Alrighty folks. This is my third USxLiet fanfiction. Not much to say right here, 'cept that I hope you enjoy it. Please review if you have the time, I love, LOVE feedback.

Chapter One: Dishwashers and the Big Apple

The inside of the third floor New York City apartment smelled like the strange pungency some elderly carried with them. A scent that lingered when it went into your nose and made you wonder whether it was their breath, body odor or something left to rot or mold in the numerous wrinkles that hung from their bodies. Toris wanted to hold his breath in, and he did for a few seconds. When he exhaled and expanded his lungs, the smell was still there.

"Not as bad as the boat," he reminded himself in Lithuanian as he moved towards an empty corner of the room to set his bags down. Dust rose up like fog as he dropped them and turned to look around. Four walls closely surrounded him and there was a window with a view of a street choked with people and cars; a rusted sink and a toilet across from him. He approached a sink and grabbed a hold of a well-rusted knob. Both Toris and the faucet groaned as the knob was forced to turn, his whole body weight into the action.

"Only got cold water in that," a voice in the hallway told him, and all he could see was the doorframe. "Hot water runs out at about 8 AM, so if you wanna take a shower, do it 'fore then. By the way, keep your room locked, 'less you wanna get your shit stolen."

"Uh, thank you," he told the empty doorway. With a furrowed brow he stepped back and closed the door as his gloved hands fumbled to find keys to secure the lock.

As it turned out, a locked door had not kept his bags from harm. The next day after he had gone out to search for work, he had returned to find the contents of his suitcases strewn about as if a massacre had taken place. Only one had remained closed, although he could see a long slash across its belly. Even Toris hadn't been able to open the damn thing; an issue which he'd spent about half the night before cursing over and was now quietly thanking God for. Although many of his few valuables were gone, tokens he had taken with him from his home country to ensure homesickness didn't accompany him to America. His necessities - money, primarily - were still trapped inside his apparently invincible suitcase."

It was ridiculous, he thought, to think of a suitcase as invincible. Yet every day that passed in an unsuccessful attempt to open it made him reconsider whether or not this was possible. He had some money in his pocket to reach potential jobs, but it was quickly running out and he needed to get what was inside of the bag out.

Every day the suitcase refused to open Toris could feel an electric energy coursing the routes of his body. By the end of the week, he could feel it surge through every nerve and hair in and out of his body as his eyes burned with tears. "Please, please, please open-" he begged as he rattled it like a rag doll and then head butted the handle. "Don't you understand that unless I get work I can't eat and that no one will hire me because I'm too skinny, but without money I can't eat to get fat and all of my money is inside of you so I can't get fat enough to get work…"

The suitcase remained apathetic, and the only thing that kept its guts inside was the fact Toris' pocket knife was not strong enough to saw through its stomach. Just as he began to feel honestly ill, he found work. For most of the day and a good portion of the night, he washed dishes in the back of a diner. American jazz poured through the restaurant as he scrubbed and rinsed chipped plastic cups, plates and cheap metal silverware over a hot and humid sink. Without any money to spare for anything but the bus, Toris ate two meals a day at the diner when business lulled. The fat on the hamburgers and oily French fries gave him stomach trouble, but he began to gain weight, despite the lengthy hours he spent stuffed in the backroom and making the lengthy walk to his apartment.

At "home," there was no mattress or furniture, so he used his scratchy cotton overcoat as a blanket and the shirts ripped from the robbery as a pillow. At night he could hear scratching in the floor and walls, laughter, screams or the sounds of feet thumping through the streets or through the halls. His internal clock woke him at 5 AM, and he pinned a sheet he'd found over the window while he bathed in the sink. He had no idea when the hot water ran out, only that it was gone by the time he came home at some odd hour of midnight.

On the second week of work he received his first paycheck and used it to buy a blanket, soap, paper and pencil. Toris sat on his still sealed suitcase and carefully spread the paper out across his leg.

Dear Felix,

I've arrived in America. My apartment was broken into, there is no shower, so I bathe in the sink. I have a job now. It's not as glamorous as wearing armor, but the heat is about the same. Hope things are going well with you, and

"I don't know what to write." He muttered, eyes on the paper. It was as though the white were an eye of its own, gaze burning and unnerving. What little he'd written sat atop it like a ship, a ship floating on an endless abyss of cold, lifeless waters.

After half an hour of rubbing his aching feet and staring at the letter, Toris tucked it under his suitcase and opted for sleep. He rose the next morning and went to work as usual, which was just as usual as it always was. There was one difference, however, and that was a waitress- a teenage girl well below his age (not in looks) and fatter than he was (not to say she was chubby, he was just so thin he could feel his cheekbones right beneath his skin)- attempted to talk to him. He smiled with her and pretended not to understand her English. Eventually she gave up when the manager summoned her, and once she was gone guilt settled over him. He muttered to his dishes that he had forgotten his manners in his homeland.

At the end of his long shift, Toris volunteered to stay behind to help close by mopping, even though his feet felt as though they were bleeding. He half expected to see his own bloody footprints across the areas he just mopped. Quietly he hummed to the music which accompanied him as he scrubbed the floor, a bit of extra time spent on black scuff marks.

