vODDka

Sarah's POV

I exit the bathroom to find an empty bedroom, which is a good, since I only have a towel as coverage. I suppose I should have dressed while I was in the bathroom, but right now it's a literal sauna. Probably easier to put on clothes once I've cooled off, anyway.

I place the clothes out on the bed and I begin to dry off. Once I'm finished, I finally put on some suitable clothing. The bra fits, thankfully, and so does the underwear. I was right about the fit of the dress being longer, though. On Ukraine, it would have gone to just above her knees, but on me, it rests at mid-calf. I feel almost like a toddler wearing this thing, but beggars can't be choosers, and the print is rather pretty besides. When everything's adjusted, I attempt to untangle my hair with my fingers, but that in itself is a wasted effort.

I'm still trying to comb the snarls when there is a knock at the door. "Come in," I call out.

The door opens and in walks Russia. His usual smile is present again, but he's clearly tenser than normal. Something seems off with him, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that he isn't wearing his scarf. I've never seen him go without it, and I can't help but to notice that he looks different. I guess the article is something that I've come to associate him with. Plus the color was a shade of violet nearly identical to his eyes. Really nice. I assume that being without it makes him uncomfortable, and it begs the question: why isn't he wearing it?

Before I ask him about the scarf and potentially out myself, he gives me an once-over and gestures to my dress. "I like what you are wearing," he tells me, sounding…shy? "I am rather fond of sunflowers." I know this already, and it gets me to thinking. Did Ukraine give me this particular dress for that particular reason? Sneaky, I muse to myself, but she won't hear any complaints from me.

Still, the way Russia seems to hesitate over the compliments is pretty frickin' adorable. And sweet. I feel my face heat a little as I try to respond in a casual manner, but all that comes out is, "Th-thanks." Way to go, Champ.

I've never been a great conversationalist, so an awkward silence settles over the two of us while I silently kick myself for not saying more. I want to learn more about Russia, get a better sense of him, but I'm afraid that I may ask the wrong question and give myself away.

"So…" I begin, attempting to break the ice. Russia says nothing. We glance everywhere but at each other. He rocks back and forth on his heels a couple of times, hands clasped behind his back. Nothing is said between us for what seems like hours. Finally, after I was sure I couldn't take the awkward silence any longer, Russia breaks the ice.

"Are you hungry? I do not think you have eaten since you have been here," he states. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, causing me to flush in embarrassment.

He smiles and he gives a small chuckle before he addresses me again. "Well, if you would follow me, I can take you to the kitchen. I believe we can find something for you to eat."

I follow him out of the room and into the kitchen. I haven't seen much of the house besides the meeting room, my bedroom, and the guest bedroom that Ukraine uses. From my room, we come out into a hallway that only goes left; my room is at the end of the hallway. Straight across from my bedroom is another bedroom. I only know this because the door is open. Right next to that room is Ukraine's room, and I can only guess that the room next to mine belonged to Belarus. Exiting the hallway, we can either continue going straight to another hallway that holds two different doors, one of them being the meeting room, or go down the stairs that leads to an open area and the front door. We go down the stairs and take an immediate right through another door that belongs to the kitchen.

The kitchen is fairly large and modern with an island in the center of it. The whole thing is covered in white tile, giving the room an almost sterile feel to it. Almost every appliance is made of stainless steel and looks as if it's brand new. No canisters, no utensils, no clutter is evident. It seems as if it's never used.

As if reading my thoughts, Russia explains that he never utilizes his kitchen, since he can't cook very well apart from a few simple things. He seems a bit embarrassed at the admission, as he rubs the back of his neck and avoids meeting my eyes.

"It's okay," I say as I make my way around the kitchen. "I'm a decent cook, and I don't mind making me something." As I rummage around the kitchen, looking for cooking utensils, I hesitantly turn my body around to face him. "Would you like me to make you something?" I ask nervously. It's only polite of me to do so, after all, since I am using his kitchen.

"Ah, no! No, you surely do not have to go to the trouble," he exclaims as if he is startled by the question. "It would be the height of rudeness to have my guest prepare me something."

"I really don't mind," I tell him. "Besides, have you eaten today?"

