While his wife and children were upstairs, Ivan Rusovich Braginsky was sitting in his office, staring into space, not actually working. He had intended to, but even with the best intentions, one could easily become distracted. And Russia, sitting completely still, looking through rather than at the wall of the room, was definitely distracted.

His head was currently occupied by thoughts of his children. He liked children. He'd always wanted children. His love for his daughters was immense. So why did his youngest daughter hate him so?

He'd tried. Really tried. He'd given them everything. Well, of course, he had, after all, he'd been so worried when he first knew he'd be a father. Everything about his dear children was so easy to recall. That worry included...


Natalya walked into the bedroom as Ivan was getting ready for bed. He turned to greet her with a smile and a kiss, but her face stopped him in his tracks.

She looked...sort of lost. As though she wasn't sure what to feel or think. As though something had seized and shaken up her whole world, throwing pieces about, and she was struggling to find them all again. She walked past him, seating herself on the edge of the bed and then looked up at him, biting her lower lip nervously.

He'd never, ever seen Belarus nervous, despite how long he'd known her. He went over and sat beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Nat?" He asked tentatively. "What's wrong?"

The Belarusian paused for a long-seeming minute. Then she spoke her answer. An answer that changed their lives. "I'm pregnant..."

Both Ivan and Natalya had always expected it to be a blissful moment. But it came with a sobering batch of worries too. For a start, it raised questions about their future. Nations very rarely had children biologically, save for the 'ancients', who faded away soon after. Russia wanted children. But he wasn't ready to lose his wife and sister.

Secondly, the child may be the one to die instead. It was extremely unlikely that both parents and their child would survive. The children of Nations were rare because they were often very weak while they were young. Unstable and sickly.

As Natalya's due date drew closer, Ivan became increasingly paranoid. Never more so than the morning of the 6th September, when she woke him early, at about three A.M, in obvious pain. He rushed her to the hospital, and stood by her bedside, holding her hand as she screamed out, crushing his fingers together.

But after what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, her grip slackened and a nurse handed him a bawling infant, whom Natalya sat up to peer at. Ukraine, who he'd called just after they arrived at the hospital, put her head over his shoulder and cooed over her new niece's 'sweet' resemblance to a much younger Natalya.

That was when it became the expected blissful moment. When he held his daughter for the first time.

But he never stopped worrying. Even when Nastasya grew up. And he'd never stop protecting her.

It had been a pleasant surprise to see his capital grow. Natalya hadn't faded, though effects of birthing a child, let alone a City, especially since it was another country's Capital, had weakened her for a little while after the birth. But time passed and she recovered. Nastasya Ivanovna Braginskaya remained a robust child too.

When she was older, Natalya came to speak with him.

"Moscow's well." She began simply.

"Da, she is." He smiled.

Natalya nodded. "So, Brother, have you ever thought about having another child?" She asked softly.

He paused and looked at her curiously. "Well, do you want to, Sister?" The Russian asked.

Again, she nodded. "I've always wanted to see my own Capital."

He nodded too but questioned her. "You are sure you can manage, da? I don't want to lose you."

"You are still worrying about that?" She sighed. "I will be fine, Brother. Besides, my own City should be easier."

So he agreed, keeping quiet about his returning fears.

And again, when Minsk was born, he was there for her, holding her hand. Ukraine was outside in the waiting room, looking after the ten-year-old Moscow. They bustled in as soon as Belarus's cries changed to a baby's. He'd been just as doting to her, too...


So where did it go wrong...? He wondered as he remembered it all. Perhaps he just shouldn't have had children. Perhaps he wasn't as good with them as he'd thought. Perhaps...

That train of thought was interrupted by Moscow, pushing open his office door with a small creek and putting her pale face around the door. "Papa...?" She called out.

Ivan got up and went over to his eldest daughter, pulling her inside and into a hug. "At least you love me, da?" He muttered.

"Uh...da..." She nodded, looking up at him in surprise.

"Ah, so I'm not a terrible father..." He whispered, mostly to himself. But since they were so close right now, the Muscovite heard his words and frowned.

"Nyet...is this about Little Sestra?" She asked softly. Her father nodded, looking down sadly. "She does love you...Sort of. She's just...confused, I guess..." Nastasya tried to comfort him, though she didn't fully understand the logic behind her sister's attitude herself, and it sometimes bothered her, too. Nevertheless, she leant closer, trying to make him feel better by kissing his cheek softly.

Ivan wasn't sure if he believed her fully, or if that was comforting at all, but, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, he allowed himself to be soothed by his child's comments and moved on. "Anyway," He smiled, "You came for a reason, da? What is it, Petal?"

The city nodded, giving her father a half smile. "Sister was bored, so she and I made cookies. Can we take some to Auntie Ukraine's home?"

"Da, that's a sweet idea. I'm sure she'll be pleased to see you...If her boss isn't around. I'll take you in a moment, sweetheart. Let me fetch your Mama." The Russian man answered, kissing his daughter's forehead as he slid past her and went to find his wife.