Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

1961

Alfred sighed as he placed another empty glass of McGuiness on the table, damn those Irish could make a good brew, but the thick black liquid seemed to be doing nothing for him, even after his third glass. He couldn't even feel a light buzz in his head yet. The bar tender though was giving him funny looks. Guess many humans couldn't drink three glasses of the drink and still be as sober as he was. He needed something harder. "Do you have any vodka?" Alfred asked the old man behind the bar, the stiff man nodded and turned his back to his American patron.

Alfred stared into the empty glasses as memories from nearly a century ago found their way to the front of his mind, memories he had been pushing away for almost a half a century.

1873

Alfred was standing on a pier, waiting with dozens of other people for the boat to finally disembark. The air was filled with chatter and the smell of the sea, well if you could call the mighty Pacific Ocean a sea. Alfred turned back to the city that was behind him, San Francisco was a beautiful city but he wouldn't be staying long. He and Ivan had business to take care of back in Washington, but Alfred very much doubted if the people he was supposed to be meeting with cared really if he and the personification of Russia were late. They didn't seem to care about anything besides filling their pockets.

The magnificent luxury cruise liner that had departed from the Russian port city of Vladivostok had finally come to port and Alfred could feel his heart beat faster at the notion that the Russian man who had visited him so often was just a few yards away. He was a very handsome man with silky silver hair and purple eyes much lighter then Alfred's brother Matthew's. He was always very polite and there was an air of sadness about him that seemed to disappear the more time Alfred spent with him. Ivan Brangski spoke of many things when he visited, his sisters, affairs in Europe, the disgruntled surfs who had recently been given their freedom. In return Alfred often spoke of the new inventions that seemed to pour out of his people in mass amounts, the corruption in his own government, and the hopes of his people. A huge smile had made its way onto Alfred's face as he watched people depart the gangplank after what seemed like hours of tortuous wait, he was not a patient person to say the least.

His smile though wavered as he continued to wait for the Russian who had yet to appear on the gangplank or on the pier. Did he have the wrong date, the wrong pier? Did the Russian have to miss the boat for some reason? No, he would have been notified, they had telegraphs this was not the dark ages any more. He must have gotten his time and date mixed up then, or the pier number which would mean that he would have a very annoyed Russian on his hands. And he hated to appear like an ungracious host even if he had someone like Arthur visiting him, it was still tense whenever the two were in the same room together even though their two countries had come to some semblance of a good term relationship. Alfred turned to look away from the boat and across the bay to the rising sea cliffs on the other side. Francisco was certainly lucky to have such beautiful lands, and so rich in gold at one point at least. Now most of that gold was in the hands of the US treasury department or in banks in New York City or somewhere other than the foot hills of the Rocky Mountains.

"Privet Fredeka," a low voice said from behind making the wheat haired American stiffen with surprise. But he immediately relaxed, he would know that voice anywhere, probably even in his sleep. Alfred was glad to know that he hadn't made any kind of mistakes when it came to the date and pier numbers.

"Vanya," Alfred said throwing his arms around the Russian man who let out a small oof and gently placed his suitcases on the wood they were standing on to return the American's hug. "I thought I had made some kind of mistake and you were waiting for me on some other pier." Ivan chuckled and gently patted Alfred's head.

"No, I am here."

"So, what should we do first?" Alfred asked picking up on of Ivan's suit cases and walking side by side with the man and that was no small task, the other man took extremely long strides.

"Go to the hotel, then maybe dinner." Ivan said with a small smile directed towards Alfred whose smile only widened more as he saw it. Alfred loved Ivan's gentle smiles; it made him feel like he was the most specialist person in the world because he could make Ivan Brangski, the personification of Russia smile.

"I like that idea and I may know of a few good places to recommend." Alfred agreed as the pair walked down on of the many hills that plagued Alfred's beloved western city.

1961

"Here we go," said the bar tender placing a bottle on the table, "Do you want a glass for it?"

