A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews!
Just a notice: any and all Russian in this story is thanks to my sister and frequent writing partner Ratsister. She's in my favorite author's list and I encourage you to check out her stuff if RusAme or GerIta is your thing.
….
Translations:
Phonetic – Cyrillic – English
Dobre Utro - доброе утро – Good morning
Pizda - пизда - Cunt
Ya hochu s'yest - Я хочу съесть - I want to eat
Mo'ee Americanski – мой американский - My American (male)
...
The Rival North
Chapter Two: Something Blue
June 30th, 1963, 7:00am, Southern Florida
Matthew awoke with the strangest sensation in his left forearm. He touched it gently and felt panic gradually rise in his chest. It was almost completely numb to his touch.
He flexed his fingers and moved his arm about. Everything was in perfect working order.
He shook his head thinking that he must have slept on it wrong.
If the problem persisted he'd have it looked at but it would probably be fine.
He didn't have much to do today in terms of work. He just needed to stop by the office to sign a few papers and see that everything was in order for tomorrow's celebration.
He selected his clothes for the day and laid them out on the bed before taking his morning shower.
The spare toothbrush and the red, white, and blue towel that Alfred insisted on leaving were glaring reminders of his nagging worry the night before.
'You're being silly.' He told himself. 'You've gone weeks, months, without a word from Alfred before. Why are you suddenly acting like a silly girl waiting by the phone?'
But he knew that wasn't right. He wasn't anxious because he was feeling some clingy need to have Alfred near him. No, this was something else, this was something deep down in his core telling him that something was wrong.
'But that's ridiculous,' Matthew thought as he stepped into the warm stream of water. 'Alfred can more than take care of himself and even if he was in some sort of trouble, I'd have no way of knowing.'
He compromised with himself by deciding to call Alfred after he was done at the office which should be before noon.
As his Canadian soaped himself down and tried to wash away his seemingly irrational worry Alfred's horror story was continuing. Ivan had driven straight through the night stopping only twice to ensure Alfred remained drugged and docile. The last had been just two hours ago and Ivan was now sporting a nasty bite mark. America had bitten him hard enough to draw blood and it had left Russia in a sour mood. He didn't want to gag him as he truly enjoyed exchanging verbal barbs with the blond. He supposed he would just have to be more careful and not make the mistake of letting his wrist get anywhere near America's mouth. Ivan knew if he hadn't pulled away in time Alfred would've succeeded in breaking one of the fat blue veins that ran so shallowly under the pale white skin of his wrist.
'That fucking pizda.' Ivan thought with a frown. 'He stained one of my favorite gloves with my own blood. With my own blood!' It would've been much less insulting if it had been Alfred's blood.
Still he couldn't deny Alfred's fighting spirit was one of the things he valued most about him. He would particularly treasure it once it was at his disposal as opposed to being a constant impediment to his plans.
Ivan whistled softly to himself. He was rather looking forward to spending the day on the boat with Alfred as they waited for the safe cover of night to slip past the coast guard.
His contact was working for the Cubans and was possessed of a very useful secluded property with access to a private beach where their boat would be docked.
Typically Ivan preferred to act alone but he had to admit sometimes allies were indispensable.
They would leave in the earliest hours of the morning. It made Ivan smile to think of Canada and how he would undoubtedly be the first to notice something was wrong when America did not make it to his celebration as promised. Was he already worried perhaps or cursing Alfred's forgetfulness?
Ivan hoped for the latter that way the sting of finding out the truth would be that much sharper.
It would be a mistake, however, to think that Ivan's joy came from any kind of desire to hurt Matthew. It was nothing personal. On the contrary, Ivan was looking forward to helping Canada become one with him once America was securely under his thumb, but until Alfred was broken, Matthew, as his closest ally and lover, could be seen as nothing but a rival to Ivan. A rival who would be quickly, easily, and joyously put down should he attempt to interfere. The same went for England. Especially for England, who Russia knew to have a more violent past than Canada. He would be keeping an eye on them both.
