… Whoever had come up with the idea of holding a midwinter conference in Trondheim (probably the proud owner of the infernal place, aka Norway), Matthew swore that he would beat some sense into this person using his favorite hockey-stick. He was usually a peaceful, non-violent person, but the sheer idiocy of this entire thing made him furious. Besides, he was two hours late, because he had gotten lost on the way from Oslo to Trondheim and then stuck in a gigantic drift of snow on some backwoods road. Germany would so hate him, or at least the non-Prussian part of Germany would. Gilbert would probably not be there, and right now, Matthew really envied him.
He was so engrossed in contemplating his misery and thinking of what he could use as an excuse without making a fool of himself that the dark, nearly black sheet of ice covering most of the courtyard in front of the snug little conference building completely escaped his notice. He paid the price for his negligence almost instantly: before he had time to comprehend what was happening, he found himself lying in a heap on the ground and a sharp, agonizing pain shot through his right leg. He let out a small gasp, and then started cursing himself, Trondheim, Norway and the rest of the world, while hot tears shot to his eyes.
The sound of heavy steps forced him to look up and to his great surprise, he saw a large, solid, and rather furry mass advancing on a collision course at a reckless pace. Before Matthew could make sense of the image, he was scooped up. He felt soft, surprisingly warm fur against his cheek.
Looking up at his rescuer's face, Matthew froze in shock. Purple eyes were gazing down at him solemnly.
Russia. Of all the bad things that had happened to him today, this was certainly the worst.
"It is alright, little one," Ivan's deep voice rumbled in what Matthew assumed was supposed to be a soothing tone (it sounded rather terrifying), "You probably sprained your ankle. It hurts a little, but it is not so bad."
Apart from the fact that Matthew did not appreciate to be called 'little one', and especially not by Ivan, of all people, he thought that 'it is not so bad' was a severe understatement. His leg hurt like hell, he was cold, upset and supremely annoyed, and being carried around by a dangerous lunatic did not make things any better.
"Just let me down," he protested weakly.
Ivan seemed puzzled by this request. "But you are hurt. You cannot walk on your own."
He was probably right, but Matthew did not care to admit that. "Do you even know who I am?" He asked, feeling exasperated.
"You are Canada. Matvei… Matthew."
Matthew's eyes widened a little. "You remember my name?"
"Of course I do," Ivan replied irritably, "I am not an imbecile."
Way to go Matthew – on top of everything else, he had now managed to insult Russia…! "Oh… I… er… it's just that… the others usually forget who I am."
Ivan pondered that for a moment, before replying: "Then they are idiots. You have been around for some time – at least century, I believe, but I sometimes lose track of time – and I have seen you at a lot of meetings lately. Why would I not remember you?"
He had a point there, Matthew supposed, but those things hadn't kept all the others from constantly forgetting his name and existence.
"Besides," Ivan added in an afterthought, looking down at him with a creepily fond smile, "you are rather attractive."
Matthew then contemplated screaming for help, but came to the conclusion that if he did, Ivan would probably either drop him or kill him and neither sounded very appealing. Besides, if anybody ever doubted Ivan's predilection for terrified boys, he just had to ask the Baltic States about it. Or Poland. They could tell you stories that would make you weep with fright.
So maybe it was better not to show his fear? Maybe Ivan would lose interest if he appeared indifferent?
He tried to focus on the words, rather than on the person – nation – who had spoken them.
- You are rather attractive -
Matthew had never considered himself to be attractive. He knew that he looked very much like his brother Alfred and what more did you need to say on the subject? Besides, Francis had told him early on that 'while you are a most charming little boy, my son, you are a great disappointment when it comes to looks'. Parents could be very cruel…
"We are at the door to the meeting room," Ivan suddenly announced, and a second later, said door was pushed open and a number of voices filled Matthews ears, then stopped, only to erupt into a cacophony of sounds – shouts, gasps, the clatter of an overturned chair… from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a mop of unruly blond hair as his brother came rushing to his aid. "What did you do to him?" Alfred shouted, clearly misinterpreting what he saw. At that particular moment though, Matthew was grateful for it.
"Mathieu! Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?" From the other side of the room, Francis came running, closely followed by Arthur.
"It's okay. I just… tripped."
"Let go of him!" Alfred demanded, and Ivan complied with a shrug. Carefully, he lowered Matthew and helped him to sit down on the nearest chair.
"What happened?" Ludwig's calm voice interjected.