"No, I'll drink it out of the bottle." A silent like he does lingered on Alfred's tongue as he picked up the offensive drink. He hadn't drank Vodka since the revolution, he hadn't wanted anything that would remind of him of the man he had loved, who had changed so much. The door to the pub opened behind Alfred but he chose not to glance behind and learn who was now joining him at this ungodly hour.

"Thought I'd find you here," Arthur's voice said and the Britt sat down on the bar stool next to him. "Are you trying to kill your liver?" he indicated to the empty glasses that the bar keeper had yet to remove.

"How'd you find me?" Alfred mumbled as he took a swig of the potato alcohol, feeling the burning sensation as the vile drink went down his throat. Somehow though it made Alfred feel better about his whole situation.

"I know what bars you went to during the war, and I know that you like a sense of familiarity and this is the only one still open that we went to." Arthur said before ordering a bottle of rum, a favorite drink of his from his days working as a privateer in the King's service. Alfred chuckled to himself, was he that easy to predict? "You know Ivan would never stop gloating if he walked in right now and saw that you were drinking Vodka."

"Well I guess it's a good thing he's not here right now, isn't it?" Alfred asked taking another swig, enjoying the burning sensation this time. His body was starting to feel numb maybe the poison was starting to work.

"Do you hate him?"

1918

"Vanya," Alfred called out to the Russian man as they met on a boat near the Alaskan islands. "What happened to you?" There was something different about his lover, nothing that Alfred could see, but there was a different air about him, something was off and he didn't like it. Horrible stories had been pouring out of the newspapers about Ivan's Revolution, had the Bolshaviks really killed the Tsar and his children for no apparent reason?

"Priviet Fredeka, I am finally free of oppressive rule. Soon the oppressed of the world shall rise up against their oppressors and liberate themselves and we shall all be equal." Ivan said with a smile, a crazy smile that didn't belong to the man standing across from him. Alfred shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing, this wasn't the man he had fallen in love with, the man who had fathered his son, this sound like someone mad, someone he didn't want around Peter. Alfred glanced back to the house he was staying at, the house Peter was staying at, he wanted Ivan to know his son, he wanted to apologize to the Russian for leaving him in the dark for the past forty years about his son. At first Alfred had been terrified, he had turned into a woman until after Peter stopped nursing and then his bosses were afraid that if Russia knew they had to a claim to the personification of Alaska that they would try to take it away and that would push other countries to try and take away America's budding empire. But now Alfred wanted Ivan to know, or at least he had an hour ago before Ivan had started to spout off nonsense.

"You sound like your buying into your bosses bull shit. I thought you were smarter then that. Communism is an idea, a crazy one at that, people will never buy into a social equality crap." Alfred said, a panic was starting to rise in his chest as he saw anger enter Ivan's eyes. Ivan never got angry with him, he was always patient even Alfred messed things up and made mistakes and acted like an idiot. What had happened to Vanya, to the man that he loved?

"You will see Alfred; the world will one day be under Communist rule." Alfred shook his head.

"You're wrong; I will be dead before I fall to Communism. I guess I found the answer I was looking for." Alfred turned away from the Communist nation trying his hardest not to let his legs give out from the pain in his chest from the death of his love.

"What was it you were looking for, Alfred?" Ivan asked quietly,

"I was looking for a dead man."

1961

"No, I don't hate him," Alfred said, "I hate the man he has become." That was the first time had ever declared that he would die before becoming Communist and it was words he would live by. He hated Communism with a passion, those who choose it, who truly chose it like Ivan did, turned into something cruel and vicious as the killed those who got in their way and forced everyone to become equal in a way that disgraced the word. "Did you ever truly hate Francis?"

"This is not about me," Arthur said, his face flushed red as he dodged the question, "I would prefer one night where the Frog's name didn't get mentioned." The former pirate took a long drink from his rum bottle.

"Fine, whatever." The American conceded, he would give his old friend one night of not bothering him about his own love life. "I hate this, I hate being at ends with him, I hate what he has become. I want things to change but, Arthur, damn it, I don't know how. I don't know how to save him, the man I love." He hit the bar, nearly knocking over his glasses with the force of the hit. "Sorry," he muttered to the bar tender.

