A/N : Aha, I couldn't help it. I haven't written a one-shot in about six years. I hadn't really planned on doing one ever again, but here I am. Got stuck in my head, and I just had to. Had to.

In no way historically accurate. Just something for fun because Zachem Ya was getting really (really) depressing. And because I felt like picking on America for no reason at all. A smidgeon of Russia x Germany.

Fly Me To The Moon!

He couldn't remember exactly when he had decided that it would kill his soul, just a little, to see Alfred pin that goddamn tapestry-nightmare that he called a flag to the moon.

But he had.

And that was why Ludwig had picked up the telephone and called up a man he had never had intentions of telephoning ever again (except presumably to make a preemptive offer of exchanging Paris for Königsberg (it was only a matter of time)), and that was also why he sat here in front of him now, enduring listless, unwavering stares and more sociopathic arm grabs and pinches than he had ever hoped to encounter.

Because Ivan couldn't seem to go one minute with reaching out and nicking his arm or neck, apparently just because he liked seeing him jump.

Lingering aggression?

Or, more likely, Ivan was just batshit insane.

Ivan was staring at him.

Shifting this way and that, Ludwig stared right back, as his fingers drummed the table.

Ivan was smiling.

No one was talking. How awkward.

His foot was tapping in agitation.

Ivan tilted his head, and broke into a grin.

...oh yeah, totally batshit.

"Ah!" Suddenly, Ivan reached across the table and slapped his shoulder in what he might have thought was a gesture of camaraderie (Ludwig's shoulder creaked threateningly as it struggled not to dislocate under Ivan's iron fist), and he said, too loudly, "So, Lyudovik! I'm so glad you finally decided to join up with me! I haven't gotten to sit here like this with you since '39!"

"Well," Ludwig said, rubbing his shoulder absently, "Like I said over the phone, I think it's time we kissed and made up about that whole Barbarossa thing—"

A sloppy kiss upon his cheek.

"—not literally."

"Ah."

Ivan scooted back politely in his chair.

"As I was saying, I think this journey into space is a great way for us to break the ice and get back on track. Russia's been doing so well in space exploration, and I'm willing to invest in this venture. The moon is the new frontier!"

"Ah," Ivan chirped, cheerily, "It is! I'm happy to hear that you've taken an interest in my space program! But I admit that I still don't understand why you've decided to help me out with funds."

Silence.

Alright, maybe he had neglected to tell Ivan what (or rather, who) was really behind this sudden interest.

Hey, Ludwig! Guess what? Yeah, that's right! I'm like this close to gettin' to the moon! Oh man, I sure am glad I grabbed all your awesome scientists when you were busy bein' cut in half and all! If I were any goddamn smarter I'd be makin' the rockets myself! Ah ha ha!

For a moment, Ludwig sat stark still, staring at Ivan from across the table, and then, able to contain himself no longer, he leapt upright in fervent fury, slamming his fist down onto the desk as he cried, "B-because! That jerk! That goddamn jerk took all of my rocket designs and all of my scientists, and he won't even tell me what he's doing with them! He won't even let me see what they're working on! Those are my scientists! That's my shit he's using!"

Ivan smiled impassively, hands clasped in his lap as he watched Ludwig with a mechanical pleasantness that was quite unnerving.

Obviously, it was not necessary to elaborate on who the 'jerk' was. It was common knowledge, anyway.

Ivan raised his hands to his mouth and tittered somewhat deviously.

Anxious, Ludwig sent him an irritated glare, adding, roughly, "Don't think I don't know you've been doing the same goddamn thing! You took my rocket designs too, and you usurped all my bases in the East!"

"Ah..."

Ivan's creepy smile was unmovable, and finally Ludwig plopped back down into his chair, grumbling, "But he just does it so much more obnoxiously! Ugh, Operation Paperclip was so...so—so fuckin' lame!"

Ivan giggled.

"And besides," Ludwig continued, almost too eagerly, as though he were trying to justify his actions, "You've already taken my designs way further than he has! I mean, first there was Sputnik, and then there was your first man up in orbit! I mean, there's no way you won't get to the moon first, right?"

"We," Ivan said, amicably, "We'll get there first. Since you're giving me all of this money and all of your time, I'm just kind of assuming that you're saying that you just want the Eastern half of your country to stay with the Soviet Union forever! So it's we, now, right? We're one and the same now. Don't you want the West to come over, too? The more the merrier! Huh? Don't you?"

Ludwig paled, and only managed to stammer, "W-well! Let's not get ahead of ourselves! I didn't... That is..."