He doesn't answer me right away, which in turn, answers my question. I give him a small smile and turn, looking around the kitchen once more. I notice him taking a seat at the island and I assume that he is going to watch me cook.

I glance at the clock that is hanging above the kitchen sink; it reads 11:30 A.M. It looks like we missed breakfast, so I decide to make lunch instead. I'm at a loss for what to fix, however. What to make, what to make. There's an 'ah-ha!' moment a few seconds later as I find a Russian cook book right next to the stove. I begin to leaf through it, trying to find something simple to make. I've never made Russian food before, but I'm confident that it'll turn out great.

After perusing a few pages, I decide on potato and cheese pierogies. Simple enough, and it should only takes thirty minutes to make. I start circling the kitchen, searching for the ingredients, and with a few sidelong glances, I note that Russia's eyes stay glued to me. It's a bit unsettling to have him watch me so intently, so all I can do is focus on preparing the meal.

It doesn't take long to find everything, and so I go to work sautéing the onions for the filling and preparing the dough. Once it's rolled out, I spoon in the filling, shape the pierogies, and then begin dropping a couple at a time gently into a boiling pot of water. So focused am I on cooking, I forget completely about Russia for a few minutes. Once the pierogies are situated, however, I turn my back to the stove to regard him.

The wistful expression on his face abruptly vanishes when he notices my attention. His cheerful smile is back in place, and he puts his chin in one of his hands. "Your pierogies smell wonderful. I cannot remember the last time I tasted some." I color at his compliment, but I'm glad that I prepared something that made him happy. It's a goal that I hadn't realized I was reaching towards.

"Thank you," I return shyly, granting him a smile in return.

"Of course, Принцесса. Now, would you like something to drink? It is the least I could do," he offers. I nod my assent and turn back to the stove to tend to the pierogies.

Ten minutes later, the pierogies are divvied onto two plates, and I bring them over to the island, where Russia has already placed the glasses and silverware. I'm glad that we're eating in such an informal setting, as I hear that Russians take their meals very seriously. I wait for him to take the first bite.

The look of delight on his face is an image that will be etched into my brain forever. Excited now, I scoop a huge forkful of pierogies into my mouth. The burning sensation is instantaneous, and I desperately reach for the glass of water that Russia had placed in front of me. I take a couple of very large gulps before the realization strikes me: that's not water.

My eyes begin tearing and I think my lungs are quite literally on fire. I try to hold the choking at bay, and it appears I'm fairly successful, as Russia looks more impressed than concerned. "Wow," he comments, his eyes shining in admiration, "you really like your vodka."

"Yep," I reply in a strangled voice. "That's me. Drink it every day."

"Truly?"

Oh God, I can't take it anymore. "NO! It feels like the seven layers of Hell are in my mouth right now!" I cry out as I jump up and dash toward the sink. I quickly turn the faucet handle and position my head under the spigot. Cool, blessed relief immediately washes over my mouth, and I take several long drinks before I snatch my head away and switch off the water. I'm so mortified, I want to die right here.

Unfortunately, I still have Russia to contend with, so I force myself to turn around and face him. His reaction is not what I expected.

Russia is howling with laughter. I'm astonished. I've seen him let loose the occasional giggle, but never the full-blown mirth that he's displaying currently. He's clutching his sides, bent over the waist, laughing so hard that he's turning red in the face. It begins to subside, and he's able to look at me, but as soon as he does so, he's hysterical again. I blink a couple of times, slightly lost, and then I notice that I still have water dribbling from the corners of my mouth. I wipe it hastily and hide my face in my hands. Kill me now.

It slowly quiets, and I sneak a look in between my fingers. Russia is back to staring me, and the look in his eyes is one that I, for once, am unable to identify. I drop my arms.

"I am sorry for not realizing that you might not have preferred vodka," he apologizes quietly. "And I hope you forgive me for laughing at your discomfort." His expression turns contrite, and he hunches his shoulders as if expecting the worst.

Now that the sensation of gargling lava has diminished, my humor returns full-force. I give him a wide smile and return to my seat. "No, it was funny," I argue. "I'm just not used to alcohol, and you have to admit, it's called 'Russian water' for a reason." My smile turns sheepish.