"I slipped. Outside in the courtyard. I probably sprained my ankle. Russia… Ivan, was just trying to be helpful."
Everybody was staring from Matthew to Ivan and back now with varying degrees of disbelief showing on their faces. Predictably, Ludwig recovered first. "Do you require medical attention?" He asked Matthew.
"I'll take care of him," Francis said.
Glancing across the room from below long lashes, Matthew saw Ivan return to his assigned seat. But when he let Francis help him out of the room, he felt those purple eyes following them…
"More tea?" Arthur asked in a low, amiable voice. Matthew's head jerked up almost instinctively, and he felt slightly guilty. Nodding absentmindedly, he held out his cup and let Arthur fill it. The warm, familiar smell of tea filled the room.
"You seem a little distracted," Arthur noted.
"Er…" Matthew was at a loss for words. Even if he had wanted to talk about his problem, Arthur was probably the very last person in the world he wanted to be aware of the fact that Canada was in imminent danger of becoming a Russian satellite state. Matthew shuddered as he imagined the look of horror, disgust and disappointment on his father's face. "Ivan…? Matthew, you cannot be serious…"
To his surprise, Arthur smiled serenely. "You don't have to tell me, if you feel uncomfortable about it. I accept that my children don't want to share everything with me. It is only natural."
Matthew breathed a little sigh of relief. Well… at least that was something. Maybe not the acceptance or pity he secretly longed for, not the 'it's okay to be in love with the bad guys, as long as they're good-looking' that Francis would have given him, but it was better than nothing. He took another sip of tea and settled back into his chair, his tense muscles relaxing slightly. Unwelcome images of mesmerizing purple eyes still haunted him. He wondered what Ivan was doing right now. – Was he in a meeting? Discussing economic problems in Moscow, or politics in some other capital, somewhere in the world? Was he the guest of honor at some fancy dinner or banquet? Or was he outside in the cold; hunting, fishing, fighting, or whatever else he did to amuse himself?
That was a good question, by the way – what did the international bogeyman do to amuse himself? Except torturing and killing people and getting not-drunk on Vodka, of course, he thought sarcastically, re-iterating the well-known prejudices the other nations had about Russia.
Maple, Matthew, you really are crazy. A freak. Who else would find himself falling for a bloodthirsty lunatic like Ivan…?
"You should eat a little," Arthur said. "You are too thin, as always, and you do look a little pale."
Matthew did not feel like eating anything at all. Looking at the food Arthur offered him with a mixture of distrust and disgust, he bravely took a scone in order to please his host. He considered it a sacrifice to his filial duties. As he listlessly nibbled at the bread, another unwelcome memory came to his mind…
… The simplest way to assure that a meeting involving several nations would be unproductive was placing two nations who were at odds with each other close to each other at the conference table. Guileless little Latvia had done just that. While he had been careful enough to place Francis and Arthur at opposite ends of the table, one between Ludwig and Antonio, the other between Berwald and Toris; he had also put Ivan between Vash and Matthew (reasoning that two neutral nations would keep the Russian menace in check) and Alfred between Matthew and Elizaveta. When Matthew and Alfred arrived together, the room was still half-empty, so it took them a while to notice the mishap, especially since several nations, including Ivan, arrived late. When Ivan entered the room, though, it took him and Alfred all of thirty seconds to get into an argument that escalated within the following two minutes. While most nations, including their host appeared to be frozen, staring at the two combatants with varying degrees of shock and fear, Matthew made the mistake of trying to intervene. While playing the hero suited Alfred though, it was not a role his younger brother appeared to be cut out for, and Matthew learned that lesson the painful way. Throwing himself between Alfred and Ivan only earned him a bloody lip and a broken wrist, the first courtesy of a misaimed Russian fist, the second resulting in Alfred's attempt to get him out of the way. Then, several things happened almost at once: Ludwig pushed past Vash, shouting at the top of his voice and throwing his large body between the two fighting men, Elizaveta lifted a frying pan from out of nowhere and hit Alfred over the head with it, Roderich attempted to hold her back and stumbled, which resulted in all three of them falling, and the Italian brothers hid beneath the table and pulled Raivis down with them. Matthew only narrowly escaped being crushed by his falling brother, since a strong arm wrapped around his middle and pulled him back quickly. Unfortunately, though, the arm belonged to Ivan, and now Matthew found himself faced with an overprotective Russia. For some reason, Ivan appeared to have developed a fetish for carrying him around, and a petrified Matthew was once again cradled against his chest. "Put me down!" he protested.
