Arthur Kirkland tried to convince himself that this wasn't going to be as bad as he was making it out to be. He went through his day as normally as he could, taking calming tea breaks, reading a bit, watching the telly. He had tricked himself into believing that he had this all under control, but that illusion shattered the moment the front door rang. The Englishman was sitting in his parlor, and instantly froze up and clutched his paper too tightly.

"Well, here we go." He muttered to himself, glancing over his shoulder. He stood up and blew out a soft breath as he went for the door. His shaking legs apparently needed a pep talk, and he couldn't quite reach the knob, so Arthur closed his eyes and thought to himself, "Alright, you are the one in charge here, Arthur. You were the one to call him over, and you will be the one to do most of the talking. This man has no power over here; he's in your country, and your house, by your standards. Right. There's a good fellow, now take the knob and greet that bugger like the confident man you know you are."

Feeling a surge of bravery and pride, England took the handle of his door and pulled it open with a pleasant smile.

"Hullo, glad to see...you could make...it." Arthur swallowed when his line of vision didn't meet with a face. He had to tilt his head upwards in order to see the simple smile of Russia gazing down at him, looking perfectly friendly, and perfectly murderous. Arthur's personal pep talk flew out of his head like a candle going out, and he was choking on his words before they could even come up.

"Bloody hell," He thought, "And I actually thought I could do this."

"Hello," Russia beamed, giving a wave, "How are you being today?"

Whether it was the accent, or some, unknown force, England shook his head and remembered that he could speak, if he so truly wished. The Englishman cleared his throat politely, and pretended that his voice didn't crack when he first spoke,

"Ah, I'm s-splendid, thank you. And you? I hope the flight wasn't too dreadful."

"Oh, no, it was nice." said Russia. He looked around, seemingly confused through his smile, and then pointed towards the hall behind Arthur's back, "May I be coming it? It is very chilly out."

Surprised that the cold bothered him, Arthur remembered his manners and stepped to the side, "Oh, right, of course. Do come in."

Ivan Braginsky took up the offer with a delighted smile and stepped inside. Arthur didn't fail to notice how the floorboards creaked under his weight, or...that track of mud he left behind. Oh, lovely. After closing the door, Arthur saw that Ivan hadn't made any gestures to remove his coat or scarf, which left the hint that the Russian planned a short visit. How could you want to leave, already? Are you really dreading this as much as I am? Hah. To think of that. Me, an old Englishman making Russia uncomfortable. Proud day for England, indeed.

Or at least it would be if Arthur's stomach weren't in such a tight knot as he thought these things.

"I've made some tea, if you would like some." said Arthur, waving to his coffee table. Ivan seemed to brighten up and smiled at him him in thanks before helping himself to a cup. He plopped himself down in one of Arthur's chairs, and the Brit poured him tea. It was typically an easy task, but trying to keep his hands still made it feel like the tea was taking the time of a marathon to pour into the teeny cup. Once Arthur had his own tea, he sat across from Ivan.

And the awkward sipping commenced.

Ivan watched Arthur carefully as the Brit made comments about his Jacobean architecture, which Russia didn't listen to. The man was curious as to why England had suddenly called him up and invited him over. It was very unusual for any of the countries to try and socialize with the large country, and Ivan was very intrigued about what could be so important that would make the small, little Englishman take time to do so. Perhaps he wanted to propose a political idea of sorts? By the way he seemed so flushed red, Ivan had a feeling that it was something more personal to the man than his country.

Ivan's lavender eyes propped open as he snapped out of his thought and saw Arthur smiling nervously at him. It seemed the Englishman had asked a question. Lowering his cup politely to the table, Ivan tilted his head.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, uhm...H-have you tried the cupcakes? They're really quite lovely." said Arthur. He relaxed tremendously when Ivan became preoccupied in picking out one of the treats on a nearby platter. It's not what the Englishman had asked at all, but he knew he would have to bring up his courage again if he wanted to repeat it. Thus, his second mental pep talk began.

"Remember who's in charge, England, old chap. This is a talk you would have to have even if it wasn't Russia. What makes it any different? God, I can't believe I'm doing this. Well, he's done with his cupcake-Bloody hell, did he honestly eat that whole thing in two seconds?-! That's just bullocks! Ehem. N-no matter. It was a pretty small cupcake, I suppose. Alright, now you're just procrastinating. Come on, just ease into it. You'll be fine."

England drew in a calmed breath and crossed his ankle on his kneecap. Ivan sensed that the cause of all this tension was about to be revealed, and so it was.

"So...How are you and America doing?" asked England carefully.

"We are fine, thank you."

"Everything's nice?"

"Dah. Very." a small smile crept up on Ivan's lips, which Arthur couldn't help but interpret as creepy: The very reason he was here, in his living room, having this talk with one of the most fearful countries in the world.

"Right..." said England, stiff as a board. How did he go about this? Fuck, Alfred, why couldn't you be a girl? Why did you have to go on this gay nonsense? Or...Or why couldn't it be Canada who decided to leap up and start romping about with Russia? Somehow England would feel better if he was talking about Canada right now. The quiet country was more or less a girl...He was certainly wimpy enough. It would make the next question a lot easier if this was the case;

"Are you treating him...right?" asked Arthur awkwardly, trying to keep himself from blushing. Bloody hell, why did he have to become a guardian?

The question seemed to catch Russia off guard; his silver eyebrows furrowed, "Why would I not be? The Cold War was very long time ago; no need for grudges, anymore, if that is what you-"

"No, no...I mean..." Argjklkbfle, "Are you...Respecting him?"

"How do you mean?" asked Russia as he tilted his head again. For some reason, Arthur felt like he was purposefully trying to make this as awkward and horrible as possible. Maybe it was revenge for drawing him out of his country for such an uncomfortable interview? England didn't know Russia was capable of mental torture; he always thought Ivan just bashed things with his pipe.

"I mean, well," England found the carpet very interesting, "You listen to him?"

"About what?"

"About, you know..." after a flurry of hand gestures, England gave up and realized he was going to have to be blunt, "You don't touch him when he doesn't want to be touched."

God, he wanted to die. Arthur half-expected Russia to start laughing, but a very odd reaction came instead. His eyebrows furrowed together, and Ivan leaned forward a bit in his chair.

"Alfred has not been complaining to you, has he?" he asked, suddenly very urgent in his worry. It would have been sort of endearing; the sincere care in his tone. But, considering how quickly it was said, and who was the one to say it, Arthur grew alert.

"No, he has not. Why, is there anything to complain about?" he snapped cautiously.

"Well..." Ivan meshed his gloved fingers and studied the mantle, "Nooo."

"What?-! That wasn't very convincing! What are you doing to him, you git?-!" Where the rush of courage came from, England didn't know as he grabbed his armrests. Ivan continued to play with his fingers; ignorant to the brash name-calling.

"Well, there was being a time before we dated when Alfred was drunk and he looked so very pretty with his hair messed up, so-"

"You took advantage of him, didn't you?-!" thundered England; standing up to point. Ivan nodded and smiled a bit at the memory.

"Yes, I did. It was very fun, you see." he said gaily, as if this was an activity England would want to participate in, as well. The Englishman fumed. No matter how awkward it was to start, Arthur was glad that he called Russia to have this talk. He was about to let loose a tempest of banishment from Alfred's presence but, to his horror, Ivan had sat back and rolled his eyes up in sentimental thought.

"And there was being that other time when I found the rope in his basement...Oh, and all those times when his pathetic body proved useless against my very large arms. And that other time-"

"Now, stop there, you wanker!" said England. He was red in the face, appalled, and indignant. Why didn't Alfred say something to him sooner? How could he have let his child endure this horrible relationship? He should have suspected it! He should have intervened sooner! Oh, his poor Alfred; how was he going to cope with this once it was all over? First things first; Arthur had to get this scoundrel out of his home, make it very clear that he would never be allowed to see America again, and then-Was that a laugh?

Startled momentarily out of his rage, England looked over his shoulder at the window. He could see the road, some houses across the street, his hedges, and...A small point of brown-blond hair bobbling just out of sight. Oh no. No he didn't.

Forgetting Russia in a heartbeat, England walked over to the open window and peered down. America was crouched in the hedges and looked up at him with blue eyes full of tears, and his hands clamping over his mouth to subdue the hysteric laughter that was begging to come out. Heavy footsteps were heard as Russia joined England's side and smiled down at the country lovingly. Wordlessly, America raised his hand up; palm first, and Russia gave him a polite high-five.

England could only come up with a very intelligent question, "What?"

The dam of America's laughter broke loose. As his hand fell away, his obnoxious laughter filled the quiet, English suburb. Alfred used the side of the house to pull himself up, and folded his arms on the windowsill, still chuckling.

"Oh, man, that was great!" He jeered, "Dude, you seriously thought I was going to let you ask him those questions? The second Vanya told me you had called him I knew what you were up to. Turns out Russia ain't too bad an actor, huh? Haha-! Just look at your face!"

England's face could be described as a poetically infused mixture of fury, humiliation, confusion, and dark, deadly wishes that involve the use of gardening tools as weapons. Seeing his boyfriend so happy made Ivan chuckle a bit; pleased with himself that he managed to do so well in the American's eyes. He even joined in with a smile and patted England's back harder than he was aware.

"You are so very gullible, England. I would never bring harm to Alfredka unless he betrayed our trust and sent me in a spiraling pit of depression."

"Which ain't gonna happen, big guy, don't worry." laughed Alfred, reaching in the house to pat Russia's stomach, since it was all he could reach. England just stood, red in the face and flabberghasted. He turned his gaze down at his adopted little brother, and could practically feel his eyebrow twitch.

"Alfred, would you come into the house? I would like to have a talk with you as well." he said pleasantly, though everyone who knew Arthur would be able to see the gleam of death behind his green orbs. America's smile faded, and he stared ahead at the invisible storm clouds of impending doom floating around England. Ivan looked between the two innocently, and then seemed to understand something.

"Oh! Alfred, is now being the time to run?"

"Ayah."

"Okay!"

Russia swung a leg out the window and easily stepped out as Alfred booked it down the yard; laughing hysterically when England grabbed a coat hanger and chased after him in the quiet, English suburb.

"And that is how it went?" asked France, two days later when him and Arthur were getting a drink at a local, French cafe.

"That's how it went." the Englishman sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers, "Bloody hell, what was I thinking? You had better hope Canada stays out of trouble, because I'm not doing that again. Especially not if he's with someone half as bad as Russia."

Francis glanced out the window to see Canada and Prussia joking in the back of his car as they waited for him to come back out, and then sighed and took a sip of his espresso, "Ah, Mon ami, if only life were so easy."

England took one look out the window, then pointed firmly across the table;

"Your turn."