Back when Prussia had been in existence, he had loved Spain. Not as much as he had adored Italy, but it had many of the perks without the irritation of someone trying to chase an unwelcome visitor out of the younger nation's house. And after dissolving and being reborn as East Germany, after division and reunification and the horrors which had incurred around all that, he found that he still loved it just as much as he had back in his original days of alliance. It was absolutely fitting that, in the first Olympic Games after being reunited with his brother, he was in a place that he'd adored so much.

It was for that reason that he'd demanded that their hotel room have a balcony and a view of the Mediterranean Sea. West, having long since learned that it was infinitely easier to let his brother have his way when he became inexplicably passionate about something, had booked accordingly.

East stood outside his room, rested his chest on his folded arms on the railing and watched the sea roll in far below him. Or, rather, he listened to it around the sounds of the city and parties he wasn't invited to; it was too dark to tell much more than the moon reflecting on the water a ways out. Not that it mattered much. All he needed was the warm sea air. Oh God, was it ever warm out!

Exhausted from the opening ceremonies, evidently, West had declined to join his brother in quietly relishing the night. East didn't bother to look back, but the lack of illumination in his peripheral vision said that his brother must have finished reading in bed and had actually gone to sleep.

It was all just fine, honestly. West hadn't been trapped in the Eastern Bloc. He hadn't lived in some shitty apartment where the heating didn't work, and hadn't been stuck working profitless jobs which seemed to go out of their way to exemplify the frigid air. He hadn't been exposed to Siberia because of minor indiscretion, nor had he been stuck there because of a refusal from others to acknowledge him. More than that, he hadn't had to do any of it while slowly starving to death with his economy.

Because of that, West would probably never understand the freedom that things like the Olympics brought about. The ability to travel beyond the iron curtain, to be recognized and to taste warm air that he'd only been able to dream about was….

Mind-blowing.

As if the world could sense his love for it, a breeze came to him. He closed his eyes and smiled as he let the heat move his hair and fill every last bit of his lungs with the salty flair of the Mediterranean.

Much as he loved Paris, as well, he thanked every power he could think of that France hadn't won his Olympic bid. It simply didn't have the…

East's eyes snapped open. Centuries of being a warrior had given him acute senses that (if he did say so himself) weren't matched much anymore. They were more than enough to hear the sliding glass door from the next suite open and shut, and to pick up the quiet footfalls which carried someone to their own railing. Even over the smells the country he was in insisted on flooding him with, East could still make out a scent he'd become all too familiar with.

He would have sworn under his breath if he hadn't known that would have given far too much satisfaction to his new companion.

Russia, after all, was never shy about how giddy he became when he was able to rile someone simply by making an appearance.

"I see I'm not the only one enjoying the weather," Russia said happily. "It's so nice out, da?"

East didn't have to look over to see the smile on his former captor's face, nor to watch as only the eyes gave away the rage when Russia found that he wasn't immediately responded to.

It was funny, almost. Even starved, abandoned, and outside of anything that could be considered his element, Russia still believed himself to be worthy of nothing less than undivided and fearful attention. Even as he clung to others in a desperate attempt to stay alive. He couldn't even make it to where he stood without aid…

That East, as well, had traveled and taken such lavish accommodations on West's dollar was irrelevant; at least, in East's mind. He wasn't the one trying desperately to incite terror.

"I almost was thinking of sleeping out here," Russia said; his voice almost wistful, though not without a hint of the anger within him. "I wasn't expecting to have company, but I suppose I'll welcome it. Even if it is you…"

"Touched," East said plainly, still without so much as a glance. "Really. But I can think of much better company to spend the night with."

"As can I."

"Then shut the fuck up."

Russia blinked and watched the former religious order, former empire, former country, former state, and currently a division based on culture rather than lines of a map. He'd been dissolved and recreated so many times that it truly was a wonder that the original, infamous personality still existed in any sense. It would have been ironic, were it not for the solution most likely being that this particular figure was simply too stubborn to die or change completely.

And now that Russia faced change like he hadn't even dreamed of, he wondered if he too would come out this unscathed.

In rooms below them, there was evidently karaoke beginning to be carried out in the most inebriated sense of the term. All around, there was conversation and orgasm and cavorting.

Spain's home was alive in celebration, and the former socialists wanted nothing more than to strangle it into silence so that the waves could be heard again.

"West booked the room too fucking high up."

Russia looked over, but East still refused to.

"I can't fucking hear a thing except for England's singing." He near scoffed as he referred to the drunken wailing as anything but, and the two smirked just slightly in the closest thing to camaraderie that they'd had in years. "Can you?"

"Not particularly," Russia said. "I assume one would have to be near on top of the water to hear it over this sort of racket."

"Yeah, you're right." East turned to leave.

Russia watched him slip inside the German room with mild interest, and returned his attention to the water. He'd fully expected the Teutonic Knight, Prussia, GDR, and now East to have done his customary storm off. Considering there was no precedent to anything but that sort of behavior, Russia felt that he was more than a little justified in being shocked when the sliding door opened again.

Not that, even in a weakened state, he would show anything of the sort to East.

"Are you coming or what?"

Russia turned his head, and weighed all information presented to him for any sort of ulterior motive. Finding none, Russia gave a smile and nod.

"Let me get my shoes."