Chapter 9: What About Love?
Author's Note: Thank you again for all the favourites, alerts and especially all the reviews and PMs – they all made me smile.
Disclaimer: Again, I do not own Hetalia – all characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.
Warnings: Lots of crack, mild violence verging on slapstick, bad-ass Ukraine (finally), fluffy love scene – but between which characters – you'll have to read to find out and a little bit of IggyxBela.
Chapter 9
Later that day, Leningrad, Russia
Russia was sat in the kitchen, for some reason all the other inhabitants of the house had disappeared. Lithuania and Poland were in the basement – Poland muttering about 'doing the place up' – Russia hoped it meant he was cleaning it and not painting it pink and glittery. He would have thumped the smaller nation, but hitting someone in a miniskirt seemed very wrong. Latvia had also left and he hadn't seen her since he'd ranted about Austria's unmanliness. Ukraine and Estonia had also left the house, Russia had no idea where to, Ukraine said something about shopping and Estonia had said something about 'business'. He assumed his little sister was still out terrorising some other poor unfortunate Nation, he wasn't too bothered, as long as it wasn't him.
Russia had a feeling that something was going on, but he wasn't sure what. He mused over his coffee, in normal circumstances he would kolkolkol and stand over Toris or one of the other Baltics glaring at them until he got some answers. He rarely threatened them outright, he didn't have to. Having an intimidating presence was enough and he worked on it regularly in front of a mirror to get it off to perfection. But it was much more fun if he could practise it on America and the other Nations at world conferences.
Russia's eyes rested on the headline in the local newspaper – "Five wanted in IKEA smash-up" with CCTV pictures of four elves. "That one looks like Estonia!" Russia exclaimed. There was also a description of a tall wild-haired man brandishing a large axe half-dressed as Santa who was wanted for indecent exposure. "Tut tut, whatever next?" Russia murmured to himself, "Is nothing sacred?"
He then picked up the Lucinda Lovelace novel he'd thrown through the window earlier and absent-mindedly picked up Ukraine's knitting. He noted that the more 'girly' elements of his household had taken to reading these books lately and when he'd asked why, Ukraine had said "Because she knows what women want."
"Hmmm," Russia thought, as he flicked through the book, "If I can get some idea what women want, then I might be able to get a girlfriend and then have babies."
If Toris or Feliks had walked into the kitchen during the next hour they would have been met with the sight of Russia, still in his Red Army General's uniform, knitting a tiny baby-sized bobble hat and reading – with great concentration – a propped-open romance novel.
In Russia's car, Leningrad
Ukraine drove fast but safely, "thank goodness she didn't drive like her nutter brother," Estonia thought.
"So who gave you that black eye? And don't tell me it was Denmark, I'm not stupid," she said.
Estonia gingerly touched his swollen socket, he'd removed the icepack but it still hurt. As soon as he'd finished vomiting up his breakfast after arriving back from the meeting with Russia – he was still unsure if it was hangover-driven or Russia's driving-driven – Ukraine had grabbed him by the arm, declared they were going 'shopping' and steered him out the door.
"Well... I bumped into a door," he lied.
"What's with all the chequebooks? And what's with the Red Army coat?" Ukraine asked, "Come on, Esty, I saw them in your room."
'Esty' sighed, should he tell her. He trusted Ukraine – Katya he corrected – she'd often protected him and his 'brothers' from the worst of Russia's moods before and besides there was no point having all this money if he had no-one to spend it on...
"Please tell no-one – not even Toris or Raivis – and certainly not Mr Russia," he said.
"Okay, out with it..." Ukraine said.
"Well, after the War, the Government has been doing a lot of reconstruction right?" Estonia said – he meant the Soviet Government. "I've been... well... my company I should say, has been acting as intermediaries or middle-men between the contractors and the government. The contractor or the customer pays the Government for the land and I take my cut – my commission. It's worked with gas and oil deals as well to Finland and some of the European Union countries. The Government get a good deal, the customers get the 'advance' notice of contracts and I get some money. Everybody wins." He then went on to tell her of his 'meeting' that morning with Big John.
"I see," Ukraine said, her lips set in a hard line, "We'll sort out this Fat John person." She said, however, she was impressed, she'd known he was intelligent, but this took the biscuit. "How long have these 'deals' been going on?"