"Oops," Russia says after a few seconds, and I laugh.

As it seems we're essentially done with the meal, Russia takes it upon himself to clear the island of dishes and store the remainder of the food. While he's occupied, I decide to check out the living room that's situated across from the kitchen. It looks like it would be a good place to relax, because while it's spacious, the center of the room is dominated by a giant, overstuffed sofa. It looks soft and plush, and the color, a yellow reminiscent of the inner petals of a sunflower, should look tacky among the sedated brown of the carpet, but it merely looks inviting. The wall opposite me is dominated by a huge brick fireplace upon whose mantle hangs a massive flat-screen TV. Two wooden bookshelves crammed with DVD cases flank either side of the fireplace, indicating that Russia may be a movie buff.

I walk up to a bookshelf to inspect his collection, and I'm delighted to find titles such as Dumbo, Aladdin, and my favorite, The Lion King. I should be surprised that Russia was such a big fan of Disney, but I remember hearing somewhere that most nations of Hetalia consider Walt Disney one of America's greatest triumphs (although they wouldn't dare say it out loud). I blink as a pleasant heaviness seeps into my limbs.

I'm about to go to the other bookshelf when I hear Russia offer from behind, "We may watch one of those if you wish."

I spin around to respond and then frown as I consider it. "I would love to, but you have so many movies, I wouldn't even begin to know what to pick."

"Close your eyes and pick one, then," he suggests, and I smile, as it's not a bad idea. If only all of life's choices could be solved that way. Following his directions, I turn and close my eyes. I run my fingers along the spines of the cases, choosing the third shelf from the bottom. I pinch one to the left and slide it out, opening my eyes as I do so.

And gulp. Oh, boy. The name of the movie is Dead Daughters, and judging by the name and the artwork on the front of the case, it's a scary one. I don't do well with scary movies. Maura is always trying to convince me to watch some with her, but avoiding them is one of the few things I dig my heels in about. She doesn't resent me for it, thankfully, as she knows that everyone has their hang-ups. People are always surprised when they find that she's wiser than she appears.

The thought of my friend and what might have become of her dampens my mood a little bit, but I try to push past it, as I realize there's not much I can do for the moment without risking myself in the process. I know she wouldn't want that for me, so I resolve to wait until the world meeting to create a plan of action.

Still, there's the matter of the movie. In this, I only have myself to blame. I don't want to appear flighty in front of Russia, so I swallow my reservations and whirl around, holding the DVD up in the air. "Found one!" I call out with a forced smile on my face. Russia spies the title of the movie and claps excitedly. It appears I found a favorite of his. Resigned, I give him the case so that he can set everything up while I go and wait on the couch.

Once the player reads the disc, Russia comes and sits down on the couch. There's about a foot between us, and I feel myself shift slightly in his direction as the couch dips with his weight. I cross my legs and bob my foot. He's bouncing his knee. I begin to play with my fingernails. He starts twiddling his thumbs. The previous heaviness deepens now, and I'm feeling slightly light-headed. In a good way. It's now that I remember that I can't hold my liquor. I look out of the corner of my eye at Russia, whose face is in profile. It's such a lovely profile, too. His nose is long and sharp, his lips full, his forehead and chin strong. Just such a lovely, lovely man. I begin wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to do…other things. My face, if at all possible, grows even warmer, but I just want to lean in closer to him and-SARAH, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, YOU FLOOZY. I mentally shake myself out of my stupor. Well, as much as I can, considering the circumstances.

Russia plays the movie, and I begin to feel conflicted. I'm enjoying myself because of the alcohol, but I'm frightened by the movie. Every time there's a scary moment, I feel myself tremble. I squint my eyes when I feel something is about to happen, and jealously occasionally overtakes me as I see that Russia isn't at all bothered by it. Of course, he has seen the movie before anyway, I try and reassure myself.

At one particularly violent scene, I'm startled so badly that I jump, landing haphazardly across Russia. I don't think it registers for either one of us what happened, as he's about as focused on the movie as I am. This is at least what I tell myself when suddenly I feel his arm curl reassuringly around my shoulder. We're positively cuddling now, and neither one of us make a move to rectify this error.

