Reposting this chapter. I made the mistake of not including the first part originally and it screwed up my timeline of events.


Lichtenstein ran through the halls of her brother's house, her boots pounding against the tile floors. "Brother!" Her voice echoed off the stark walls. "Big brother! Please, come quick!"

Switzerland stepped out of his office, blocking Lichtenstein's path with an outstretched hand.

"No running in the house, Lichtenstein," he said sternly.

"But I have a good reason!" She grabbed her brother's hand and dragged him through the hall. "You must come and see! Elizabeth and I were fixing lunch, and then she collapsed!"

"I see." Switzerland sped up his pace to match Lichtenstein's. "This does not bode well."

The nations reached the open, airy kitchen. Elizabeth lay curled on the floor, her red hair fanned around her pale face. She groaned. Switzerland kneeled next to her and checked her pulse, then opened her eye. She swatted his hand away.

"Her vitals seem steady," Switzerland said curtly.

"Of course they're steady," Elizabeth moaned, pulling herself up on her arms. "They've been steady for almost five hundred years." Switzerland took her hand and helped her on her feet. She took a few shaky steps and leaned against the refrigerator. "Something desperately awful has happened to England."

"What do you mean?" Switzerland snapped. "Lichtenstein, go grab my tablet."

"Yes, brother!" The girl ran from the kitchen.

"I mean something truly awful has happened." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "There was a great wave of - of pain, and then some sort of syrupy - I don't know how to describe it. Like I was drowning in honey."

Lichtenstein returned with the tablet and handed it to Switzerland. A few swift movements of the hand, and Lichtenstein pulled up a number of videos reporting a terrorist attack in England's House of Commons.

"There it is." The edge in his voice softened a bit as he handed the tablet to Elizabeth. She watched one video after another, her heart growing heavy with each report.

"This can't be it," Elizabeth muttered. "I have lived through some of England's hardest times, and yet I never felt something quite so very wrong. A simple terrorist attack -" she stopped as one news report showed footage from the security camera and paused the video, staring at the black and white image. Her eyes grew wide.

"Switzerland, do you recognize this woman?" Her voice was level as she pointed at the screen. Switzerland leaned over the tablet.

"She looks familiar," he said with a shrug. "But I can't place her..."

"Emma!" Lichtenstein cried. Her hand flew to her mouth. "That is Emma! Remember, brother, the girl you helped for Canada and Russia some time ago? In the airport?"

Elizabeth straightened her spine and brushed herself off.

"I thought so," she said, carefully handing the tablet back to Switzerland. "If you don't mind, you two, I believe I shall cut my visit short. I have business elsewhere."

"And where will you go?" Switzerland said crossly. "Certainly not to England. If that feeling is as bad as you say, he may be in a precarious position."

"Absolutely not." Elizabeth shook her head and set her mouth in a grim frown. Her eyes flashed. "I shall visit Russia and ask him why the bloody hell his favorite girl has decided to murder my countrymen."


The guest room was large and open, with windows stretching across the south wall. Lush greens and faded browns made up the main color scheme, green walls and blankets, oak doors and tables and bed frame. Russia sat stretched out on the bed next to Emma's cold, clean body, reading a book of anthologized Soviet science fiction.

"I do not know why Lithuania thought so highly of this," he muttered as he turned a page.

Emma's eyes fluttered open and she gasped for breath. Russia closed the book and placed it on the end table, watching as she stretched her arms in a wide V and rolled her head back and forth.

"I seem to be healing up faster after I die." She sat up and rubbed her hand over her chest and abdomen, once riddled with entry wounds, now clear and smooth. "I hope my next task doesn't need so much death."

Russia placed his hands on her cheeks, studying her face with his shining eyes.

"Emma. You have killed," he said simply. She pushed his hands away gently.

"Yes. Such a hassle," she said with a yawn. "All that blood."

Russia bowed his head and placed a curled fist against his lips.

"I have made a mistake," he said. "I thought that having you beside me would ease the pain of my capture. I did not know you would be used in such a way by the little jailer."

"But I'm happy to be used!" Emma threw her arms around Russia's neck and kissed his cheek. "You are so silly, Russia!"

Russia pulled her arms off him. He looked down at her, his bright eyes reflecting hers.

"This is not you, Emma," he said slowly, for the first time allowing the truth of this to fill him. Emma gasped. "You are not one to be used against your will. You are not a killer."