But Ivan only tilted his head, his smile widening and eyes suddenly blazing, and Ludwig fell still as he scooted his chair ever closer, and suddenly Ivan's heavy, iron arm was cast around his shoulders and his neck so tightly that he could no longer breathe.

"We! We! I like it when we're 'we', don't you?"

Reaching up and grabbing at Ivan's arm, Ludwig finally managed to wheeze, "Sure!"

"I'm so glad," Ivan cooed.

Ivan's grip released, and Ludwig reached up to massage his abused throat as Ivan smiled, and as an afterthought, he grumbled, "Well... Well, I'd rather be working with you than with that loud-mouthed, self-satisfied, arrogant, obnoxious, idiotic, sneaky, conniving, egotistical son of a bitch."

And it was true.

Ivan was scary as all hell. Ivan was a psychopath. Ivan was a sociopath.

Ivan was fuckin' crazy.

But Alfred was just...

Just...

Insufferable!

Suddenly, Ivan reached out and placed a heavy hand upon the top of his head, and it was with a very cool smile that he said, "You can't imagine how happy it makes me to hear that! Maybe we can get this friendship started off better than I thought! I'm excited for these talks to continue!"

Shifting nervously under Ivan's hand, Ludwig could only clear his throat and smile weakly, saying, "Yeah! Yeah, I've got a good feeling about this, too! Maybe once this race to the moon is over, we can work on other things together! With your natural resources and my industry, we can make a really good team!"

Ivan's smile widened, and he tottered back and forth in his chair enthusiastically as his hands fell down onto Ludwig's shoulders.

"R-really? I'm so—I'm so glad!"

For the first time, Ludwig's anxiety began to wane.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. And it was way worth it to give Alfred such a kick in the ass.

Maybe in an effort to keep the amicable atmosphere, Ivan added, "Say, I made some nifty rockets with the money you've sent me! The new models! These will be the ones to make it to the moon, we're sure of it!"

Ludwig leapt to his feet excitedly.

"Yeah? Well! What are we waiting for? Let's go test it out!"

"Sure!" Ivan cried, eagerly, and grabbed Ludwig's hand, pulling him none-too-gently towards the door.

As they crossed the threshold and passed into the halls, Ivan quipped, easily, "So! Tell me more things you hate about the Yank!"

And Ludwig was more than happy to oblige.

Alfred would eat their space dust.

The happiness did not last for long.

Smoke and debris in the sky.

A sigh.

"Don't look so sad, Lyudovik! I've got four more! Just because that one exploded..."

Ludwig only reached up and smacked his forehead.

That was his damn money that had exploded a mile above the Eastern Bloc.

Not Ivan's shuttle.

"Goddammit."

Ivan smiled breezily.

"This one will go up for sure, right?"

Ivan pointed to the sky with one hand, clapping Ludwig forcefully on the back with his other as he cried, eagerly, "I'm sure of it! This one will work for sure! Try not to worry so much!"

Not worry?

Easy to say for Ivan.

But he braced his shoulders and sat there next to Ivan at the control center nonetheless, and tried to smile.

"Sure."

"Okay, well, the last one's gotta go up, right?"

"..."

"Right! Three! Two! One! Blast off!"

BOOM.

A shriek.

"...maybe you should drink some vodka, Lyudovik. You don't look so well."

"We finally got one in orbit, Lyudovik!"

"Oh! I'm so glad! This is great!"

"It will bring us some moon dust, and then we'll be walking in no time!"

"...I'm sorry that Luna 15 crashed, Lyudovik. Vodka?"

"Son of a bitch."

"Well... Ah ha, there's always next time, Lyudovik!"

Well. Fuckin' A.

Five rockets down. Billions of dollars. Years of stress.

And still no lunar walk.

And Ivan was still smiling in that same creepy, automatic way he had been the whole damn time.

Ludwig was at his wit's end.

"Please, oh please tell me you've got another design."

"Well," Ivan said, as he drummed his fingers spastically on the desk, "Not right now! But we're really close! I can feel it! We'll build another one. A better one!"

"Can you at least use my engineers this time?" Ludwig begged, palms on the table as he leaned forward.

He was hemorrhaging money.

"Sure!" Ivan chirped.

Ludwig sighed in relief.

"Sure, we'll use your scientists! Well, they're my scientists now, too, aren't they? Say!" Ivan suddenly gasped, eyes lighting up, "Say! Haven't you decided whether you're giving me the Western half yet? Huh?"