He was admitted to the gated estate without question and directed by one of the armed guards to drive straight down to the beach where he could see the boat docked. He enjoyed the brisk formality of the Cuban and American smugglers. Ivan considered himself to be an agreeable sort and under other circumstances he might have been interested in exchanging drinks or pleasantries with his hosts but these were rather extraordinary circumstances and all Ivan wanted right now was to make it safely out of American waters. All he cared about was getting Alfred on that boat and all he wanted from his accomplices was efficiency.
He parked and opened the trunk, giving Alfred his customary smile.
"Dobre Utro, Amerika. In a better mood I hope?" He asked ruffling Alfred's golden hair affectionately.
Alfred glared. "Fuck off , Ruski." his speech was still slurred but the longer he spent under Russia's sedative the more he became accustomed to it and learned to enunciate around his numb lips.
"You know," Ivan purred feeling his anger from earlier simmer under his skin. "in my country swearing is encouraged among equals but not tolerated from subordinates." He drew back and slapped Alfred hard across the face. "So now we understand each other, Da?"
"Go to hell, Red!" Alfred may not have been able to move to strike back but he wasn't going to be cowed by Ivan's bullshit and posturing. He could assert dominance all he wanted that didn't mean it would make a damn bit of difference to Alfred.
"Religion." Ivan returned to smiling and stroked the cheek he had just struck. "how quaint."
Eager to get Alfred on the boat Ivan reached down and pulled the paralyzed American into his arms.
Alfred groaned and pushed back against his chest weakly. "Get yer commie hands off me!"
Ivan sighed and ignored Alfred's futile attempts at resistance.
Ivan made his way to the boat. He and his irate cargo were shown to a small room on the lowest level of the ship where they would pass their voyage. Ivan noticed how one of the Americans working with the Cuban smugglers wouldn't meet Alfred's eyes. It was probably just a moment of weakness and misplaced patriotism but all weaknesses had to be cataloged and monitored when so much was at stake. Ivan would keep an eye on the man.
Ivan entered the room they had been given. He of course was free to move about the ship at will, but he was unwilling to let America out of his sight and so would spend the duration of the voyage confined with him. There was a small table with a chair and a thin bunk notched into the side of the ship.
Ivan lay Alfred on the thin bed and moved the chair so he could sit next to him.
He pulled his flask from his pocket, took a swig of Vodka and tried to relax.
"Now Amerika," Ivan reasoned "We have a long day ahead of us with nothing to do but wait. It would be best if you were sociable."
"Alright Russia," Alfred's eyes narrowed. He was very aware of the fact that he was soon to be taken out of his native boundaries. His only hope at this point was that the coast guard would catch the smugglers. He knew, however, how often they got by them and how often they could bribe their way by if need be. Consequently, he was mentally preparing himself for a long hard fight both physically and psychologically. For now, he'd go along, he'd talk to the damn Ruski and see if he could get him to lay his cards on the table. "Just what kind of commie game are you playing here? If you want to kill me you're welcome to try but it won't be easy." Talking so much was almost painful with his tongue and lips entirely numb and feeling swollen but he pushed through it. "If you think you can turn me red with these scare tactics though I'll tell you now it won't work."
"Nyet." Ivan frowned, violet eyes wide at the suggestion. "Killing you would be a terrible waste of resources!"
"Aw shucks." Alfred spat. "ain't you sweet? I'm telling you America will never accept communism."
"That is well." Ivan smiled "For I am not asking you to accept it."
"I am not interested in playing house with you Russia."
The arguing was riling him up and taking energy that Alfred really didn't have to spare but at least it was something to do. He hated to lay here helpless like some damsel in distress.
That comparison shook him to the core. He almost didn't hear Russia's reply as he thought to himself 'I'm the hero. I can't be the damsel because if I'm in distress there's no one there to save me.'
