman, Belarus. Act like it."
And with that, angry tears and shaky fists and all, Ukraine left.
She should have been reeling from that fact that Ukraine of all people just swore.
And yet…
Belarus. She hadn't heard that name in forever…
Suddenly, she looked around the house. Without the others, there was so much less life. So much less activity… It used to annoy her but… Now the house seemed empty.
She walked through the house, finding a few lingering Nations: mostly from the Asian part of the satellite nations, but all of them stop looked away from her, even shutting doors as she walked by. And she found herself why she ever put up with all that crap in the first place…
Everyone deserves a friend.
She found herself in front of an all-too familiar sight. She stared back at Russia's office door, then glanced at the keyhole on the knob. Locked, as always. She really wasn't sure what else she had expected…
When was the last time he actually acted like your brother?
Suddenly, she ran. She didn't know where she was running until she found herself flinging open the front door, running down the hill, laughing hysterically to the midnight sky. She ran… She ran… She ran… And never, not once, did she ever look back.
Do you know what it means to be free?
She knew what the answer was.
She had always known what the answer was.
No… No she didn't.
But maybe…
"MY NAME IS BELARUS!" she screamed to the August moon and the glittering stars.
Maybe now she had a chance.
After all, she didn't need a king to be a queen.
By 1991, the Soviet Union itself had fallen apart.
The Cold War was over.
A/N: Behold why I haven't updated Saving Cardverse in forever!
I hope you didn't get too confused, but the centered italicized parts are quotes from the Cold War section of .
As for why it's called Loose Canon... I plan on starting a series some time in the future that combines a loose interpretation of Hetalia with a loose interpretation of history. Hence: Loose Canon