This thing just hit me at work the other day.

I love Americaxfem!Russia. They'd be so interesting together.

I might make this a multi-chaptered thing... If anybody wants that. XDD


The house was silent – only a faint ticking of a clock could be heard throughout the vast structure. Rooms which had once been full of light and the sounds of life now lay dark, empty and still. A fine layer of dust coated everything and many pieces of furniture were covered with dusty sheets; signs that indicated that nothing had been used for at least a decade.

The big dining room was empty as well, save for one solitary figure sitting at the far end of the table. A lone candle was lit and a plate of food sat on the table before them.

Anya Braginsky (more widely known as the personification of Russia) stared at the food on the plate – pelmeni, her favorite meal. She had cooked it herself – alone – with music playing to keep things from being too quiet. The sun was going down as seen from a grand window behind her. It cast shadows throughout the room. A light snow was falling outside on that December evening and it made the house's temperature drop. After all, there was no use in spending money to heat such a massive house when she was the only one left living in it.

The candle flickered and, looking around at the empty table with empty plates in front of empty chairs, Anya sadly smiled.

"I'm glad you all could come," she said to the stillness, still smiling. "Really, I wasn't expecting a party, especially in this weather!"

Her laugh was hollow.

"Please enjoy the meal…" she murmured. Staring down at the plate of food before her, she jabbed a forkful of it and slowly chewed. The food stuck in her throat as she stared at the candle's flame, listening to how quiet and empty everything around her was.

"Happy birthday to me," she whispered. She couldn't eat another bite. Blowing out the candle, she took her plate and exited to the kitchen. The empty plates remained on the table. In the kitchen, a vase full of flowers sat on the counter. They had been the only birthday gift she had received, from her brother Belarus. He had been forbidden to take them to Anya himself, so they had arrived the previous day via special delivery. Ukraine – still avoiding her – hadn't sent anything.

She set her jaw, trying to stop the tightening of her throat as she washed her plate. No one seemed to even acknowledge that her birthday was today. Oh, of course, her government officials and her boss had called to wish her a happy birthday, but none of her peers, her fellow countries, seemed to care. Well, she hadn't expected the Baltics to do anything, especially Latvia. The two of them were still in a tense debate over oil on the Volga River. Prussia hadn't contacted her either, which was all the better, for he had been a bully when they were children and had come to resent her after she captured him when the Axis Powers had lost the Second World War. It seemed that France didn't notice either, even though he claimed they were still friends, but that only seemed to be true when convenient. Not even China had tried to call her, and that made her all the more depressed. She had tried so hard to befriend him and she thought he liked her well enough, though he had always nervously laughed when she had suggested a closer relationship. Anya had chocked that up to confusion, but now she was beginning to fear that he really wanted nothing to do with her.

The dishes were soon clean, the leftover food was stored away, and Anya decided that she would end this depressing day with a bottle of fruit-flavored vodka and one of her favorite films. Perhaps she would watch one that made her cry. She was about to head to the small room via the kitchen where she kept her alcohol to fetch that vodka when the sound of knocking echoed through her house. Someone was at the door.

Anya frowned. Could it be that someone was actually paying her a visit? It was too good to be true. She strode to the foyer and looked at the door a moment before opening it. Perhaps it was France… or even China?

She opened the door. It wasn't France and it certainly wasn't China.

"America?" she said incredulously.

It was America, standing out in the snow bundled in a big, fluffy red coat. He was shivering and shaking. He didn't have his hands in his pockets, but held his arms behind him.

"H-h-hello, R-R-R-Russia-a-a," he shivered.

She rolled her eyes and quickly ushered him into the house. As soon as the door was closed, he stuck his chin out of the coat's collar and with a toss of his head, the hood was off. He wore a ski hat on his head and golden strands of his hair stuck out here and there. The lenses of his glasses were fogged up and he removed them with one hand and rubbed them against his sleeve.

"Holy crap, I think it's just as cold in here!" he exclaimed. "Ever hear of a heating system, lady?"

That frozen smile that she wore whenever angry or upset came over her features.

"Well, you try paying to heat a house this big all by yourself," she retorted.

He huffed. "You've got a point."

She raised her eyebrows. Did America actually agree with her on something?

"Why are you here?" She interjected.

But he had begun to shiver again. "Can we…like…light a fire or something? I'm freezing my – I'm cold."

Once again, Anya rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's go into the study."

There was a fire lit in the study, and America was soon warmed enough to stop shivering. He stuffed his ski cap in one of his coat pockets and removed his coat to reveal a black ribbed sweater. He was also wearing jeans and boots. At least he had dressed warmly, Anya mused.

"So…" she urged. America blinked at her for a minute.

"Oh! Right!" He pulled out a box he had hidden behind one of the sofa pillows and held it up to her.

"For you," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. "What is it?"

"A birthday present!" Now he rolled his eyes. "Duh! What else would it be?"

But she continued to eye him warily. After all, this was America. The two of them hadn't been friends for quite some time now. He had become just one among several countries who would probably love to see her dead. She didn't blame him for despising her, though. She had wanted to kill him just as much as he had wanted to kill her. Such was the fate of two ex-friends-turned-rivals who had differing political beliefs.