Ludwig opened his mouth, and lost his voice as Ivan got that look in his eye.

The one he got when he was on the verge of absorbing a new territory.

"Let's go ahead and merge! Think about it, then it will always be our stuff! You said so yourself, didn't you? We make a great team!"

Ivan's fingers gripped the table so hard that the wood creaked.

Ludwig fell back in alarm.

Ivan's shoulders were shaking in uncontrollable glee.

"Come on! Join up with me! We can do so many things if we join up! Think about it! We'd be unstoppable!" A sharp, delighted gasp. "We could—we could take over the world! The world, Lyudovik! First the moon, and then the world, and then the universe! Oh! Oh, merge! Merge with me!"

Suddenly Ludwig wondered if maybe he had gotten in over his head.

"I-I've gotta say, I really need to think about this before I—"

"Come on!" Ivan goaded, eagerly, as he reached over and tangled his hand in Ludwig's collar, "Come on! Why don't you wanna just give me the Western half, huh? Come on! Don't you wanna just get together and make it one again? Huh? Come on! Let's just go ahead and make a deal! Your country will be whole, and we'll be together! Everyone wins! Come on, let the Western half sign the Warsaw Pact!"

"Absolutely not!" was all hapless Ludwig managed to cry, before Ivan suddenly leapt forward and grabbed him by either wrist, and in a flash had him thrown back down onto the table, pinning him down.

And suddenly, Ludwig also wondered if kicking Alfred in the ass was really worth it.

"Get off me!"

"Come on!" Ivan cried, as he shoved his elbow into Ludwig's chest and forced a pen into his fingers, wrenching his arm up so hard that he could hear his wrist bone threatening to snap neatly in two, and Ivan lead his hand over to a piece of paper that he had plucked from his coat as if from nowhere.

What, Ivan just carried around the Warsaw Pact in his pocket, waiting for dumb countries to sign it?

By God, he would not be one of them!

"Sign it! Sign it! Let's join up, come on! Sign it! Don't you wanna spend the rest of eternity with me? Come on! Sign it!"

His fingers were foundering under Ivan's merciless grip.

"No!"

Ivan's smile was eager and confident, as if he just knew that Ludwig would sign the paper, and there seemed to be no way he could pry his arm away from Ivan.

His hand was getting closer to the paper.

USSR.

USSR.

USSR...

No fuckin' way!

"Sign it! Do it, and we can spend all day together undermining America! We'll be together for eternity! Sign it! We belong together! The world, Lyudovik! Come on!"

"No!"

"Sign it!"

"NO!"

Ludwig grunted and kicked as Ivan's hand led his own closer and closer to that paper, writhing and twisting and giving his best effort to free himself, but damn heavy Russian just couldn't be thrown off—

"Oh!" Ivan suddenly gasped, as he stared down at Ludwig with wide eyes and a look of understanding. "I get it!"

Ludwig froze as Ivan's fingers dug into his wrists and he collapsed against him.

Silence.

They stared at each other in complete immobility.

And then Ivan smiled again.

"I get it! You don't wanna sign because I haven't paid a ransom for you yet, right?"

Ludwig managed only a dumb, "H-huh?"

But Ivan's moment of stillness was gone as quickly as it came, and suddenly he was wrenching Ludwig's arm back over again with fervor, crying merrily (and maybe frantically), "Don't worry! Just sign it! I promise I'll pay a good ransom before I merge with you! It'll work out alright!" And then Ivan pulled back one hand, thrusting it into his coat and pulling out a red veil.

Ludwig could only wonder dazedly, as Ivan tossed the shiny, embroidered veil over his face, what the hell else Ivan had in that massive coat.

On second thought...

"Ah!"

He didn't want to know.

"There!" Ivan cried from above, as he reclaimed Ludwig's arm, "That looks so pretty! Okay, I'll figure out what I'm gonna offer and you just wear this pretty veil and don't talk to me until the day after tomorrow. Now sign!"

"WHA—WHAT?"

The door burst open.

"Sir!"

They froze, as Ivan pressed Ludwig down onto the table and held him in place and as Ludwig's leg had somehow wound up around Ivan's waist in his desperate struggling, the long veil tangled around the both of them, and they must have realized at the same time how misleading this could appear, as they flushed a similar shade of red.

But it was just Toris standing there in the frame, and he did not look happy.

"S-Sir!" Toris cried, shakily and weakly from the door, and they twisted from their awkward, embarrassing position to look at him as he continued, "I think you should turn on your television!"

