Russia came back the next evening with another bowl of borscht. Same as before, he set the tray down on the floor and sat down in the chair and waited patiently for Canada to work up his nerve, creep his way to the food, and eat.
When the last drop had been licked clean from the bowl, Matthew set it down on the tray and savoured the feeling of warm food making it's way to his empty stomach. The feeling was soothing. It temporarily lifted his fear and awareness of Ivan sitting only a few feet away. It allowed him to close his eyes and relax.
Ivan rose from his seat. Matthew snapped to attention and shrank back, falling over himself in a scramble to the far end of the cabin.
"Tsk," said the Russian, smiling, "So jumpy, Matvey. Why? I brought you food again, and something else this time."
Ivan went to the door and opened it, walking out into the night. Canada blinked after him, open mouthed. His mind was churning. The door was open.
He left the door open! Matthew could run! He could leap up and dash madly out the door and run into the night and find help! He could run home! He could run back to the safety of his home and to his brother!
He.. he could just sit there.. on the floor.. shivering.. feeling afraid.. and doing nothing.
A few minutes later Ivan walked back in. In his arms he carried logs and kindling for the fireplace. In his pocket he had matches.
Canada sat trembling in the corner at the back of the cabin, hugging his knees tightly. He watched as the large man set about making a fire. It wasn't long before one was crackling away merrily in the hearth. It warmed the tiny log cabin almost immediately. It sent orange light dancing through the room.
Matthew was instantly mesmerized by it.
The door was still open. Was the Russian testing him?
"Oh, guess I'd better close this, da?" Ivan chuckled, pushing the heavy door closed. He didn't lock it. "It is chilly in my country all the time, even in Summer. It makes me strong."
Canada's mind finally began processing what the Russian was saying. Cold makes him strong. If Ivan's large stature was proof of cold's strength giving properties then yes, it did. But the cold didn't make Matthew strong. He didn't see Winter as a scary old man who could choose to give you jewels or kill you. He saw Winter as a play thing. An excuse to play hockey, go tobogganing, ski-dooing.. and of course drink hot chocolate from Tim Horton's every night while curled up in a blanket with a good book.
Ivan pulled the chair over to sit in front of the fire. He took off his gloves, put them in another pocket and rubbed his hands together, warming them. Matthew watched him warily, still curled up as far away as possible.
It was silent for a few minutes, except for the occasional pop and hiss of the fire. Ivan seemed to be waiting. But Canada didn't move.
"Come sit with me." Another order.
Matthew krept towards the fire carefully. He settled on a spot on the bear rug a few feet away from Ivan.
"No, not there Matvey. Here."
The Russian gestured to the spot in front of him. Between his legs. Matthew was horrified. So close? He pictured large hands closing around his throat, choking him.. or worse.. shoving him face first into the fire. He shuddered.
"Now!" Ivan barked the order and Canada startled into motion, shuffling to the space between the Russians legs. The chair Ivan was sitting on meant his thighs and knees were at the same level as Matthews shoulders. He was surrounded by a man who could snap his neck in an instant. He curled his arms around his knees and shivered uncontrollably, staring at the fire, trying not to touch Ivan at all even tho the Russian was so close behind him.
Ivan didn't touch him, but Matthew could actually feel the Russian's temper easing back down to safe levels now that he had been obeyed. He could hear the Russian breathing, relaxing. He knew the smile was back in place. He felt the heat both from the fire before him and the huge man behind him. He regretted his wish for Ivan to make him warm, but despite his fears.. nothing happened for a long while. Ivan sat and watched the fire, same as Matthew, silently. No death from choking or maiming from fire.
After awhile, in spite of himself, Matthew began to relax.
"Do you see things in the fire?" The Russian asked him softly.
Matthew jumped. Any feeling of safety he'd had before quickly drained from his body when he felt the Russians hand on his shoulder.
"E...eh..?"
The hand caressed him gently.
"The fire. When you stare, do you become lost and see things?"
Fingers began petting and stroking through locks of his golden hair.
"Er.. well.. sometimes b-but.. I.. I like t-to watch the f-fire..flies.."
He loathed himself for the way he stammered when he was nervous. At home he could give presentations and speeches in front of his boss and countrymen with effortless ease. At world meetings he tripped over his words and sounded like a buffoon. Sitting here with Ivan.. what hope did he have?
"Fireflies?" Ivan asked, sounding genuinely curious, "Insects in fire?"
"N-no.." said Matthew, swallowing a huge lump in his throat. The Russian's second hand had joined it's mate on his other shoulder. They were resting there peacefully, the thumbs occasionally rubbing very gently. "W-when the w-wood pops.." He took a deep breath, willing himself to speak. "When the w-wood pops.. it sends s-sparks flying up. Sometimes the sparks fly up high away from the f-fire. When I was y-young.. I used to dream that the s-sparks were fireflies.. trying to escape. B-but they never made it far. They always died."
The hands on his shoulders squeezed. Matthew feared they could close around his throat, but they only began kneading. It.. felt good.
"You have sweet imagination, Matvey. Very cute."
"Thank you.." Matthew whispered. He didn't know if he was truly grateful for the compliment.. or for the fact that he wasn't being punched and kicked around the cabin.
"I tell you another story tonight," said Ivan. And he began telling Matthew about Baba Yaga, an old witch who carried a mortar and pestle with her, and lived in a hut that stood on chicken legs.
Matthew felt his eyelids drooping. They were like weights he couldn't hold up anymore. The kneading of his shoulders continued along with the Russian's soft voice. The fire was hypnotic, the man behind him was warm, and he was helpless as his shoulders slumped. He didn't know when exactly it happened, but he found himself with his face buried in the Russian's thigh. Visions of Old Man Winter and a hut on chicken legs danced through his sleepy mind.
He mumbled as he was scooped up like a child and carried to the bed. He felt his blankets being tucked around him. He felt a soft kiss on his forehead.
"Good night, Matvey." he heard the Russian say, "You are a good boy."
He managed only to crack one eye open, barely. Ivan looked beautiful, his silver hair catching the firelight and glowing from it. His violet gaze was gentle, pleased.
Matthew closed his eyes and fell deeper into slumber. He felt warm all over. He was a good boy.