Author's note: This is from the « But Let It Go, And You Learn » arc. Read that first s'il te plaît and maybe « Bolshoi » too, which is also in the arc.
Was reading The NYT when I stumbled upon « Gorbachev Calls for New Vote in Disputed Russian Elections » and thought of Vanya. Between what the BBC's been reporting in Russia (I listen to their podcast in the morning) and everything on my end being Nords for a while in my fanfics, I figured a nice one-shot would help to satisfy the Vanya/Erzsi addicts. They are a joy to write.
I tried to include as few Anya-spoilers as possible for that in-between story I'm working on while still wetting your appetite for it. The 1980's just have a lot of stuff to go through to pick the historical points I want to work in, and I missed basically all of it. If there's something you'd like to see in particular message me and I'll do what I can for Anya's story (preferably French things since 1980 onwards she lives in Paris).
Dispute
"Your father said he'd like to visit this weekend," Erzsi informs her daughter over breakfast, holding a small boy in her lap. He's counting to ten in Hungarian for her. "He misses you and the kids very much."
"This isn't," Anya asks from across the table, "because of the, well, you know?" Erzsi does know. Politics in Russia have remained turbulent since the Soviet Union collapsed, with Vanya shying away from the government as much as possible. Before he had been disdained for having associated himself with the tsar; now he is completely dismissed by his country's politicians for having lived through the Soviet Union. Erzsi doesn't envy him the position he's in.
The Hungarian sighs, shrugging. Sometimes Vanya comes just because he can, but their daughter is right in that he also comes when disputes arise in Russia. "He loves you, all the same, regardless of the reason. That's why he comes here instead of going home to Nizhny." Erzsi still has fond memories of raising Anya in that little house, the sunflowers out back.
"I know," her daughter concedes as a teenager approaches her.
"Mama?" the girl starts, and the conversation ends bittersweetly for Erzsi. It's difficult for them still, for Erzsi and Vanya and Anya, as a family. But Anya grew up beautifully despite the ugliness that brought her into the world, and now she's married with her own family. It breaks her heart to watch her daughter age, knowing one day her and her Russian lover will have to say goodbye to their baby, but that's a part of life they knew they'd face from the start. And there's their grandchildren to hold for many more years, she thinks, as one squirms in her lap.
"Nagyi?" the boy asks happily.
"Yes dear?"
Two little arms wrap about her, squeezing Erzsi tightly. "I love you!" In the end, the joy is worth the pain she thinks.
There's the sound of the door opening in the entryway, unseen to Erzsi as she sits with her son-in-law and grandchildren. "Welcome home," Anya's voice says, the same greeting she gives her father every time he comes to visit her Parisian apartment. A man laughs.
"Anya," the deep voice responds and clothes rustle as a door is closed, the Hungarian nation imagining them hugging lovingly.
Her heart is beating as she rises, her eldest granddaughter taking her seat on the couch. Anya passes Erzsi, her father's coat draped over her arm, smiling warmly at her mother. And as the Hungarian turns toward the entry she sees him in the low light, hand running through his hair to try and rid it of the rain that's trapped there. He looks so young like that, bulky sweater, dark jeans, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. When he looks up, noticing her, his eyes are sweet but longing.
"Erzsi," he sighs, his arms coming down from his hair to be held out before his body for her. Without hesitation she throws herself into those arms that sweep behind her, lifting her to his great height and spinning them both in the small space. They try to be quiet, not wanting to disturb the family in the room just over, but Erzsi cannot keep her hands off Vanya, pulling at his face as her lips seek out his for a passionate kiss. Though her feet are put back on the group they continue the kiss, Vanya deepening it as his hands hold her head, until they're both gasping for breath.
"Erzsi," he sighs again. "Oh God I've missed you Erzsi," and his arms crush her to him in that way the Russian nation's always been able to. The desperation there is all his, in a way no other country could ever manage.
"Vanya," she moans against his clothing, hands snaking under that sweater to feel the cool, flat skin beneath before their lips meet again. Just to be like this, in his arms, to remember that he's still there and still sweet and still hers is enough.
"Szeretlek," he whispers.
"Я тебя люблю."
"Did you ever get along with Gorbachev?" Anya asks as the day ends. The youngest one has been put to bed, the two girls in their room to read. Another tick is on the calendar, counting down until the eldest son comes home, Anya and her husband anxious to hold him again. Around the table the adults sit, sipping at tea Anya and her father had prepared in that Russian style they love. While Erzsi's grown accustomed to the two-step process, Vanya preparing her cup just the way she likes it, her son-in-law's still yet to adapt to it fully.