I can't sleep at night
I can't eat a bite
'Cause the man I love,
He don't treat me right
He makes me feel so blue

The bell attached to the door sounded. He glanced over his shoulder but didn't stop, and his manager didn't give the guest one look before he stated: "We're closed, pal. Open up tomorrow at 10 AM sharp, come then."

I don't know what to do

"That's alright, I ain't here for food." A man replied, a smile in his voice.

Sometime I sit and sigh
And then begin to cry

"So," the man started with a small chuckle. "You're Toris?"

Toris' body and mind stopped, mop still in his grip, before he stood upright and turned around. There was a man, tall, blond, blue-eyed and broad shouldered, wearing a suit, tie, hat, glasses and a smile. The strong but soft features of the other's face were unmistakable.

"A- America?"

"Sorry, his English is a little wonky." The manager answered for him as he wiped the counter he now looked over.

'Cause my best friend
Said his last goodbye
There's a change in the ocean

"That's alright," Alfred nodded as he picked his hat off. "Call me Jones or Alfred, okidoki?"

"Um, Mr- Mr. Jones," Toris corrected quickly as he straightened up even more, mop held up against his chest like one of his old shields. "Wh-what can I- what can I do for you?"

Change in the deep blue sea, my baby
I'll tell you folks, there ain't no change in me

"Nothin' much, Arthur told me you were here and I figured I may as well come over and say hello. Say, when do you get off?"

"About, um, about- about ten minutes."

"How 'bout I wait for you outside 'til you're done then?" Alfred nodded again as he took a few steps backwards. "Take your time."

Of course he didn't take his time. It wasn't every day that a nation went to meet another nation, unless it was for political purposes, and it was even rarer for a super power to pay attention to someone like little old Lithuania doing dishes at the back of one his diners.

My love for that man will always be
Now I can read his letters
I sure can't read his mind
I thought he's lovin' me
He's leavin' all the time
Now I see my poor love was blind
Now I got the crazy blues since my baby went away
I ain't got no time to lose
I must find him today
Now the doctor's gonna do all that he can
But what you're gonna need is an undertaker man
I ain't had nothin' but bad news
Now I got the crazy blues

At the last line, Toris had finished mopping the rest of the floor. He scanned the neat tiles to be sure he hadn't done a sloppy job before he put the mop away and threw out the stormy raincloud water. His manager waved him off as Toris went out the door, one hand pulling a string of his apron.

America greeted him as he pulled the apron over his head and threw it over his arm. The two shook hands, Lithuania self-conscious of how cold and moist his hands were, before the other let go and stepped to the side. Three full seconds later Toris began to walk, arm still out with the apron on it as though he were a butler ready to serve.

"So, how's New York been treating you?"

"Oh, um, fine." Toris smiled and felt his stomach ache as laughter bubbled out of it. "I hope you don't mind my being here."

"Not at all, not at all." Alfred waved his hand in front of his face, and Toris wondered if he smelled the diner's greasy food or soap. Toris' feet led them to the bus stop. As the pair stood together, the city far from drowsy, Alfred made idle conversation and asked a few questions that Toris responded to as politely and clearly as he could. The bus rattled over twenty minutes later, and when they climbed on they took seats in the back, where it was empty enough for them to talk quietly without risk of being overheard.

"Do you have a, ah, hotel?" Toris asked when the seat and floor rattled as the bus began to lurch forward.

"Nope. Went to your apartment first," oh god now he knows where I live and it's filthy- "and your apartment person- manager- told me where you worked, so I hopped on a bus and came over."

"Oh." God save him. "Would it be alright to ask why?"

"Like I said, I like coming over to see countries when they come over to visit me. Although working is a little different- actually, well- I came over for something else, too. If you wanted, you could come work for me instead of that burger joint."

Toris turned to look fully at Alfred and blinked a few times. "Work- work for you?"

"Yep. It wouldn't be very manly work or anything like that, more like house cleaning and stuff. Arthur told me you were in a bad spot with money and I need help around the house, so I figured I may as well come over and offer you work. You'd have your own room and start out with about $150 a month, have to do things like clean, do the dishes, cook, stuff like that. I've tried to find other help but they're not careful enough with some of my artifacts, and eventually I have to fire them when this doesn't change," he circled his face with a finger. "So when Arthur called me I thought it'd be a good idea to come over and see if you wanted the job. Wouldn't have to worry about firing you after a few years and I'm sure you'll be more careful with the more precious things in the house. Plus it's generally just good manners to come over and say 'hallo' to your guests."

Both men leaned left when the bus turned and droplets tapped the windows. Alfred picked his glasses off his face and began to wipe them with a blue cloth he produced from an inside pocket in his suit. He turned his head to Toris, who sat straight, hands on his lap and eyes only halfway focused on the other's face. As the brakes on the bus squealed, Toris blinked. As he studied his features he wondered why America looked a few years older than he did, even though Lithuania was hundreds of years older than him. Alfred also studied Toris' face, skin pale and stretched too tight on what was supposed to be a young man's face. He sniffled as he thought about how the inside of the bus smelled like cow piss.

"If you're not joking," Toris' chest expanded as he squeezed his hands on his lap. "I would… love to."

Alfred smiled, one that caused a glimmer to show even through the lens of his glasses as he slipped them back on. "Alrightie then. When would you like to start?"