"Playing house?" Ivan cooed, smiling happily and tapping his knee softly. "whatever do you mean, Amerika?"
"You know very well what I mean." Alfred glared "I won't be one of your satellite states."
At that Ivan's small smile split into a toothy grin. Alfred got the sinking feeling he had been waiting for him to say something along those lines.
He stood from his chair and had a seat next to Alfred on the small bunk.
"Have you never heard of personal space?" Alfred protested trying to use his arms to pull himself away from the other nation now occupying the bed with him.
"But Amerika, your space will be my space soon." Ivan took one of Alfred's hands causing the blue eyed nation to protest as loudly as he could under the effects of the sedative.
Ivan clutched his hand and leaned over him too close for comfort "Tell me Amerika, how do you like the idea of being close to me personally? Closer than any satellite state?"
Alfred felt a cold wave wash over him. "What?"
Ivan was pleased to see that he had the absent-minded American's full attention now.
"Da. You didn't think I would just be satisfied exerting political power over you? Not when I have the golden boy of the west in my grasp. Nyet Amerika, you will be fully incorporated after the eventual occupation. Not simple into the Soviet Union, nyet, but into Russia directly."
Alfred sneered. It wasn't going to happen. He'd fought too hard for full sovereignty to ever give it up especially not to become part of Russia.
"Just because you have me sedated doesn't mean you've crippled my military. My citizens will never tolerate an invasion."
Ivan smiled patronizingly and pat his head. "You're thinking too hard and too far ahead. There is no need for you to worry about that side of things. You will let me handle the politics now."
"The hell I will!"
"Amerika," Ivan sighed "must you be so difficult? You will be happy once we become one. You will be a very important administrative division. You'll be almost as big as Siberia! And you'll certainly have more resources and..." Russia frowned slightly "power... once you can be trusted with it. I'm even letting you retain your former identity in the name change. That's nice of me, da? You can still be called Amerika if you like."
"You want to make me an administrative division and I'm not even going to be the biggest one?"
That was just some serious bullshit as far as America was concerned. He was never becoming part of Russia anyway but the suggestion still pissed him off.
Ivan seemed to take his outburst as a positive sign and clapped his hands in childish glee.
"You are saying if you were the biggest you would be happy?" He smiled. "Because I suppose I could split Siberia in half..." That would anger the Siberians but if it made his acquisition of America easier it was more than worth it. "Just for you, Amerika."
"No dammit!" Alfred pushed back against the Russian who was really far too close to his face. "No, no no! Don't ever talk like that! I'm not joining with you!"
Ivan felt his heart sink and he drew away slightly. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. It was never that easy. His nearly 4,000 years of history had taught him that nothing was ever easy and everything worth having was fought for.
June 30th, 1963, 12:35 pm, Ottawa
Every squeak of the floorboards beneath his feet caused the world's second largest country to jump.
The calming tea he was drinking was not working neither was his constant self-criticism that he was being ridiculous.
"America can take care of himself!" He snapped out loud, suddenly glad no one was in the office.
Really a few missed phone calls were nothing new. Al had probably been called in to Washington on some urgent business. He would eventually call Mattie, apologizing, and probably saying he wouldn't be making it up tomorrow. No big deal. Later they would get together and Alfred would give him some present to make up for missing his birthday and usually spill all kinds of secrets, that his government would probably rather he didn't, about what had kept him away. Last year he had taken Matthew to MIT where computer programmers had developed a game that could be played on the computer. They called the thing Spacewar! Matthew and Alfred had spent the afternoon trying to shoot down each other's ships. Games on a computer, what a novel concept.
The same thing would probably happen this year. So why did he feel so anxious? Why was the persistent numbness in his arm (which had retreated now to affecting only a small section) drawing his attention like a magnetic force?
'I'll just sit down and read the paper, finish my tea and take a nice, leisurely stroll on the way home.'