The movie is not so scary anymore, and the pleasantly weighted effect of the alcohol strengthens, erasing all of my nerves and leaving contentment in its place. This is nice. This is so very nice. My eyelids start to drop, and I fall asleep to the clean scent of evergreen filling my nostrils.

Someone gently shakes me to awareness. I refuse to open my eyes, instead choosing to nestle deeper into something warm and soothing. "Sarah, the movie is over," a voice informs me softly. I feel a hand run briefly through my hair. My eyes flutter open, and my view is met with gray wool. I'm confused, so I look up dazedly and meet a pair of beautiful violet eyes. So pretty, I think. I want closer. I listen to the voice and stretch closer to the gaze, notice that it, too, is leaning towards me, and something's about to happen, and-

"Vanya! I'm back!" Ukraine's voice calls out. There's footsteps heading towards the living room.

We both blink, shock filling both our gazes as we realize the gravity of what has just happen, and Russia scrambles away from me, accidentally knocking me backward. Flailing my arms, trying to gain purchase on anything, I pin-wheel backwards onto the carpet with a thud.

Russia's older sister enters the room a few seconds later. She notices me sprawled out on the floor while Russia stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room. "Is everything alright in here?" she asks hesitantly. I stand up, brush myself off, and try to put on a convincing smile.

"Yes, everything is fine. I just fell over. Clumsy, you know." I give a nervous chuckle.

"Oh, are you hurt?" she asks me with a worried expression.

"I'm fine," I say emphatically.

She gives me a warm smile and directs her attention towards her brother. "Vanya, I have mended your scarf for you," she informs him. That is when I notice that she is holding something in her hands. So Ukraine had his scarf this whole time…

Russia, who had been quiet, immediately perks up and crosses to Ukraine to retrieve his scarf. "Thank you, Sister," he tells her gratefully, and then he puts on the purple article.

"It was no trouble at all." Suddenly, her cheerful demeanor diminishes, only to be replaced by sadness. "Vanya, I am sure Natalia didn't mean all of those things."

He stiffens at the mention of Belarus and at the reminder of what had transpired this morning. He glances briefly towards me before answering. "Sister, now is not the time to discuss this. We shall discuss this when our sister learns that she cannot get away with threatening my guests."

"But Vanya, she is young. She does not know any better. Just let her come back," Ukraine entreats with a pleading look.

"Stop making excuses for her, Sister. She is old enough to know better, and should be held accountable for her own actions. Your defending her only encourages her behavior. She is not allowed back here until she apologizes to me and to Sarah."

"Maybe what she did was not right, but I'm sure she was only looking out for you. She cares about you."

"I will not be putting up with her selfish actions any longer. Katsuya, this conversation is over," he tells her with an air of finality.

Ukraine looks as if she is about to cry, but I never see if she does, for she leaves. Russia and I stand awkwardly in the living, neither of us looking at each other. I start fiddling with the edge of my dress. God, what do I say?

"I believe I must apologize, Принцесса," I hear him say. I glance at him and I see that he is looking at me with his face full of remorse. "You should not have to deal with this.

"Oh! Umm…it's alright. Really. You shouldn't apologize," I assure him hastily, trying to get him to stop.

He doesn't say anything to that but he gives me a slight nod. "Well, at least you are not bothered by the events." He starts to head out of the living room. "I will go and shower now. When I am finished, I would like to ask you a few questions," he stops walking right before he exits the door and faces me. "Is that alright with you?"

"Yes." I nod my head. He studies me for a second before he turns around and leaves the room.

I have been sitting on the couch this whole time, waiting for him, trying to figure out on what kind of questions he will want to ask me. I have a vague idea, so I try rehearsing my answers before he returns.

When he comes back, an hour has passed. He is wearing another grey wool sweater paired with black slacks. The sweater seems bulky, but probably comfortable. I keep wondering if there's extra room underneath his clothes, if he fills them out with pudge, or if he's just intimidatingly muscled. Guess I'll never know. His scarf is settled comfortably around his neck. As he settles himself onto the couch, next to me, I catch a whiff of evergreen. The smell is coming from Russia. So that's what I smelled earlier.

