Lunix: I had an Idea for this. Don't worry. I shall indeed continue "He Stole More Than Gold". This little drabble just wouldn't get out of my head. There are not a lot of our heroes in it… I had an idea about family… and how I feel that the Cold war, between Alfred and Ivan was more of a starvation for affection. Although the two major characters in this piece are a father and daughter, and the plot is driven around the girl's anger over being looked over by her father, and no longer receiving his affection and time, and Alfred and Ivan were probably having some sexual tension going on, I feel that this is a relatively accurate representation of the situation.
"YOU COMMIE BASTARD!"
The shout was heard throughout the square, and people all turned to stare at the source of the noise. The enraged shout had come from a particularly irate 8 year old girl. Her brownish-red hair was up in a ponytail, the ends of her hair curling around her shoulders, her bangs covering her eyes. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, and those tears disappeared onto her neck and into the neckline of a rather pretty dress made of a silky light blue material that ended around her knees. White socks and black mary-janes donned her feet. Her tiny hands were balled into fists, and her entire body was shaking with anger.
The target of her anger was a tall man in his early thirties. His shortish hair was cut into a shaggy cut that looked like it had been brushed that morning with a rake. He had a rather short, clipped beard that extended from ear to ear, and he sported a well maintained mustache, also kept relatively short. He was wearing a relatively dirty pair of blue jeans that were stained with what looked like ketchup, Cheetos, Doritos, and grease. His t-shirt proudly proclaimed his faith in the Christian God, and it too was hit hard with ketchup stains, grease, and orange finger-swipes. He had a shocked look on his face.
"Wha… what? Honey? Why do you call me…?" He blinked, almost unable to form a full sentence. The little girl glared up at him with her reddened, watery, stormy grey eyes.
"You rarely EVER spend time with me anymore. Ever since you and mommy brought home that… that… bastard!" she said through heavy sobs. "It's all about Daniel! Daniel this, Daniel that! What about me? What about your eldest child?" The man, now identified as the girl's father, kneeled before her.
"Daina, I never meant to make you feel that way… What brought this on?" he looked dumbfounded, not knowing how to manage this situation. He reached out a hand to Daina, but she backed away from him a couple of steps and stomped her foot.
"This was supposed to be OUR day. Father and Daughter day!" she screamed. "We're not out for long. Like, half an hour, and you suddenly say 'Daina, Its time to go home. We have to see how Daniel is doing.' It's not FAIR!" The father sighed.
"…. But… why call me a Commie, dear?" It was clear the man didn't know how to handle such a situation.
"It's cause I'm the eldest child. I already got my 7 years of love. Now I only get 30 minutes from my daddy anymore while Daniel gets all the affection from you." She looked distraught. "Mommy's big books say that Communism was made so everyone got everything equally. Does that also have to mean my daddy?" Her tears began anew. The man sighed and hung his head, muttering about needing to talk to his wife about her cursing habit and how she better hide her books better.
"Honey," he begins. "Your mommy and I do love you. You are our little girl." The girl stomps her foot again.
"It's not MOMMY's love that is the problem!" she wailed. "Mommy actually spends time with me! She tucks me in bed, wakes me up, lets me cook meals with her, AND she helps me with my homework… on-top of working!" Her tiny hands were now wringing her dress. Wrinkles appeared where her hands gripped. "You just work, eat, play with Daniel and sleep! The most time you spend with me in a day is to ask how school was, and give me an aw… awk… awk-word hug. Why do you love Daniel more than me?"
"Daniel is just a baby now. He needs to be taken care of. He can't do things you can. He can't feed himself, he can't tie his shoes, and he can't use the bathroom. These are things we have to do for him until he's old enough honey." Said the man, looking desperate. "Surely you can't fault your brother for that."
"…" Daina was silent for a couple of seconds. "You hate me."
"NO! I do NOT hate you, Daina!" exclaimed the man. "You are my daughter! My beloved child! I could never hate you!" Daina shook her head, the tears coming anew. "I love you, Daina."
"You don't mean it." The child muttered, sulking. The man looked distraught himself.
"I mean it, honey. I really do… What do I have to do to prove it to you?" Daina paused, staring at her shoe.
"Spend more time with me. I miss playing with my daddy," she said, finally looking at the man. The man began to nod.
"Of course, darling…. I promise. We still have to take care of Daniel, but I promise that I won't ignore you anymore… I'm sorry it came to this…"
… and with those words, the father/daughter duo hugged. After the hug, they broke apart. The man stood up and extended his hand to his daughter.
"I think your mommy can handle Daniel a little bit longer, don't you. Come on, sport, how about some ice cream."
"YAY!" And so the two went off.
Sitting at the nearby table were two men, one with blonde hair, blue eyes, glasses, and a bomber jacket, the other with ashen hair, violet eyes, and a pink scarf. They watched the argument with great interest. After the duo departed, the ashen haired man turned to the blonde man and smirked.
"Another Cold War diverted, da?"
"Yep. Guess you could say that," replied the blonde.
"It makes me wonder though, dorogoy… Was that how you felt during our own Cold War?" asked Russia. America let out a snort.
"Nope. A hero never lets himself get that way. Nope, nosirreebob." Said the American quickly.
"You answered a little too fast, da?" said the Russian man with a grin. "Did you really only want more attention from me?" America blushed, then glared at Russia hotly.
"It went both ways, and you know it!" he growled. The Russian hummed.
"Well then, my dear Ameriyka… shall we give each to other now the affection we so desired back then?"
"Get us home first, you Commie bastard."
Russia paid their bill and stood up, holding out his hand.
"With pleasure, Dorogoy."
With a grin, America stood up, took Russia's hand, and they left.
AN: I feel the need to explain the characters. . In this story, I have written of a little girl, whom I imagined to be what my daughter to look like should my ex and I were to ever had gotten married and have children. Daina and Daniel were the names I had picked out for my children…