Chapter 4- On the Western Side Part 2: Cooking

If it were even more possible, Belarus hated America even more after her first day walking around D.C. She had been minding her own business, snooping around buildings to see if they were secret anti-communist government centers (she found none, but she still had this feeling…), when Belarus caught sight of herself in a store window. She froze, causing the stupid America walking behind her to accidentally run into her. After hissing him away, Belarus shakily lifted a hand to her face. The warmth and pain she felt under her palm was nearly unbearable.

What was this? Had America snuck up on her and injected her with some poison that made her bright red and so pained? No, Belarus thought to herself. America is not that stealthy.

Belarus felt several people staring into her back. Suddenly self-conscious, Belarus tugged on her too-short skirt and broke into a brisk walk. The sooner she got to her hotel and figured this mystery out, the better. However, she soon discovered that this mysterious red about her was beginning to prove painful as she walked.

When she finally arrived at her hotel, tearing through the lobby to demand her key and room, her skin was on fire. Simply standing still felt as though she was being dipped inch by agonizing inch into a volcano.

"M-Ma'am?" the hotel manager squeaked.

The blonde stopped, narrowing her eyes down the empty. "What do you want?" she snarled slowly, without turning.

She could easily hear his gulp. Stupid American. "I-I-I-I-if y-you need s-something for your sunburn, I-I could-"

Belarus grew tired of his stuttering and marched tightly to her room. Honestly, what was wrong with these stupid Americans? Did they not know how to leave someone alone? Or did they not know how to detect obvious danger?

Moving slowly, riddled with pain, Belarus lay out on her back, staring up at the stupid American ceiling above her. Everything about this place was so… so infuriating!

America's citizens, walking around in the sun and laughing as if they weren't in the middle of a war. People talking about the latest fashions and styles and prints available. Everyone so carefree and happy.

Why aren't my citizens happy like this?

Belarus grabbed the blanket beneath her, clenching the warm, soft fabric between her fingers. Why don't my people have warm blankets like this?

There was a radio in the corner of the room on a small round table, a convenient chair situated beside it. She jealously scowled at the machine, hating it for being here and not there. These American radios played oral stories and rock songs, not government information and regulations. They brought smiles to people's faces instead of suppressing them like those in Soviet Union.

She hated America.

She hated America because he had everything she wanted.

((((()))))

Belarus wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, but she did know when she woke up. The pain from her "sunburn", as the man had called it, was utterly unbearable. No matter what she did, the pain and the bright red would not go away. Ice cold baths did not help, nor did stretching and hoping to shake it off. That only made it worse.

But she had to go back. She had to find a decent piece of information for her brother. If she didn't, he would never marry her. She had to find something!

Even more people stared at her this time. Children stopped their family walk to point at her and wonder why she was so red. Their parents would tell them to shush, murmur something along the lines of "that poor girl", and carry on their way. Yes. Poor Belarus.

She walked around for hours, feeling more worse every second. By seven o'clock, when the heat was finally starting to die down, Belarus just wanted to scream. And she would, too. At the next child that pointed, the next hurried business man that bumped into her. The next time she heard something about The Beatles, The Who, or those awful Rolling Stones.

At first Belarus didn't notice the curious young man walk up to her. She had shut her eyes, lightly leaning against the front window of some knock-off Italian place. Belarus hadn't bothered trying to read it. Exhaustion took away much of her will to do anything besides sleep.

Then she felt movement in front of her face. Belarus angrily snapped her eyes open. "What do you think you're-"

America stood in front of her, bright eyes wide behind his glasses. Belarus also wore glasses as part of her disguise. The grinning blonde leaned back and placed his hands back in his pockets. "It's such a fine day," he started, "don't you think?"

Belarus was at a loss for words. Did he see through her disguise so quickly, and was now mocking her with pleasantries? Or did he seriously walk up to random strangers begin a round of small talk?

America seemed to be waiting for a reply. Belarus blinked and replied in her best American accent, "It is, thank you."

"Uh, not sure when 'it's a fine day' turned into a complement, but you're welcome."

She was glad her "sunburn" hid the flare that rose to her cheeks in embarrassment. America laughed anyway, suddenly lacing his arm through hers. "How about we take a walk, ma'am?"

Follow him, a voice said eagerly in her head. Follow him and make him tell you all his secrets!

"I know this nice place down the block that serves the best beef stroganof," America started excitedly. "I can get you something for your sunburn and then we can we go out to eat."

A wave of confusion washed over her. …He's taking a stranger out to eat? What is wrong with him?

However, she agreed to let him drag her down the sidewalk until the city began to fade into quaint suburban houses. Belarus could smell the barbecues taking place behind these houses, and could hear the laughs from more happy people. America seemed to have a lot of those.

"This is my place," he explained, unhooking their arms to dig for his keys in his pockets. At last he pulled them out and led her inside. America went straight to the kitchen. "My older brother taught me this trick. It's the only reason I ever keep tea in the house."

When America noticed her standing in the door, he beckoned her inside. "You can sit at the table. This'll take a while to boil. I'll start on that beef, too."

"I thought you said you knew where a good restaurant was?" Belarus asked lightly, slightly wincing when her accent slipped up at the end.

Still, America did not notice.

He spun around with a grin. "No restaurant. But I do make a mean beef stroganof, if I say so myself. Alrighty! When this is finished boiling, we have to let it cool. Then you have to dab this stuff on your sunburn. Sounds absurd, I know," America laughed at her disgusted expression, "but it really works. You'll be feeling like you can run a marathon by tomorrow, I guarantee it. Besides, the more British this stuff is, the quicker it annoys away the burn. Earl Gray. The tea for old blimeys."

Quite a while passed. After their short, quiet dinner, Belarus did as she was told. The tea, surprisingly, felt wonderful. When she came back downstairs, America was standing at the front door, a cheerful smile on his face.

"How about you stay the night, too?" he asked.

"Belarus."