Title: Joining the Light
Summary: Belarus joins Lithuania for lunch. They talk. Stuff happens. An introspective look on Belarus with a bit of Belarus-Lithuanian relations.
Pairings: Litbel or maybe just friendship. Your choice really
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
"It disgusts me sometimes. That I can't hate them. The humans, my citizens, your citizens. They bemoan their mortality. Fools. Wouldn't it be nice to know that there's an end to it all, a point to trying to live a good life? For humans, there's a happy end. Blessed rest; the end of living. We immortals bear the weight of centuries past and decades to come. Millennia in and millennia out. They say there's nothing new under the sun, but we still remain unchanged. We don't live. We simply are and continue to be," Belarus mused, sipping through a straw the saccharine taste of artificial strawberries, her meal sitting half-eaten in front of her. Lithuania was sitting across her at the patio table, fiddling with his shirt cuffs and steadily ignoring the glass that was weeping in the summer heat in front of him.
"Immortal, huh? Are we really immortal?" he murmurs, training his eyes on the bricks beneath their feet. He buttons then unbuttons the cuff of his left sleeve, a steady rhythm that required no thought. Don't think, just do.
"Hm. We lack that kind of stability. We die when our people die. Ah, no, that would be presumptuous of me to say that. Many a human have tried to kill us, haven't they? Just look at their handiwork. We do not die when a human declares us gone. When no one remembers our name, we die." Belarus stirs the unnaturally pink smoothie with her straw. She is in a philosophical mood today, mulling over the past. Lithuania's a useful companion for times like these, someone who will never laugh at her. Because she isn't joking, she is never joking. All of her threats, all of her bluffs, all of her idiosyncrasies. All of it is real and serious and deadly. As a neighboring country, he's had the pleasure of seeing and being on the receiving side of her wrath. For all of his uses, Belarus would never ask for Lithuania's company, say that she actually likes being around him. To do so would signal weakness, that she's not strong enough to be her own nation. She's not stupid; she can see the half-looks, the swift darting upwards of his eyes from the ground, the unspoken rebukes on the tip of his tongue. He's not pleased with her behavior, her tolerance of Lukashenko. He's with the West now. He lives and breathes freedom and capitalism and democracy. Lithuania is poison, trying to coerce her to join him in the light. But he is helpful, so she tolerates him when they see each other at meetings where their bosses bluster and threaten, where everything is said and nothing is done. She tolerates his hesitant offer of lunch, his subconscious wiping of his sweaty palms on the back of his dress pants.
Lithuania is speaking. Belarus's eyes follow his lips moving up and down, his tongue flickering in between his teeth. "I'd say that death is inevitable. But there's that bit of satisfaction you get when you ensure that your people enjoy a higher standard of living and become happy. Because we die, we live. Even if that death is slow in coming, shouldn't you try to spend it changing things for the better?" He's lecturing again, Lithuania is. Belarus feels almost peaceful as she blocks him out. He's a silly man, a silly country, infatuated with the idea of love, happiness, and freedom. She's smarter than that, knows that good things don't happen, don't last.
"Change. How can you know that you're helping, that you're doing something good. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and we're both the victim of those, aren't we now?" She marvels at his optimism, though it feels fitting for a sunny day spent at an outside café. Belarus wants to laugh at him, tell him that he shouldn't believe in fairy tales, but there's something that stops her. She's not cruel, not mean, not evil. She pays the bills and does her work, no matter how despicable, without complaints. Watching his earnest features morph from genuine kindness to hurt sounds like kicking a puppy. Belarus likes dogs, likes their tendency of accepting you even though you don't deserve any of it, any of their kindness. Lithuania has always been loyal to himself, but she wishes he doesn't push his ideals onto her. "Change is terrible. It's full of uncertainty and misgivings. Maintaining the status quo, keeping things as it is, is safer. Even though things don't get better, they don't get worse."
Belarus has messed up now. He's frowning now. His hands have even stopped playing with his shirt cuffs. She almost wishes for him to continue his silly inane game of buttoning and unbuttoning the left sleeve cuff, anything to stop him from looking at her with that disappointment. "You can't stop change. You're a nation; it's in our nature to change. We see the time go past, and nothing has ever remained the same. Don't try to stop something if you know in your heart of hearts that it's positive." He licks his lips, eyes ducking from her gaze, before continuing. "I know it's hard. Life has always been like that. Why do you hide from changing things, from owning up to your mistakes and fixing them? You aren't risk-adverse, any political analyst can tell you that. So why? Why do you do this to yourself when you know that it's only going to lead to more trouble in the future?" He spears a mushroom on his plate with his fork, reminding Belarus that her food was growing cold in front of her.
He's spewing lies now. The EU must have gotten into him, just like they did Poland. Belarus hates them, hates them all. Always pretending to know things, pretending like they have the answers. She trusted him when he spoke his golden lies of prosperity and comfort. Of stability and happiness. Lukashenko was a brilliant man, but he wasn't a miracle man. Belarus knew that the Soviet Union had failed, that it was pointless to keep pretending that nothing was wrong; but the conversion to capitalism, to democracy, it was ridiculously long and painful. She didn't realize that she had the opportunity to set things right until it had left, gone with each coming referendum. Why should the West be any different, with their ridiculous little resolutions and empty posturing? Lithuania and Poland were no different really. They were still poor, like her. Perhaps a bit more prosperous, but Belarus wasn't greedy. They just believed in their false freedoms and called it happiness. They were no America, with pockets fat from years of greed. Oh, how she despised America. He and Russia, always the best of friends now. Leaving her out, leaving her behind. No one wants a broken country. She had to stand by herself, had to play her cards right, had to bluff her way out of trouble. The help for countries like her came with kilometer after kilometer of strings attached.
"Change is bad; it's evil. No one can know the future, and those who claim otherwise should be arrested for lies," she says resolutely, looking in the eye and pushing away her drink. Belarus's appetite is gone; it left when Lithuania mentioned his hopes of democracy and prosperity. She doesn't need diamonds, doesn't need gold, doesn't need riches. She just wants to keep things the way they are. She wants to stay a country, not become just another territory of Russia or Poland or Lithuania or Ukraine. She's had enough of that, and even though she knows she's probably made the wrong choices along the way, she won't admit that, admit that she isn't a perfect nation. Belarus doesn't need the lecture, doesn't need the pity of the brown-haired man with the kind green eyes. She knows she can't stop change, can't stop Russia from getting angry at her chicanery and demanding payment that she can't afford, can't stop the EU from creating more sanctions that restricts her options, can't stop the world from scorning her and laughing at Europe's last dictatorship. But it sure doesn't stop her from trying to forget about it, from not thinking about the latest journalist jailed, the latest activist tortured, the latest politician that's disappeared. Belarus is suddenly reminded why she hates her philosophical moods and vows again to stop thinking about her problems.
Lithuania is looking at her expectantly; is he expecting Belarus to say something? Has he already spoken, his voice dulled by her whiny inner voice? She taps the heel of her shoe on the brick floor under the table, hears the quiet beat of her heart. She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. Why is she thirsty? Perhaps she should have ordered tea instead of this cloyingly sweet strawberry smoothie, perhaps that would have quenched her throat better. "Pardon?" she asks politely, knowing that it is best to keep her personal dislike of him to the meetings only. Belarus likes things straight and simple. Politics stay in the government buildings. She doesn't have any feelings outside of her work, outside of the politics that dictates that she is friends with yesterday's sworn enemy. Maybe she does like Lithuania, and maybe she doesn't. As a person, he's a friendly enough person. Good for talking to. As a country, he is an annoying fly, always preaching the wonders of modernizing and becoming westernized.
He tilts his head slightly, so she clarifies. "I didn't quite catch your words, sorry." Why is she apologizing? She doesn't regret anything, doesn't ever plan to. If a nation were to regret his or her past, he or she would have committed suicide long ago. Suicide was such a human thing, a laugh in the face of Fate, a final bid to control the last moments of a life. Nations didn't deserve that last power bid. Belarus doesn't feel emotions, doesn't show weakness to the circling pack of jackals always around her.
"Oh." He stands up suddenly, his drink still on the table. "Are you finished eating yet?" Belarus feels self-conscious now, her food in front of her only partially eaten, the same state it was in when she started to speak to Lithuania. She doesn't speak, just nods, and stands up, too.
It's a sign that they're done, that they've finished their little lunch of theirs. The waitress rushes over, a bill at the ready. The woman attempts small talk, tries to be friendly to the customers. Belarus says nothing, divulges no secrets, but Lithuania smiles, says that the food was great. The waitress leaves, the bill waiting on the table. Lithuania puts a small pile of paper money on the bill, paying for both, while Belarus watches wordlessly. He takes his suit jacket off the back of the chair and hangs it off one arm before proffering her the other. Always the gentleman, Lithuania. Belarus wrinkles her nose at his gesture—She's no lady, no foolish noblewoman to be coddled and protected. They walk out of the café together and hail a blindingly yellow in the sunlight taxi to go back to their meeting. Lithuania says something about the sports tournament that's taking place, and Belarus forces herself to smile. It's not that she's not interested; she is, loves it when her teams win. She needs to focus on stamping out her silly human emotions, the ones that she claims not to have but still has nonetheless, before the meeting. She wonders how Lithuania manages, if he ever feels guilty when he breaks a treaty or makes a deal that he knows will never work out. Belarus is playing a difficult game, simultaneously aiding and betraying her fellow nations, and her wretched feelings are only getting in the way. She just hopes it doesn't break down before her eyes. She just wants things to stay the same, to keep things the way they were. Change is such a scary thing after all.
A/N: Ahhh, wrote this little drabble on the bus ride home from Baltimore. (/was avoiding writing my essay, you see?) At any rate this is mostly based off my research on Belarus, and I tried to make it as accurate as possible. I love cynical Belarus soooo much 3 and I hate the obsessed with Russia!Belarus. A quick look at the politics of Belarus tells you that it's way more complicated than that.
Thanks for reading! Please review! :)