"I won't hurt you," Ivan assured him sincerely.
"You already did!" Matthew flared.
"I did?" Ivan asked sheepishly, studying him closely. "Oh! I am sorry."
"Yeah, right."
"No, really, I am…"
"Fine. Just put me down."
"Where are you hurt?"
"My wrist; and my lip is bleeding."
"I can.."
"Ivan! Put him down right now!" Ludwig bellowed, and then added in a more quiet tone of voice: "Before Alfred gets the idea that you are trying to abduct his brother…"
Ivan looked down at Matthew, his expression suddenly pensive, as if he actually considered that option. Matthew shuddered.
Ivan continued to stare at him for a brief moment, then sighed. "But you would not like to be abducted by me, da?"
What kind of question was that…? "No!"
With another sigh, Ivan released him, carefully putting him back on his feet.
"I am sorry," he repeated, but now he was looking away. Matthew frowned and wondered what had passed between them…
Arthur watched the door close behind Matthew, a thoughtful expression on his face. He was not worried – not yet, anyway – but he felt… concerned.
Contrary to Matthew's innocent assumption, Arthur knew. He had kept quiet so far, because he could not perceive an imminent danger to his son's health and wellbeing, but he took great care to monitor both Matthew and Ivan – especially Ivan – as closely and unobtrusively as possible. He had briefly contemplated informing Alfred, mainly in order to gain access to his superior intelligence network, but then decided against it. Alfred was too impulsive to be discreet and would have wanted to rush to his brother's aid immediately. At this point, though, Arthur felt that rash actions would do more harm than good. In the post Cold-War-era that they were living in, it would have seemed ridiculous at best to accuse Ivan of being a little too interested in Matthew. As long as his interest did no obvious harm to either Matthew or the international community, Arthur's hands were tied.
And so far, Ivan had been very careful. In fact, Arthur himself had only learned of the matter by accident. Sheer coincidence had let him to find out about Ivan's affection, or whatever it was: when Matthew had fallen ill in 2003, Arthur had almost immediately decided to take care of his sick child, rather than entrusting his care to mere humans or Francis. Despite his general bad opinion of Francis, Arthur did not necessarily believe him to be a bad parent; nevertheless he preferred to oversee Matthew's recovery process himself. Sickness was not exactly an uncommon event in the "life" of a nation, but it was rare enough to be taken seriously.
Since it was Matthew, he had not received too many visits or get-well cards, but one day, Arthur had to his very great surprise found him sitting on his bed, opening a large parcel. "From Alfred?" he had asked, because it seemed the most logical answer.
Matthew had shaken his head. "I don't know."
A moment later, both he and Arthur had found themselves staring down at the contents of the parcel that were obviously intended as gifts: a magnificent pure white ermine coat, the best quality Arthur had ever seen, a pair of matching white leather gloves, also rimmed with ermine, and, wrapped carefully into a thin silk shawl, a white rose that was in full, splendid bloom. Wrapped into the luxurious softness of the pelt, they had also found a bottle filled with a clear liquid. It was labeled in Cyrillic letters, which neither Matthew nor Arthur could read, but it nevertheless revealed the identity of the sender.
"He could just as well have signed his name," Arthur muttered, still perplexed by the gesture. The gifts were exquisite and rather unusual. Yet all of them, except for the bottle of vodka, were startlingly feminine in appearance… gifts a man might give to a woman he was courting. Since Arthur knew for a fact that Ivan's interest in women was rather peripheral, he wondered if he had chosen this traditional way of showing his interest in order to set Matthew apart from his past lovers. There was a huge difference between showering someone in gifts and invading his lands in order to take what you wanted without asking…
You must think me a bit of a sadist, since poor Mattie is constantly getting hurt or sick, but I simply love the image of Ivan carrying him around ^^ Matthew's sickness in 2003 coincides with the SARS outbreak in Canada. Back then, 44 people died, and there was a somewhat apocalyptic feeling in the air (I visitied Canada that summer), but I think the panic was worse than the actual disease. Anyway, it was a welcome excuse for making him sick once again and to have Ivan send him some gifts. Please don't ask me how the rose survived the trip in the parcel, wrapped into a silk scarf. The magic of love, maybe...? As always, reviews are absolutely wonderful. The next chapter will be from Ivan's point of view.