"Eh." Vanya leans back in his chair, one large arm coming to rest on the back of Erzsi's seat. The Russian nation is honest with their daughter in a way he isn't with anyone else, except maybe for his daughter's mother. "We were never formally introduced, though I have met him. He didn't recognize me at the time though."
"Really?" their son-in-law asks. "That's surprising. You were his country after all. Doesn't matter what power Gorbachev had, you were worthy of his respect." He's one of the few humans they interact with like this, their son-in-law, one of the few mortal men who meets with countries regularly. Not for any state reason, but because he is married to their daughter and so just a part of the family. And it's nice, to see her son-in-law talk so openly just like he does with his wife and friends, Erzsi thinks. Despite knowing the truth, despite knowing that Erzsi and Vanya and Francis and all the others are countries incarnate, the moral couple treat them like anyone else, something the countries have always wanted: to be equal. Over the last thirty years the couple's grown so accustomed to them that it's hard to remember this isn't normal; only Anya and her husband are like this, able to see them for the people they are, not just the countries they represent.
"I didn't press the matter," Vanya tells the man. "It was a relief, honestly, to be ignored. Let them fight their wars," he states bitterly. "I'm done with the bloodshed."
"Will they hold new elections?" Erzsi asks, shifting to face her Russian lover, who shakes his head and sighs. "Even Gorbachev's throwing his two cents in now. They have to know most people aren't happy with the outcome."
"I don't know Erzsi. I just don't know."
There's a defeat there, a defeat that's become a part of Vanya ever since Chernobyl; or maybe it was there before that and Erzsi hadn't noticed. Anya, she knows, can sense it as well when her father gets in these moods; she was old enough to remember her father before the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, can compare the man she had grown up calling Papa to the one she met ten years later when they were reunited and he was a different country.
Their son-in-law leans on the table, pulling a face for his wife's amusement. Their daughter presses her forehead to his, closing her eyes and breathing deep in contentment at that, stifling a laugh. And Erzsi wraps her arms around Vanya's waist, his arm coming from her chair to hold her close.
"Wish it was easier," he whispers in hushed Hungarian to the female nation. She nods against his chest, holding him tighter.
"For your sake, I wish it was too."
"You need to tell her," Erzsi whispers as Vanya gets under the covers, shifting in the bed to lay behind her. One strong arm wraps around her waist, pulling her tightly to his bare chest. The Hungarian moans softly, the lines of his muscles having become more defined over time. He puts in the effort to work out for her sake, she knows; her dear Russian decided one day it was important to her and so Vanya's kept at it, though Erzsi's assured him time and time again she loves him regardless. "It's not funny anymore, she needs to know."
"Yet you still laugh," he whispers in her ear, nipping at her earlobe. Their legs intertwine, their bodies moving together quietly. Erzsi loses herself momentarily in the act, his cock brushing against her ass and it's been so long since they've been alone like this, until she remembers that her tall lover's feet are hanging off the end of the bed.
At that she laughs, ruining the mood.
"Every time!" Vanya rolls onto his back in despair. "It's not my fault I'm taller than the fucking bed."
"Oh Vanya." She settles in under one arm, his face turned away from her, but Erzsi knows he's not looking at her because he's laughing as well. "I love you."
"Sure you do."
One hand trails up his chest, hard muscle beneath. "Love you so much."
"If you say so."
Her lips kiss his neck, her voice seductive. "I never want to let you go."
Two arms suddenly grab her and Erzsi finds herself laying on his chest, looking Vanya in his deep violet eyes, bright in the dark room. The light from the Parisian street below sends gentle shafts of light in through their window, light that catches on the shaft of his nose, the hard lines of his jaw and cheeks. Erzsi strokes the rough skin, her heart threatening to burst from her chest.
"Never," she repeats, leaning down to brush her lips to his.
"Good," and his arms hold her tightly to him. "Because I have no intention of ever letting you leave." And his kiss is deep, becomes desperate as one hand comes into her hair. But Erzsi matches Vanya move for move, because there will always be disputes but there won't always be moments like these to laugh at how tall he is or speak with their daughter. It's like their lives are on pause, for just today, and she falls asleep in his arms, content with the world for now.