He turns his body to face mine, and he's close enough that I'm able to see that his hair is still a bit damp. It makes him look sexy as fuck. Sarah. Focus! Maura would probably be cheering me on right now. I give myself a mental slap and give him my full attention.

"I am sorry it took me so long. I had to make a few phone calls," he informs me.

"It's fine. I understand." Sort-of.

"Very well. Now, I have a few questions to ask and I would appreciate an honest answer to each of them." He gives me a serious look. "Is that understood?"

I nod in assent, and in turn, he gives me a reassuring smile. "Good, then this should be easy. First question." His face is thoughtful as he considers how to word it. "Are there more people like you here?"

Before I answer, I start thinking. I can only assume Maura is here as well, since she was with me when I passed out at home. Then again, maybe she's still in my room, freaking out because I had disappeared.

"I think my friend Maura is here," I respond, "but at the same time, I'm not so sure. I haven't seen her since I arrived, and even if she did end up here, I have no idea on where she could be."

"Are there any more besides her?"

"No one that I can think of."

"Okay, next. How is it you fell through a hole in the ceiling that wasn't there before?"

"I seriously cannot tell you how. I have no idea myself." But it would be nice to know. He nods encouragingly.

"Hmm, okay. Are you really from the States?"

"Yes, I am."

Russia steeples his hands in front of his mouth as if completely intent on my next response. "Would you happen to be from another world?"

I don't answer immediately. I can feel my heart start to race and my hands growing clammy. Oh, boy. How should I answer that? I debate whether to tell him the truth or to outright lie. However, I did say I would be honest with him. It's not like he can send me back…right? I take a deep breath and give him the answer that he's already suspected.

I'm expecting surprise, but instead, I merely see acceptance. Now I'm the one who's surprised. "How did you guess?" I question.

He shrugs. "Call it the portal randomly appearing through the roof." I sincerely think that this is the first time I've experienced sarcasm from Russia in any form, TV or face-to-face. I'm rather amazed, quite honestly. But I'm glad that I was able to answer his questions without incident.

"I do have one final question, however."

Oh, this isn't going to go well, whatever it is. Still, I brace myself. "I'll answer to the best of my ability," I assure him.

He dips his head in acknowledgement before he continues. "I have come to note that though you arrive from your home to a world not your own, you have a certain familiarity with particular…facets of this place. My comrades and I, namely. And I quite distinctly recall the words "No way" leaving your mouth when you first gazed upon me. Why is this?" On this particular issue, he seems genuinely stumped.

"I, uh-" Shitshitshitshitshit, how the hell am I supposed to tell him without sounding certifiably insane?

"Yes?" Russia prompts.

I take in a deep breath, blow it out. Repeat. Close my eyes, open them to meet his gaze head-on. "In my world, you were a fictional character on a Japanese cartoon. Russia is a real country in my world, but your human depiction itself was not real. That's my real secret."

Russia draws back, as if stunned. He quickly composes himself, though, and blurts out, "So it is Japan's fault, then."

I'm taken aback by his reaction. "I-I guess so."

He lifts his arm to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "Whether I am fictional in this world of yours, I am of flesh and blood here, so it is no matter," he decides practically. "But I must know, how much insight does this show of yours give?"

I waver before answering. "A fair amount," I say after a time.

This earns a nod. "But you would not use this to the disadvantage of my comrades and I, da?"

"No, of course not!" My protest is swift. I'm slightly insulted that he would even ask such a thing, no matter that I know he's merely double-checking.

At this, he claps his hands together with his token cheerful smile. "In that case, I am finished with my inquiry. I think for now, we shall keep this information between us, for your safety. I thank you for trusting me with this knowledge."

This exchange certainly didn't turn out the way I expected. I'm still a little addled, though from the alcohol or the cumulative interactions with Russia, I can't be sure.

Well, it's 4AM, and after countless hours and many cups of coffee, we finally finished another chapter for your viewing pleasure. If you like the story thus far, reviews and favorites would surely be appreciated! As always, hope you enjoy! (: