Hetalia and all characters in that fandom belong to Himaruya

The general gist: a girl named Emily catches the eye of Ivan Braginski (the personification of Russia) and he decides to do something about it. Maybe a little bit more than just, 'something'.

Translations:

Уважаемые=dear

мой драгоценный дорогой= my darling precious

bonsoir= goodnight

ONE

It was just another day to me. The Sun was half-hidden behind some clouds, making it just bright enough to have to shield your eyes from it when you looked up. The dead grass below was stiff with frost, but it was almost December; it wasn't unusual at all.

I was optimistic and smiling, ready for anything. My pedaling matched my face; confident and fast, even had a light sort of bounce to it. Today was a new day, after all. No matter what had happened before, there was always the next day, reliable, accountable.

The market was just a few miles away, and knowing this I closed my eyes and tried to bathe in the rays of the Sun. I knew fully well that it wasn't really possible, and all that I was accomplishing was letting the wind get a better shot at stinging my face. But I didn't really mind at all. It was a balmy sixty-three degrees Fahrenheit, a great day to go out cycling to get my food for the coming week.

Some wisps of hair escaped the old knit hat I had, and I pushed my hands off the rusty handlebars to put them back into place. I nudged the brown hairs under the hem and realized my ears were a little too chilled for my comfort.

I zoomed through the busiest part of town and hear everyone speaking to each other in little snippets-

"Good morni-"

"Excuse me ma'am I-"

"How are you sweethe-"

"Mama please!-"

-as the cold air reddened my nose.

I stopped over by the brick wall near the church and parked my bike. I knew most of the people in the town, and they knew me. Although I hadn't come back to Russia greeted with open arms, I trusted them enough to not take my property.

I grabbed the basket with my money in it and ran over to the loudest part of the market where the shops were dense with people and goods.

"Emily!"

I whirled my head around to see my friend at his stand. "Morning!" I beamed. "Have any oat bread today? I just ran out."

"Of course, Уважаемые. Here you go."

I gave him the cash that was required and smiled as I saw that it was still steaming. "Ah, Luka, how do you do it?" I asked, inhaling the intoxicating scent.

"Old family recipe. All the way back to my great-great-grandmother."

I replied warmly, "She did a wonderful job."

He smiled as I made my way over to Anessa, who was, as always, out selling the best eggs I had ever tasted.

"Morning!" I yelled over the din.

She smiled softly and said, "Seven as usual, right?"

I nodded. I paid for the eggs with the rest of the money I had brought.

She stated, "That's too much, dearie."

"What?" I had counted out exactly how much I had needed before leaving home. I never miscounted! Then I saw her hand back half the money and understood what she really meant. "I-I-I can't accept that."

She gave me her best Anessa-look and I had no choice but to receive the money with the most grateful look I could muster.

"Your mother and you helped my Frezna when she caught that horrible cough," she smiled gently, "It's only right of me to try and help you."

I hugged her over the counter, then put the eggs into the basket and shuffled through a denser part of the market. I had all I needed; it was time to try and get to the small stall where I made a living selling flowers.

I pushed through the crowd, smiling at the townspeople I crossed. Some gave me hard stares, others sympathetic looks. I got a few small greetings as I settled into my spot, but no one was particularly talkative around me. Since I wasn't fluent in Russian, it made sense. I wouldn't be able to hold what they defined as an 'intelligent' conversation. Or at least a fluent Russian conversation that didn't center around what flowers I had for sale that day.

I sat inside the stall, renewing a hopeful smile. A couple people passed by. One bought a rose. I took the couple rubles with a grin. Maybe I could go back to Anessa and try to give her back some of the money she had refused to accept earlier.

I took a couple tulips, one was striped red and white, the other a bright yellow. If she wouldn't accept my money, maybe she'd accept the flowers. I stepped out of my stall and onto the street, the colors of the flowers seeming to radiate through the cold gloom.

A moment later I felt a hand on my left arm and spun to see who it was. Immediately I was greeted by a familiar hug.

"Francis!" I embraced my friend, careful not to crush the flowers. "How are you?"

He laughed, wavy blonde hair glinting in the cold light, "I'm fine. I see you've gotten what you need. But you're missing something,"

I looked to my basket to see if anything was gone, "What?"

He held out a bright green apple. "I know it's been tough for you lately. I know you'll get through it. But in the meantime, I can give you this!"

"Francis…" I re-hugged him, closing my eyes and taking in the comfort that he was giving me. I'd need the feeling of safety later, when I knew I'd be alone and cold.

"No problem," he replied, ruffling my hair. "I've got to get home… I'll see you later?"

I smiled, "Sure Francis. Bye!"

"Bonsoir!"

I scanned the crowd to see my friend disappear into the mass of people, and turned to continue on to Anessa.

She was humming to herself, adjusting some cartons of eggs on the counter. I crouched and ran to be right in front of the stand so I could not be seen, and slowly raised the flowers over the counter.

"Oh my…"

I smiled to myself as the blooms were plucked from my hands. I stood up fully, seeing her admiring the brightly colored flowers.

"They're for you, Anessa… thank you for everything." She hugged me over the counter, smothering me in her maternal fashion. I closed my eyes and leaned into the embrace, remembering my own mother.

She drew back, setting the two tulips on the counter carefully. "Frenza will love these."

"I know she likes yellow," I replied happily. "And you love the red and white ones."

Anessa sighed happily and stroked one of the petals. "She says it reminds her of the sunshine."

It was so nice to hear of a mother talk about their daughter so freely. I nodded respectfully, "I must be on my way. Thanks again, and I'll see you soon."

She smiled, dismissing me with a wave.

I jogged off to where my bike was leaning on a wall. I saw someone near the wall, glancing at it. I was immediately suspicious of him. He was maybe a year or two older than I was. His eyes seemed sort of shifty, and looking at anyone's bike wasn't a good place to lay your eyes; especially if it was mine. They didn't make any move to try to take it or even get closer to it if he was planning to make off with it. He just eyed it carefully.

He had a long scarf and what looked to be a very warm tannish coat on. I envied him a bit, being able to have a nice coat like that. 'Just keep walking,' I told myself. 'It's just a boy.'

I got close to the wall and couldn't help but slow down just the littlest bit to get a bit of a closer look at him. The face was calm, composed; as if he was trying not to show emotion. His stance was very straightforward and his legs seemed to be locked. His eyes weren't dull, but seemed to be restrained-

'I can see his eyes. He can see mine. I'm looking in his eyes. That means he's looking in mine.'

-I fumbled out of thought and looked down at my shoes, still going towards my bike. I put the basket on the right handlebar and mounted, kicking the kickstand out from under it.

The boy was motionless.

I glanced back for a short moment, only to see that he made complete eye contact, vivid purple eyes staring curiously into mine.

'Those eyes…'

I was haunted by the visage of the strange boy long after I returned home. I had placed the groceries in their proper places, and debated whether or not to devour the apple for a while. There was nothing else to do in the old house… empty save for me.

I closed my eyes and felt a cold chill come into the house. I grabbed a blanket off a wooden chair, and kneeled on the ground next to the hearth.

I stoked the fire a bit to make sure that it hadn't run out of wood. It was going to be a harsh winter, and I couldn't have myself being cold this early. It was even December yet and I was already worried about running out of wood. Now that Mother was gone… no…. I couldn't think about that right now. I have to stay strong, for her. She'd want me to move on.

I heard a knock on my door. I stood, shaking my head of the unwanted thoughts and leaned my ear against the door cautiously. "Hello?"

"It's Francis! Could I come in?"

I opened the door and let him in before hurriedly closing it again, trying to keep out the rapidly dropping temperature. "Hey…"

"Surprise," he said gently as I saw he was carrying at least twenty pounds of firewood.

I was speechless. "F-F-Francis… I… I…"

He set it down next to the makeshift hearth and heaved a large log onto the dying flame. "You really don't think I'm going to let you go cold, do you? Can't have an Emily-cicle left over from winter in the springtime!"

I smiled and held back tears of relief, and hugged him tight.

"So," he continued, patting me lightly on the back, "how was your day at the market?"

"Anessa only let me pay for half the eggs," I admitted to him. "And Luka gave me the biggest, freshest loaf of oat bread he had. Francis, I feel like I'm taking advantage of everybody…"

"Let them take care of you," he said, leading me down to sit by the fire now that the new log had caught flame. "You're too strong, Emily. You are but a fragile human…you give, but you never take. So this time, you need to take a little bit. Learn to do that."

"That's not what she would want," I squeezed my eyes shut, "she would want me to fend for myself."

"Your mother would want you to do the best that you could, and you are. You're just getting a little bit of help, too."

I felt the warmth of the room around me getting stronger by the second. "Thanks for the firewood. I don't know what I'm going to do. I need to find the old axe Mother used to say was around here somewhere…" I looked around the desolate house. There was no place to hide it if it was even here. I wiped a couple of stray tears from my cheek.

"You can always borrow mine," he hugged me from the side.

I stammered, "I-I owe you so much already."

You don't owe me anything, Emilia. Never."

My train of thought switched onto another track, "I saw an odd boy after you left."

His eyes sparkled, "Ah, you did? Did he talk to you?"

"No… but he kinda scares me. He just… stood there."

Francis's eyebrows furrowed. "That's unusual to say the least. Why didn't he do anything?"

"I don't know," I said, trying to reenact the scene in my mind. "I'm not even sure if he was really looking at me, or just at my bike. Looked like he wanted to steal it."

"Did he try to take it?"

"Well… no. But I was right there, he wouldn't have tried anyways."

"Did he make eye contact with you?"

"Oh yeah," I replied, eyes wide, "When I was biking home he looked right in my eyes. But he just stood there. Didn't say a thing, or even move."

"Odd." He sat there for a moment, scratching his chin. "Well, I have to be heading home before it gets too cold. Enjoy the firewood, Emily."

"I will," I reassured him, and I watched him walk home until an evening mist swallowed my friend up.

I let the wood burn in the hearth and curled up under a few old quilts and moth-eaten blankets in front of the flame. I tried to let the warmth in, but the coldness of the house was being fed by the darkening sky outside. I shivered; and drifted off into a numb sleep.

The next day I woke up, stretching myself and getting rid of the crust that had gathered in the corners of my eyes. Another morning.

I folded up my blankets with the utmost care and put them carefully in the corner farthest from the door. I had to keep everything where it needed to be. I couldn't afford to lose, misplace, or damage anything. Selling the flowers was barely getting me by, and although I was scrambling to find a new job the places offering employment didn't want to take me in because of my lack of language skills.

I kneeled in front of the chest that used to be my mother's, and kissed the top of the painted wood, tears dripping down my face. "Good morning, Mom. I'm doing well. Francis gave me some firewood last night. The flower selling is going well. I love you very much, and I'll see you after work."

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the cool wood, then stood up and faced the door. I grasped my bike leaning up against the wall, took it outside, and jumped onto it. I pedaled to the market, going straight to my stand. I waited for customers with a half smile and rubbed my shoulders as a cold wind whipped lightly over me. I pulled my coat closer and my cap tighter around my head, wishing that it would never be below seventy degrees ever again.

The days passed slowly, with a certain rhythm not unlike my own heartbeat. In, out, sunrise, sunset, midnight, noon, sell some here, sell some there, get by, keep going, keep going, keep going.

I was walking down one of the long asphalt streets when something caught the corner of my eye. I turned, and saw a ruble lying on the road, abandoned. I waited for a couple seconds, making sure that I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. The smile I found myself showing almost cracked my face in half as I rushed over and picked up the note.

"I believe I just dropped that." I heard a voice as I looked over the money. I jerked my head up to make eye contact with whomever was trying to take the ruble that I had rightfully found.

"It was just on the ground," I replied. "For at least a minute… it's fair game."

"Perhaps where you come from, any old urchin can pick it off the street, but here if someone says it's their money, it's theirs."

I grit my teeth, "I'm sorry, Sir." Some of them were so coarse to me. I didn't know what they had against my heritage specifically, but it seemed as if I insulted them by just being there. I passed him the ruble.

"I thought I saw the young lady pick that up first, da?"

Not another person to cause me issues… I turned my head to see the man that I had seen a couple days prior.

The man holding the ruble shook a bit and replied in Russian, "A-ah, yes…"

"You should give it back to her, da?" the other smiled in a far too innocent way for such a big man.

The one holding the ruble nodded mutely and passed me the money with trembling hands. I took it quietly, whispering a small 'thank you' to him. He made himself scarce, probably because of the extended presence of the man who had gotten me back the money.

I looked to him. "Thank you, Sir."

He gave me a short nod. "Be more careful, da?"

I showed a small smile. "I'll try."

~o~

After a night filled with empty dreams, I felt a freezing hand on my shoulder.

"Francis…?"

I got no reply, and opened crust-covered eyes to see a figure I did not know being hazily outlined in some sort of fuzz.

"Who are you?"

Purple eyes appeared brighter than before. It was the man from the market.

"What are you doing in my house?" I demanded, still lying prone on the ground. I noticed a growing cold around me and looked to see that the fire had gone out a while ago. No embers were even glowing.

I licked my freezing lips and prepared to ask another question when the boy laid another hand on me. It was on my arm this time, and it was ice cold.

I shivered at his touch. "Let go."

"But you interest me… what are you doing out here, all alone? Why did you not fight for the money, da?"

"Get away." I was still too groggy to take a full scope of the issue. There was an uninvited man in my house. A man whom I did not know. He should not know where I am or how to get here. He should not be able to unlock a deadbolt from the outside of a door. I forced my eyes to open wider despite the urge to huddle further into the blankets and ignore him completely. "Get out. Of. My house."

"Go back to sleep, da," he said softer than expected.

I studied him for a moment and then realized I was having a dream. "Ah. A dream."

The man looked confused.

"You're a figment of my imagination," I almost giggled, noticing the lack of feeling in my fingers.

"Yes, I am," the dream-man admitted. "Now sleep."

"Um… okay…" I drifted off into a dreamland within a dreamland. "Goodnight."

"Dobyre noche."

~o~

I started seeing the man with purple eyes more around the market. I was probably being paranoid, or just seeing things. But it did seem as if he was around more often.

I mean… he had shown up in my dreams one night. That alone was cause for some sort of alarm, right?

Every day I repeated the routine of selling flowers, eating the lunch I bought from a man at the end of the street who knew a bit of English, and had a small conversation about how life was going for him and his family. Then I'd head back to the stand, sell until dinner, and head home.

I was sitting on my stool, humming a nameless song to myself while I rewatered the daylilies near the back of the stall.

"Do you have any sunflowers?"

My brow furrowed, 'English?' and I looked over my shoulder to see the man with the purple eyes. I replied in Russian, "Sorry sir, but I do not."

His face fell a bit.

"I have others though!" I scrambled back to the front of the stall, reverting to English. "There's plenty here…"

A small chuckle escaped him. "It is fine. I was just wondering, da?"

I watched him as he stepped away and into the crowd, quickly blurring into the people that inhabited the busy street. I spent the rest of the day thinking of where I might find some sunflowers, and if I had time to go and find some. After all, if he was willing to pay for them, the time and effort would be worth it.

I headed home and stoked the fire with the wood Francis had given me. I thanked him silently as I kneeled in front of my mother's chest to say my goodnights to the world, and went to bed.

~o~

I yawned and opened my eyes, an unlikely warmness coming over me. 'The fire,' I remembered, and thanked Francis thousands of times over in my mind. I don't know what I'd do without him.

I got up, still hugging one of the blankets around me. I padded across the weathered wood floor to get to my Mother's old oak chest.

I opened it; tears going down my face as I lifted her old coat from it.

'If anything happens to me,' she had said, 'it's yours. The house, my clothes, everything. You're all I have, мой драгоценный дорогой."

Her voice seemed to echo through the desolate house. The stone of the hearth was ashy and unkept even though I tried to clean it every day. My bed was nothing more than a bag stuffed with straw in the far corner of the room. This was all she could give to me. This shack of a place, the best we could afford when we heard there was more of a chance that she could find work in Russian than she could in the states. We had packed up and left immediately, a small ember of hope coming to our lives.

I looked to the chest; intricately painted with rich colors that had been scratched and worn but still showed a sheen of greatness to them. This chest was her. Not the soulless house. This chest and her warm winter coat and her precious white candle she lit twice a year: once on her birthday, once on mine. All of her old clothes; skirts and shirts and pants for all seasons that I might fit into now that I was older, an adult. This was her.

I inhaled her smell, remembering everything I ever knew about my mother. Her blue eyes that never matched mine, her long brown hair, her cooking, and her love for her only daughter and sole child. How she fought for me, took care of me, did her best for me. I let all my memories loose, filling me with that feeling of affection that I had missed in the weeks after she had passed away. I whispered to the clothes, "I'm trying, Mother… I'll do the best I can… I'll get through this…"

"Nostalgia?" I heard a voice that wasn't familiar.

I gasped immediately and clung to her coat. "Who are you?"

No one answered. Had it just been my imagination? Maybe.

I put on her coat. It was a light blue, worn around the elbows and the ends of the sleeves, but made of a warm fleece. The buttons were old and cracked, but I didn't mind as long as they did their job.

'I should go thank Francis for the firewood' I thought guiltily. I had nothing in return for him.

Then I thought of a game the two of us used to play when we were young. We'd sing a song and spin in circles and laugh. The words came back quickly and clearly to the forefront of my mind:

'Over golden sun and silver moon,

In misty midnight and ever lightened noon,

Forever we turn,

Faster and faster,

For the stars are we;

The faster we spin,

Over and over,

The brighter the heavens will be'

I hummed the familiar tune to myself and started to spin in a circle on an almost subconscious level, clutching my hands to my chest.

I'd play the game with him in the meadow like we used to. That could be my gift to him.

It had gotten down to thirty degrees the previous night and the world was still recovering from the previous day. I made sure all the buttons on my Mother's coat were buttoned before heading out on my bicycle to town where Francis lived.

I still had my hat on from the previous day, taking note of how bad my hair was going to be tangled when I was able to get a comb through it. Then again, I was going to Francis's; combing my hair wasn't a big deal. He didn't care how I looked.

The coat stopped the wind from chilling my body even though the air stung my cheeks and nose. I rushed into town, trying not to get caught up in conversations or the overall hustle and bustle of the place. I hurried over to Francis's house, leaning my bike haphazardly against the side of it.

Before I knocked on the door I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see that some guy was trying to steal my bike!

"Hey!" I broke into a sprint to try and match their speed and shouted in Russian,"Come back here!"

They wove in and out of buildings and up and down roads. It was getting harder and harder for me to follow.

Then they made a wrong turn and backed themselves into an alley.

"Give me back my bike," I said sternly, trying not to gasp for air.

They didn't move; turning as still as a gargoyle.

"Give it back! I need it." Maybe they didn't understand how important it was to me. It was my only mode of transportation in and out of the town.

They dismounted the bike and I was able to notice it was a man. He looked up to meet eyes with me and I saw that strange purple color in his irises. It was the man who likes sunflowers, the one who made sure I got the ruble the week prior. The one with the enviable coat and the platinum hair… the one that had visited me in my dreams.

"Who are you?" I asked, almost hissing.

He stated, "Obviously, you know who I am."

"Your name." I was in no mood for whatever games he was trying to play.

A look of intrigue crossed his face, "Come closer, da."

I automatically responded, "No."

"Why not?" he chuckled. "We've met before… talked… why not be comfortable, da? We are… acquaintances or sorts." I saw in a shadowed part of his face something that wasn't meant to be seen. Not sinister exactly, but playfully… mean.

I took a deep breath and strode towards him. When we were face to face, I took the bike from him. He gave me no resistance; just a smile that made me shiver.

As I went to leave the alley, a hand on my shoulder that made my eyes go wide. Ice cold.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" I found myself whispering at the familiar touch.

I felt his breath on the back of my neck as he said, "No, it wasn't."