The weather was lovely and sure to lift his spirits. He sat behind his desk and unfolded the newspaper. He had no interest in reading the front page stories about Cold War tensions and trouble in Quebec. He had to deal with those things every day. Instead he flipped farther in looking for local and human interest stories. A headline immediately caught his attention and caused the feeling in his gut to intensify. The article related the story of a local woman who had died recently from taking a fall down a flight of stairs in her home resulting in a broken neck. Apparently, the woman's identical twin sister had been overcome by such a strong sense that something was wrong that she had called and asked police to check up on her sister. It was then that she had been found and reported dead. The article closed by reiterating that there was no scientific proof or explanation of the experience, and gave some further anecdotal examples of the phenomenon.
'That can't be what's happening to me.' Matthew sipped his tea. 'Those stories only pertain to human beings and they aren't even proven.'
But that didn't silence the little voice screaming from the back of his head 'There's something wrong with Alfred!'
June 30th, 1963, 8:00pm, Southern Florida
In Ottawa, Matthew had just finished a late supper that he was having trouble keeping down and was now spending the evening before his birthday sitting anxiously by the phone with his small polar bear curled in his lap.
Meanwhile, on a boat in rural southern Florida, Alfred was clutching his own stomach which was growling with hunger as he drifted in and out of sleep. All the while he was being watched by a violet eyed Russian.
"Mcdonalds!" Alfred groaned. He had found solace in sleep. It was his only escape from both his hunger and Ivan's futile attempts at teaching him Russian.
Apparently the pale-haired northern nation had thought that reciting the Alphabet for Alfred would be a good way to pass the time until the sun had set. When Alfred had told him to shut up and find him some food Ivan had countered that he'd be happy to feed him if he asked in Russian.
"Tell me in Russian, Ameriki." He'd leaned over him and smiled. "You will need to learn it soon. Ya hochu s'yest . 'I want to eat.' Can you manage that?"
It was at that moment that Alfred resigned himself to starving to death and tried to lose himself in dreams.
Ivan, listening to Alfred moan in his sleep, couldn't control a giggle.
"Fuck off, Russia." Alfred glared from his place immobile on the bed as the sound of Ivan's laughter woke him up.
"Ah Amerika you are awake." Ivan twiddled with the scarf he insisted on wearing despite the crushing heat. "just in time."
"I hate the way you pronounce that!" Alfred snapped. "I don't need this shit. How about you don't talk to me at all?"
Alfred refused, absolutely refused, to let Ivan know how terrified he was. Instead he forced it down and hid it behind glares and sharp words. He wasn't scared of Russia, no, but he was scared of what Russia had done to him and of his own horrible immobility.
Ivan smiled his small smile and radiated an ominous aura. "The sun is setting you know. I was just about to carry you up on deck and let you take a last look at your homeland before we depart. You would like that would you not, Amerika?"
Alfred was starting to regain feeling in his lips and better control over the muscles of his mouth and so when Ivan leaned over him and reiterated his question Alfred simply leaned back and spit straight in his face earning himself a swift slap across the mouth.
Ivan stood back disgust clear from his wrinkled nose but amusement in his slight smirk.
"Is it that time again?"
He pulled a pocket watch from inside his coat. His small smirk immediately fell into a frown. He was nearly two hours late! His relief at having America on the boat and their imminent departure had clearly dulled his sense. He would have to be sharper. He would not allow this to happen again.
He produced the case of syringes and selected one. He held it up for America to see, letting the light flicker off the needle. America clearly thought he was concealing his fear but what he did not understand was just how sensitive to that particular emotion Russia was. The firm set of America's jaw, the sharp furrow of his brow and his unwavering eye contact might have fooled another nation but Russia saw the tiny details like the sudden change in his breathing, which was already so labored from the effects of the sedative, and the minute, oh so minute, widening of his eyes the second before he realized he needed to put up a front.
Those little tell-tale signs were so satisfying to Ivan.
'My Amerika,' He thought 'How your body betrays you.'
"Don't come near me." The happy go lucky blond growled his chipper voice unusually low.
Ivan neglected to reply as he advanced on his captive.
When he was in range, Alfred summoned all his strength to head butt Ivan. He knew it wouldn't last long, he knew it was a futile gesture, he knew he didn't have the strength to stand but he was America dammit and he was born to be defiant.
The blow surprised Ivan. He would have to consider increasing the dosage if Alfred was capable of such aggression after only a two hour lapse. He was dizzy but he didn't fall or even hesitate. He grabbed Alfred's arm roughly, and with none of his usual finesse, stabbed the needle straight into his vein discharging the poison a great purple bruise blossoming instantaneously from the impact.
June 30th, 1963, 8:00pm, Ottawa
"Aaah!"
Matthew, who had been dozing on his couch woke suddenly and cried out in unknown tandem behind his southern brother.
He hissed and clutched his inner forearm which was coloring inexplicably with a bruise.
'What's wrong with me?'
The northern nation felt his heart rate accelerate. He fought the urge to panic.
'Who can I call? What can I do? Why is this happening?'
The only person he could think of to call was England. Sure, the old man tended to get surly and reclusive during the first week of July for obvious reasons, but he was the only one Matthew could call who might be able to explain something so...so...abnormal, so frighteningly occult, as what was happening to Matthew now.
'Phantom pain, spontaneous bruises, this nagging worry...'
Matthew wanted to pick up the phone that moment but was restrained by his thoughtful cautious nature.
'It's awfully late in London. Is this really an emergency? What if it's all in my head? I don't want to bother anyone. It's best if I call him tomorrow.'
Matthew stood up and begun to pace the floor rubbing the bruise that had appeared on his arm.
He spoke out loud, needing the reassurance of his own voice and trying to sound convincing.
"I don't have any actual evidence that Alfred is in trouble." He nodded along.
"He's more than capable of taking care of himself. You've seen him drag cars, swing buffalo, you know how strong he is." He took a deep breath and remembered the feeling of those strong arms wrapped tight around him. "Nothing could've happened to him."
His stomach flipped, unconvinced. "Nothing!" he repeated in a more commanding voice.
'This is America we're talking about,' He thought to himself 'and I'm sitting here acting like Switzerland if Lichtenstein was out on a date. No one can hurt Alfred.'
He ran his fingertips lightly over the painful bruise. "Whatever is happening to me isn't related to Alfred. I'll call England tomorrow and get it all sorted out. Alfred will eventually make an appearance and be full of apologies and if he sees I've been worrying he'll just laugh!"
Matthew decided to retire early. There was something washing over him making him feel fatigued and he suddenly felt like sleep was the most appealing thing in the world.
He stumbled to his room and fell into a turbulent unconsciousness.
He was pitched into blackness. Everything felt numb and there was a rocking under him as though he was adrift on a wave. He felt as heavy as fresh driftwood that was only just beginning to rot on the inside. And oh there was something rotten inside. He could feel it. He was driftwood. That was the single image in his mind. He was driftwood in warm waters slowly being eaten apart by gribbles and shipworms from the inside out. They were boring into him, destroying the very fibers that bound him.
Had he once been solid as an oak? Strong? Had he seemed impenetrable before being felled and cast afloat? Before these vile parasites had taken hold inside of him?
Diftwood being eaten alive, sinking, sinking slowly into numbness, blackness, crashing beneath the waves, becoming colder and colder as he descended.
Matthew's eyes moved rapidly behind tightly shut lids as he was lost entirely to his dream.
Meanwhile, miles away, his freshly drugged lover was being hoisted into strong arms and carried above deck.
"Look," Ivan purred taking a handful of golden hair and using it to turn Alfred's lulling head. "Look Mo'ee Americanski, it will be long before you return."
Alfred's tongue was heavy and his heart painfully clenched. His mouth would not form the curses he longed to let free and the poison coursed inside him.