"A while," Estonia stated simply.
"You made a lot of money, then?" Ukraine asked, her brain whirring – she'd been after a rich husband, she was fed up of farming all her life, America was out of bounds, her boobs scared England, France was just too unnerving even for her...
Estonia could not help but brag, "I've bought an island off Sweden's coast and I'm building a hotel complex."
"I want in." Ukraine said simply.
"Well..."
"60-40 or I tell Ivan," Ukraine said, "I could be your bodyguard," she added, as a sweetener.
Hmmm, Estonia considered this, it would be nice to have a partner, what was the point in earning all these millions without having someone to share it with. "70-30, last offer," he said.
"Done," she said and reached over with her free hand and ruffled his hair. "But first things first, we have to sort out this Fat Tony person."
"Big John." Estonia said.
"That's what I said."
Big John's Pink Flamingo Hideaway
The two Nations parked the car and got out. Ukraine strode purposely up to the door and banged on it forthrightly.
Estonia sighed, "Miss Katya, I think no-one's in, we should go."
"I'm your bodyguard and no-one but no-one messes with you. It's either that or I get Ivan," Ukraine said.
Estonia decided that Ukraine was definitely the lesser of two evils, what would she do anyway? Give them a piece of her mind and stab them with a knitting needle? He was about to get back in the car, when an ugly face appeared at the door-hatch.
The ugly man glared at Ukraine "Whatya want, darling?" he said the latter word in a leering manner, looking at Ukraine's ample chest.
Ukraine snarled and punched the ugly face with a decisive right hook, "No-one calls me darling," she said and karate-kicked the door in.
"Hey honey, are you the new dancer? What's your name, dearie?" Came catcalls as Ukraine strode into the nightclub.
Ukraine smiled, stepped up onto the stage and started twirling around the pole provocatively. Estonia gasped. "My name's Katyusha." She said in a soft lispy voice that Estonia had never heard before. "It means pure..." she continued dancing provocatively.
"Wooohooo," the ugly men all clapped, there were four of them, Ukraine noted.
"It can also mean rocket..." she added, "But my full name is Major Yekatarina Katyusha Braginskaya." She then stopped dancing, grinned at the men and ripped the pole from its ceiling and floor bolts, snapped it in half and jumped from the stage.
"Who hit my boyfriend?" she asked, twirling the two poles like a drum majorette. Estonia blinked at the word 'boyfriend'.
The four men all looked at each other. "Haha, what you gonna do, little girl?"
"This..." she answered, swept one of the poles around the back of the knees of one of the men who promptly fell to the ground and brought the other pipe down on the head of his neighbour. A third man tried to extricate a gun? knife? no-one knew, as Ukraine delivered a roundhouse kick to his testicles. He was on the floor nursing his bruised privates whilst a fourth man attempted to run. He didn't get far before one of the poles – with unerring accuracy - was thrown at his head and he fell to the floor like a brick. The first man who'd been smashed behind the knees was just getting to his feet and looking ready to hit the Ukrainian when Estonia punched him hard in the face and he fell like another brick.
The whole fight took less than five minutes.
Ukraine grinned, waved the metal poles around and said, "I'll give these to Ivan, he will be pleased. Come on, sweetie, let's go home."
Russia's house, Leningrad
Latvia was sat in her bedroom, in Toris's words 'mooning' about on her bed, staring at some of the pop group posters on her wall she'd acquired from Liechtenstein and Sealand and considered the last 24 hours' events. Idiot Mr Russia, what did he know. And her publisher. However, she had to admit that having the same 'hero' in her novels was starting to wear thin. "They wanted gritty and realistic, okay then," she thought.
She would re-write all the major love scenes, change the plot a bit and make the setting World War 2 – with 'Aija Yereva' as the heroine and 'Ivan' as the hero who rescues her or maybe, she thought, Aija could rescuehim. She picked up her pad and pen...
He leaned in for another kiss, gentle but firm. His strong arms pulled her closer until she was pressed close against his broad chest. "Ivan!" she gasped, "Oh my love, please be gentle with me," he lowered her to the ground and...
Latvia broke off from her writing. She couldn't remember actually saying any of that, in fact she and Ivan had barely exchanged a dozen words. Her Russian had not been very good back then and the conversation had been mainly "Vodka?" "Da." "Cold?" "Da." And then he'd shared his chocolate ration with her.