However, relations between them had gone from outright hatred to simmering dislike to meager indifference. Personally, she wasn't sure how she felt about him now. She took the small box from him and just stared at it.

She had to admit, America was the last person she would have thought would remember her birthday, let alone give her something.

"Are you gonna open it?" He asked.

She continued to look at it, but then gave it back to him.

"You open it."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because I don't know what is in there."

He understood the implications in her answer and sighed. He didn't say anything, just took the box and unwrapped it. After the paper was off, he removed the box's lid and held it up to her.

"See? No bomb or anything."

She peered into the box and sure enough all that seemed to be inside was some sort of clothing.

"What is it?"

America kept his tone even. "Well, why don't you take it out so you can see for yourself?"

"It's not an unstable source or anything?" She continued to eye him suspiciously.

"Oh for Pete's sake, Russia! We've come to an official understanding! Even if I wanted to try and sabotage you, my boss would have my head for sure if he found out!"

This time she was the one who agreed with him. "You've got a point," she imitated the words he had previously said.

Anya took the article of clothing from the box and saw that it was actually a long, warm, colorful scarf. She rubbed her thumbs along the soft material and woulndn't look at America.

"Do… do you like it?" She heard him ask.

Her grasp on the scarf tightened as she tried to keep her throat from closing up again. she swallowed a couple of times.

"I… I was in need of a new one," she murmured. Then, she willed herself to look at him.

"Why?" she asked.

He frowned, confused. "Why what?"

"Why did you go out of your way to get me something? I don't recall us ever reconciling enough to become friends."

He ran his hand through his hair. "Ah… w-well… You see, I was hanging out with Mattie and – I mean, Canada and France the other day, and France up and suddenly went like this," he slapped his hand against his forehead, "and began babbling on about how it was your birthday. Well, I asked if you were gonna have a party, and when France said probably not, I decided that I could at least drop by and …"

He shrugged. "Well… I don't think anybody should be alone on their birthday."

Anya gawked at him.

"But… But I'm Russia…" she retorted.

He stared at her. "And?"

"And I'm the one you hate! I'm your rival and you are mine! Why this sudden move for friendship? We almost killed each other several years ago!"

He again ran his hand through his hair sheepishly. "Yeah…"

"There isn't an alterior motive to this is there?" she suddenly asked, the suspicion returning in full force.

"No."

"Then what is your reason?"

He just shrugged. "I don't know, Russia, to be honest. I just heard that you were gonna be alone, so I decided to just go with it and come see you."

Anya stared back down at the scarf she still clutched. It was pretty, and so soft…. It would go well with her great coat she liked to wear when going outside. A part of her reasoned that it would be better if she gave the gift back to America; that she didn't want his patronizing charity. But a gift was a gift, she decided. It would be rude to try to give it back.

She sighed and slowly wrapped the scarf around her neck. America noticed and his face brightened considerably.

"So does that mean you like it?" he asked. He reminded her of a puppy.

She shrugged. "More or less. So… now what happens?"

His grin pulled down into a worried frown. "I… I dunno. Are we… friends now?"

She stared at him, nonplussed. "Do you want to be?"

"Hmm…" He seemed to be considering that question. "I don't know," he answered slowly. "I'd have to think about it."

Anya wasn't surprised.

"After all, you're still a Commie." His glance turned cynical.

"And you're still … you," she remonstrated.

"Very funny."

"I like to think I have an amazing senseof humor, yes."

America huffed. "If we want to try it, we'll have to take this friend thing slow, I'm thinking."

Anya nodded, though she continued to fiddle with the ends of the scarf. She didn't feel like taking it off.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I asked if you wanted something to eat," she said, looking at the fire disinterestedly.

He shrugged, seemingly just as disinterested as she. "I guess it all depends on what you got."

"Something Russian. You would probably not want to eat it. It's Commie food, after all," she mocked, close to sneering.

He scoffed. "Oh please. If I can eat England's food, I can eat yours. What is it?"

"Pelmeni. They're basically dumplings."

America's stomach growled. "I guess I could try that."

She gestured for him to follow her out of the study and towards the kitchen. So they were going to have a bit of a meal together. She found that interesting. In fact, she found this whole scenario interesting. As she brought out the leftovers and warmed them up for him, she watched him from the corner of her eye and saw that he didn't seem too bothered by this turn of events.

Once the food was set before him and he began eating, she found herself watching him and wondering if he would like the food. Suddenly, he looked up from his plate and said with cheeks full of food,

"This is friggin good, Russia! I can't believe how good a cook you are!"

"Yes, well, when I'm not taking out targets and running around undercover, I'm a part time chef," she said dryly.

He chuckled and audibly swallowed. "I'm glad I came over here! You gotta let me take some back with me!"

She shrugged. "That is fine with me."

He smiled and she, surprisingly, found herself smiling back. It hadn't been an ideal birthday when the day started, but it was slowly becoming more bearable.

She looked away for a minute and fiddled with the scarf's fringe again.

"Um…"

"Yeah?"

She couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. "Would you like to … watch a movie or something?"

He stared at her for a minute before slowly smiling.

"I don't see why not," he said. "As long as it's not some sappy movie that makes me wanna cry."