Emma's lips dropped into a firm line.

"No," she said harshly, her eyes flashing. "That idiot who captured you is not using me against my will, Russia. Everything I've done, I've done for you!"

"Only because I cannot stop you without risking my people!"

"Again, wrong," Emma snapped, jerking her hands from Russia's. "I do it because of the immense satisfaction I feel from you when the deed is done!"

Russia shook his head.

"I do not understand -"

"Of course you do!" She slapped a hand against Russia's chest. "You have linked us! I can feel every emotion you have. And for each country that was taken, I felt a wave of happiness. Satisfaction. Joy. Pleasure." She twisted her mouth into a grin. "China, the one who wouldn't be your friend, always snubbing you, always avoiding you. A bit of glee when he went down, right?"

"No," Russia murmured.

"And then France! Ha! A nation that dared to invade you. You never got to return the favor. To see him go down so fast, I could tell you were pleased!"

"Stop." He shoved her hand away, pushed off the bed and stood.

"Then there was England. Arrogant, aloof England. He's been calling you a bumpkin, a bore, a menace, an annoyance, a hindrance since at least the Renaissance! Didn't it feel so nice to see his comeuppance? Hmm?"

"Stop, Emma," he said sternly, grabbing her by the shoulders. "You killed! You killed innocents! What satisfaction the worst part of me felt deep inside means nothing!"

"But it's not that deep inside right now, is it?" Emma smiled and bit her lip. "I can feel that, too. You're hanging on by a threat, darling. It'll only take a little tug, and then you'll tumble. You'll really feel happy then, right? Ready to feel that glee?"

Russia recoiled from her.

"What do you mean?"

"It's what I've been saying, love!" She leaned back on the bed and crossed her legs. "Everything I've done so far has been for you. As soon as America is under the thumb of our so-called ruler, you are just one little pull away from taking it all for yourself." She slid a finger over her chain. "Break the bond, and I break you, isn't that true?"

Russia stood still as stone.

"It is not what I want," he breathed.

"But it is! I know, because I can feel it!" Emma sat straight and pounded a hand against her chest. "I can feel it all, Russia! Every bit of you aches for this! You only hold back because you won't let yourself let go! But I can help you let go. I will make you let go!"

Russia growled and lashed out an arm, grabbing Emma's throat, his eyes filled with fire. His mouth was a tight, toothy snarl. Emma's small hands gripped his arm. She laughed, whooped, uncontrollably as she gasped for breath.

"See?" She rasped. "See how close you are? I can feel it! It is wonderful! It is true power!"

Russia closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his anger replaced by a dull ache in his chest. He loosened his hand and let Emma slip free.

"This is my fault," he muttered. "I have made you like this. I am a fool."

"No, no," Emma pleaded, hanging on to his hand. "You aren't a fool! You are wonderful! You are powerful! Use me to take out every enemy, past and present! Use me to become what you've always wanted, a true world leader! Please, tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it!"

"You must go far from here," Russia murmured, pulling his hand away. "Somewhere the jailer cannot find you. Somewhere he is not targeting. Somewhere with friends and -" an idea flickered at the edge of his thoughts.

"You wish to help me," he said, pulling Emma to her feet. "You must capture Elizabeth."

Emma squinted her eyes, confused. "Elizabeth? I don't -"

"England's Queen, Emma. She must have felt the pain of England's takeover." Russia led Emma to the closet and pulled out a backpack. "Pack for a trip. Find Elizabeth. As soon as she discovers the truth, she will become dangerous. You must subjugate her and bring her back to me."

"Will it really help you?" Emma gazed up at him with mad joy. "Will it help you become the ruler you should be?"

"It will help me, Emma." His voice was tired. "Pack and then run. Go as far from here as you can in the next twelve hours. Understood?"

"Yes!" Emma cheerfully began flinging clothes in her pack. Russia watched her for a moment before leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind him. He joined the other nations in the kitchen, where a sundae bar had been prepared. China and England ate their ice cream mechanically. France stood over a bowl filled to the brim, a spoon full of nuts hovering above, with a far off expression.

"Russia!" The captor nation shoved a bowl into Russia's hands. "How is our number one patient, friend?"

"Still dead," Russia said with a shrug. "She will be awake soon, I'm sure."

"Great!" his captor beamed up at him. "I have great plans for her! Come on, have some ice cream! We're almost done, you know!"

"Yes." Russia smiled slightly. "We are almost done."