She sighed misty-eyed. Was it stupid to carry a torch for a guy who more than likely had been dead for forty years? But what was a girl to do? She lived with three idiot men – one an insane alcoholic Russian, one was a computer geek and the other was gay for his Polish boyfriend one minute and in love with his insane boss's insane sister the next.
Latvia carried on writing.
"Aija," his rich, deep voice murmured into her neck as he placed warm kisses along her collarbone, his warm voice making her stomach tingle.
"Hang on, that's too many 'warms', flipping heck". She scribbled out warm voice and reached for her thesaurus. "Hot? You can't have a hot voice though can you?" She thought. "Sod it, my editor will sort this out."
She ran her fingers through his thick soft hair and
"Cathairs!" Latvia exclaimed. "Boris! I'm fed up of you getting in the way, sod off." She pushed Russi-cat off her knee where he'd pounced, purring.
He lowered her to the ground...
"Hang on, I'm already on the ground. Who would have thought a love scene could be so complicated? You can't be lowered to the ground if you're already laid on the ground."
She scribbled the last bit out and carried on.
He laid his warm, strong body full-length on hers and placed one hand beneath the small of her back, his other hand hovered over the buttons of her tunic.
Latvia paused, can hands hover? She wasn't sure, helicopters did, it sounded bizarre, she ploughed on anyway.
The Russian slowly un-popped the buttons of her tunic...
Latvia stopped again, that wasn't right, it had been minus whatever and they hadn't divested of any clothing, to do so would have meant frostbite. Only the very necessary zips had been undone. "Maybe I should skip that then," Latvia thought "and get down to the nitty-gritty."
There was a metal scraping of a zip and...
"Latviaaaaa!" Lithuania called, "Get yourself down here and peel these potatoes."
She stuffed the pad hurriedly in her bag – she would write the sex scene later.
"Honestly," she thought, "I've got a blockbuster novel to write, I could make millions from this and escape this crapsack place, I may never have to wash Mr Russia's underwear again and flipping Toris wants me to peel spuds." She sighed, fantasy over and skidded down the stairs.
She ran slap-bang in Russia who was coming up the stairs, "Sorry, Sir," she said hurriedly, barely giving him a second glance.
Russia smiled fondly after her. She reminded him of someone he used to know, but he couldn't think who.
England, UK
Earlier that morning (England (the country, not the Nation) is 3 hours behind Moscow/Leningrad time)
England was sat at his kitchen table, rubbing his head, drinking tea and trying to make sense of the events of the previous evening. Opposite him sat Belarus. She seemed largely unaffected by the large quantities of alcohol they had consumed the night before and was almost cheery, eating her toast (it had been the only food she'd accepted from him) and perusing the list of ingredients required for the magic demon-summoning potion.
"So, my love," England said warily, "Perhaps we should go shopping later?"
Belarus looked up, she was singularly amused by England's appearance – he was wearing a black silk kimono with a dragon on the back (no doubt a present from China or France?), a pair of Scooby-Doo socks, Union Jack boxer shorts and his hair was stuck up at bizarre angles. Hardly the image of a sex god. "What for? And why would I want to be seen out with you?" she said abruptly.
England sighed, "Well obviously I will be getting dressed, unless of course..." he raised his eyebrows and nodded upstairs hopefully.
Belarus snorted, "You did enough last night, loverboy," she said.
England grinned happily, stood up, swayed a bit, his vision a bit blurred and proceeded to go take a shower. He wished to God he could remember what happened last night. It was just his luck to finally get a good-looking girl in his bed and then be too drunk to remember what happened. Maybe it would come back to him. All he remembered was Belarus beating him soundly at a game of darts and playing an awful drinking game... and didn't she carry him up the stairs? He stopped half way up the stairs and blushed.
Author's Note: Another long-ish chapter. Hope this might have cleared some questions up.
Not sure if the Soviet Government did put reconstruction contracts out to tender – so have taken liberties there, but there was a good deal of corruption and 'back-handing' – as there usually is with Government business.
Next chapter will definitely have more IggyxBela.
Feel free to review for good or ill, correct me, ask questions, PM me or whatever.