"Sometimes, the one we fail to save are the ones that matter most." Arthur said raising the bottle of rum up to his lips. A look in his eyes betrayed how old the man sitting beside Alfred really was. Alfred liked to pretend that he wasn't one of the youngest nations around, but he was well aware that he was severely lacking in the experience the other nations had. Maybe, Alfred reckoned with himself, that was why he tried so hard to prove himself to the others. He was an infant compared to how old nations like Francis and Antonio were, they had known Remus, the legend that he was. They had experienced hardships that Alfred couldn't even begin to imagine.

"I don't want that to be Ivan and me." Alfred admitted, "I want to somehow solve our differences, but with the way he is." Alfred shook his head trying to find some way to explain to Arthur how he felt about the changes in Ivan. "He's not the man he once was, he doesn't listen, he's overly critical, I don't know if I can find any of Vanya in him anymore."

"Well I don't know how much help I'll be, I have failed in the love department, and have been doing so for at least five hundred years, well more." Arthur said, his tone was different then it had been before, there were more slurs and Alfred picked up the bottle of rum to find it nearly empty. When had Arthur drank all that, he had only taken a couple of sips last he knew. "I'm nothing but a failing empire."

Alfred said nothing deciding that, that was the best response, he had gone drinking with Arthur often and knew how violent the Britt could get when he was drunk. "The last time an empire failed like this all of Europe was plunged into a dark age." Alfred nodded, "And then we had Charlemagne, conquering and converting all of bloody Europe because he well damn pleased to. And then," Arthur paused for some kind of dramatic pause. "There was that bloody bastard William, you know he was a bastard too."

"Yes we know, mon cher." Francis said, Alfred turned to look at the newcomer. "You hated his guts and mine at the time."

"Got that damn right." Arthur muttered, Alfred shook his head and took another drink of Vodka.

"Ivan's watching you," Francis said, "And I didn't see any of your states outside so I'm guessing that you ditched your security."

"I can take care of the Commie Bastard by myself. I asked them to watch the hotel. I thought he would go at another pass for Petya." Alfred said,

"Petya, why are you calling him a Russian name?" Arthur asked, and then he motioned for Francis and Alfred to lean in. "They're the enemy." He whispered and then started giggling really loud. Francis rolled his eyes, and Alfred just shook his head and wondered why he had invited the awful drunk to go drinking with him. Maybe because despite their not so great history, Arthur was the only one left that Alfred really felt comfortable to confide in besides his brother who he had disappeared after the meeting. Off with Gilbert somewhere, hoping that the Russian didn't go looking for the Prussian.

"Come on, Arthur, we should probably get you home." Francis said,

"But I haven't finished my drink yet." Arthur protested.

"Come on," Francis insisted helping the Britt up off the bar stool. Alfred also stood up, if the Commie Bastard was going to follow him around, he would just have to show the man just how uninteresting he could be and how futile stalking him would be.

"No, I don't wanna go." Arthur protested until Francis picked him up and swung him up on his shoulders. "I am an Empire, you can't do this to me." He slurred attempting to hit the Frenchman and missed the long blond every time.

"I'll see you soon, Alfred." Francis said, he didn't seem fazed by the Britt's violent actions towards him. Alfred wondered if that was what happened after you had been fighting for a millennia and hoped that the tensions between him and Ivan didn't last that long, surely it couldn't, soon one of the nations would break down and either give up or nuke the other effectively destroying the world.

"Yeah," Alfred said walking out with the Frenchman, he could see Ivan's shadow in the alcove of a shop across the street but barely glanced at it before turning in the opposite direction from Francis who was heading towards the direction of Arthur's house. Not somewhere he would want to be tonight, it was general knowledge that Francis and Arthur almost always wound up together in bed after Arthur went out drinking. Well at least since World War Two.

The hairs on the back of Alfred's neck were going haywire as he walked the two blocks it was to his hotel room, he knew Ivan was following him for whatever reason. But every time he would check behind himself the Russian was nowhere to be seen. His fight or flight instincts seemed to be in flight mode, he had to make sure the Russian didn't' get to Peter before him, he wasn't sure if George, Charlotte and Charles could fend off the silver haired man for very long, brute force had never been any of their strong points.