The urgency in his voice was palpable (so alarmed that he didn't even seem to care that Ivan was pinning Ludwig to the table and trying to either murder him or molest him), and it was with a furrowed brow that Ivan finally broke free of the tangled fabric and reached across the table and grabbed up the remote, turning the television on the wall on with a 'click'.

And as soon as the screen buzzed to life, both of them completely forgot their scuffle and bolted upright.

Ludwig paled as the veil fell down into his lap, and he groaned, "It—it can't be!"

Ivan's face fell into something like despair, as he whispered, "Wha... How? There's no way!"

There on the screen was a grand American flag, and a man in a spacesuit.

Walking on the goddamn moon.

"When the hell did this happen?" Ludwig roared, so angry that when he tried to stand up he succeeded only in entangling himself further in Ivan's damn veil and falling flat on his face.

Ivan made a strange, strangled sound.

When Ludwig pulled himself upright, he rounded and grabbed Ivan's collar, standing up on his toes as he shook him urgently.

"Y-you! This is your fault! Why didn't you tell me he was so close to gettin' to the fuckin' moon?"

Ivan sputtered, weakly, "I didn't know!"

"How couldn't you have known? Don't you have spies all over the place? Huh?"

He shook Ivan again, and Ivan bowed his head and moaned.

The static crackled, and then suddenly from the television came a garbled, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!"

...ugh.

Showboat.

Ivan fell back into a chair, muttering aloud, "Only he would come up with such a lame line!"

The atmosphere was dismal.

How?

How?

Everything was silent.

They stared at the television in complete and utter disbelief, helpless and unable to think as they watched an American astronaut in an American shuttle pin an American flag to the now American moon.

Goddammit.

Alfred had gotten there first.

Alfred had gotten there first.

The thought was mind-boggling.

Ludwig wanted to cry.

Silence.

"Shit's fake," Ivan finally moaned, miserably, as he fell forward and thunked his forehead onto the table, and Ludwig sank back down into his chair, covering his eyes with his hands and groaning in agreement, "Shit's fake!"

Ludwig regretted terribly that he had wasted so much money. He would be dreaming about cuckoo clocks for at least the next forty years...

And Ivan regretted that he would never get to pin a Red Star in the moon dust. He would have panic attacks to 'Stars and Stripes Forever!'

Fuckin' Alfred.

Lying there despondently, they managed only to mutter, simultaneously, "Motherfucker."

"CUT!"

"Cut!"

The stillness of the set was suddenly broken as the lights came back on in full force, and everyone started moving again, running around this way and that in a hustle, knocking dust up into the air as they went.

"Five minute break, guys!"

The heavily dressed astronaut froze still, the whooshing of his air tank audible, and then he suddenly reached up and wrenched off his helmet with a sigh of relief.

"Finally!" Alfred cried, as he heaved in a lungful of fresh air. "This damn thing is way too hot! I shoulda made someone less important do this!"

"Will you shut up for once?" came the grumbled reply of the cameraman, and Alfred looked over at him, and burst into a sunny smile.

"Yeah, yeah! But hey, thanks a bunch for manning the camera, Frenchy!"

Francis glowered over at him, and finally muttered aloud, "I'm only subjecting myself to this because Germany decided to invest in Russia."

A giggle.

"But he won't get there! He'll be making hard-wares for me again by the end of the day. And maybe something more if he gets desperate enough..."

A sinister snicker.

Alfred only shook his head and sighed. He would never understand the French.

"Get ready for action!"

Everything went still, and the last of the crew swept up the sand that had been jostled.

Sure as hell looked like the moon.

The big dark-blue backdrop was pretty damn convincing.

A crash.

"Goddammit!" came Alfred's shrill cry from above the ruckus, "Kiku, you knocked down the goddamn Earth! You just killed the Earth! Pin it back up! We're about to come back on the air! Get it up! Get it UP!"

Kiku did, quickly and looking very much hassled, and when everything was perfect, the lights went off and Alfred threw the astronaut's helmet back over his head.

"ACTION!"

And if anyone watching this marvelous event at home had listened very, very closely, they might have heard that strong, brave, miraculous first man on the moon mutter to no one, after his soulful speech, "Suck it, Russia."

A/N : Did I mention that this was totally historically inaccurate? And totally pointless. XD Also, Russia's weird comments are derived from medieval Russian wedding traditions, where the groom paid 'ransom' for the bride. And since the wedding lasted three days, the bride was supposed to stay veiled and not speak to her new husband until the end of the third day.

Yeah. The more you know, right? Thanks for putting up with this little whim.