"Oof," Matthew said standing on the street corner right in front of Alfred's hotel. The Canadian nearly fell over from the force Alfred used when he accidently walked into him.

"Sorry," Alfred said, "Where did you disappear to after the meeting?" Matthew gave him a look that told him to back off.

"None of your business, Mom."

"Hey I've got rights as your older brother." Alfred said jokingly, Matthew scoffed. It was a long going argument between the two over who was older. Alfred had become a country before Matthew but the Canadian's birthday was first.

"I was with Gilbert, that's all you need to know." Matthew replied, he reached in the pocket of his suit's jacket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. "It's from an old friend." Alfred stuck the piece of paper in his pocket and said nothing more on the subject in case there were another pair of ears listening.

Dear Alfred

I want you to understand that I never told Ivan about Peter and I am sorry he tried to force your son to leave you. But Ivan is not the same person he was even fifty years ago and I know that you of all people will understand that. He has become colder and less forgiving and downright cruel sometimes. But recent information has come into my hands that I felt was dire that you should know. Ivan no longer bares the heart of Russia; it has been hidden somewhere unknown to me. I believe that Ivan himself doesn't know where it is located. If he is to be saved and this war is to end you must find it and make sure that it is put back in him.

T.L

A huge armchair sat in the middle of the room, empty bottles of vodka were littered around it, the whole room smelt of stale vodka and cigarettes. In a corner across from the door stood an unused bed that had dust all over it, on the wall opposite of that was a bureau with its contents strewn out of the drawers as if someone had been frantically looking for something. Dust also covered the top of it. Two large windows sat in between the bed and the bureau but they were covered by thick maroon drapes that allowed no light to come in leaving the occupant of the room almost in darkness. A mahogany chest sat at the end of the bed with a padlock on it and rust sat on its hinges, it would take someone very strong to open it. The only part of the room that had some semblance to cleanliness was a small table in front of the blue upholstered armchair that held one small item on it. Two figurines, both male, dancing in each other's arms, one had silver hair and wore a Russian military uniform; the other had honey blond hair and wore a blue uniform. It had been a present from Alfred to celebrate the Romanov's three hundred anniversary on the throne. The figurines themselves were made from porcelain and the base was made from wood. Painted on the base were the words Even when I'm not there, I'm dancing in your arms.

Ivan had been tempted many times to throw the figurine against the wall, he had picked it up many times and had been just about to destroy the present, the reminder of happier times, when he would see Alfred's face, smiling like always and his own with a genuine smile and not the fake, scary one he wore for the world now. Then he would put the figurine down and wonder where that Ivan went, where that Russia went. Despite the fact that his people, well most of his people had been surfs, he had been happy. But his people hadn't been and he had heard their complaints in his bones and in his heart and had wanted to ease their suffering and the only person who had been able to do that was Vladimir Lenin, the first dictator of the Soviet Union. He wanted to dance with Alfred again; he wanted to hold his love in his arms again.

1854

Ivan stood nervously beside the Tsar Alexander, waiting anxiously for the American to show up. It was not unusual for Alfred to show up late, and the ball had really only just begun. But already Russian lords and ladies were dancing away on the dance floor. Ivan wasn't one for socializing but he had agreed to come because the Tsar had asked. Alexander was an old man, he had seen many things in his reign, soon, Ivan knew the old man would die and a new Tsar would reign. Alexander's heir Nicholas, such was the way of the world, it was something Ivan had come to accept with time.

Off to the side of the room were Toris and Feliks, the blond Pole was crossing dressing again, but the pulled off the dress very well and looked very effeminate himself. Ivan halfheartedly wondered if any of the Russian's nobles tonight knew that the blond woman in the very beautiful red dress, that reminded Ivan of a phoenix very fitting since Feliks fancied himself as one, was actually a man. Near the couple was Eduard who was trying to make some kind of small talk with Tino, who had been forced to attend the ball, for lack of a better word, by the Tsar. In fact Alexander had required that all the personifications under his rule attend his birthday celebration. Only Natalia had not come and no one, not even the Tsar, was brave enough to face her. Ivan was glad, he loved his younger sister very much but she did scare him with her talk of marriage. Everyone else had come willingly, except Tino, the Finnish personification did not like being part of Russia, it was not entirely Ivan's fault. He pretty much allowed the Finn to do whatever he wanted, he felt guilty that he had taken Tino away from his love especially now that he had found his own. But it hadn't been his fault that Tino was not allowed to see Berwald that was the Tsar at the time, which one was that again?

Ivan's thoughts about Tino were interrupted by the newest entourage making their way to the Tsar. A middle aged man walked up the Tsar and bowed very low before speaking with the leader of the Russian Empire. "Your serene exultancy, I would like to humbly introduce you to Alfred Jones the United States of America." The man moved aside and Ivan could see his lover, dressed in military blues, his hair was slicked back, all but one strand at least, and he looked for once presentable and not like he had just come back from the fields at his house he so loved to attend to. In his eyes he looked tired, something Ivan would ask him about later, the silver haired man wondered if there had been anymore strife between Alfred's northern states and his southern ones. He hoped, for Alfred's sake, that the two sides work out their differences peacefully, he did not want to see his lover hurt from war.

"You'll have to forgive me for not bowing, your serene highness. In my country we do not bow to our leader." Alfred said, the Tsar chuckled but seemed to take no offence to the brash nation's words.

"Of course not," Alexander chuckled, "Ivan, you are dismissed."

"Thank you, your highness." Ivan said with a bow and took Alfred's hand and led him away from his leader. He loved how warm Alfred was, he was colder than most other nations due to his proximity to the northern pole and though he longed for lands that were warmer, it would seem that it would not happen anytime soon. "It is good to see you Alfred," The American blushed as his name rolled off Ivan's tongue.

"It's good to see you too, Ivan." Alfred said reaching up just barely to kiss Ivan's lips and then pulled away. "Why don't we go-"

"Dance with me Alfred," Ivan said holding out his hand for Alfred to take. The American, uncharacteristically, began to splutter with protests making Ivan frown, the honey haired boy never back down from a challenge.

"I don't know how," Alfred said quietly, "We don't have fancy dances like this where I'm from. What if I fall, or step on your foot, what if they laugh?" Ivan had never seen the brash boy act so self-conscience before, he always seemed so assured of himself of what he was doing. It was true that many other, especially European, nations claimed that the American nation was backwards and back woods with no civility at all. And Ivan knew how very far from the truth that was. The people in America were civil though they had a different way of life than those of their counterparts in Europe. They had to depend on one another in order to survive the brutal land they were trying to conquer; they didn't have so much time for leisure as some of the Europeans did. What confused Ivan the most though was that not even three hundred years ago, that had been them and they had been that way for a thousand years.

"I'll lead, I won't let them laugh at you." The Russian promised, Alfred nodded and hesitantly took the silver hair man's hand and was lead onto the dance floor.

1961

Ivan threw the bottle down, he would not let the American keep his son away from him, he would do anything to take what was rightfully his and he would let no one, not even his lover get in his way. He would make the blond pay for all the hurt he was feeling. Ivan grabbed the figurine off of the table and hurled it across the room enjoying the sound as it broke into a thousand pieces on the opposite wall. Yes he would make Alfred pay for everything he had done to him.

Author's Note (the part of the story where the author comes out and writes a silly note): So I always imagined the part where Arthur says the Russians are the enemy as like when Sheldon from Big Bang Theory tells Lenard that he's Batman, for those who don't watch Big Bang Theory sorry if its lost on you. Oh well, so anyway the plot thickens and I like to write sad and depressed Ivan. What could he possibly have in store for our hero? And I liked to point out a question if Alfred's the hero then does that make Ivan the damsel in distress or the misunderstood villain? Good question. Any way don't forget to review and remember (commit it to memory) all flames are fed to the llama gods.