A Matter of Perspective

Drabbles and Oneshots

Associated with the "A Matter of" Series

By: cultureandseptember

There is a burning, swelling pit in his stomach. Everything is quiet as he sits in that deserted room, head in his hands. It is inescapable, consuming—the grief. It isn't pain. No, pain would be merciful. It would be better. The grief is sickening though. It is a sort of nauseous hollow prison that he can't seem to— No matter how much he tries to think of other things, his mind keeps returning to the last phone call. The last time he spoke to her and the sound of her voice. She'd been so happy, so full of life. Then.

It had been a routine. For ten years, it had remained exactly the same. Michelle would call him on her way home from work. Ten in the morning for him, a space between meetings. Six at night for her, the roadways a bland thought at the back of her mind. Each day, every day. For ten years. She would speak of everything from her job to international affairs to family to…Everything. She trusted him. Not more than Egypt. It was hard to beat that man for her trust, but Russia settled for second. At least he beat America and that was something of which he was proud. Michelle is his…was his best friend.

His throat seems to constrict and he feels the heat building behind his eyes. He is strong enough to keep them at bay, those tears, but he can do nothing about the searing regret and remorse he feels in nearly every fiber of his body. It's choking him. He doubts that the emotions would ever go away. For the others, the loss and pain still haunt him. And he has lost so many. Perhaps the emotions will one day fade, as they always do. They will never disappear though. Russia knows that he will never be free of his guilt.

She didn't call.

And he thought then: Well, she must be busy. They are opening that new exhibit soon. It happened every once and a while. She would be too distracted by something professional and she would delay her call. He had paid it no mind at the time. In fact, he was actually pleased: he was busy as well with the upcoming Olympics in Moscow. Besides, she always talked longer whenever they had a missed call. Ivan had never claimed innocence regarding Michelle: he was jealous for her attention. The longer she would speak to him, the more human he felt. He had told her so once and had been met with: "You are human, Ivan. Don't forget that."

Russia raises his head and looks toward the table where his cellphone lay. He suddenly wants to throw it, to destroy it. She won't be calling again. Never again. The sick feeling became almost unbearable. He should have known then. He should have sensed it, known somehow. He should have kept his phone turned on during that meeting. He should have been there. He should have…He should have done so many things.

He struggles to stand, legs feeling weak. He couldn't seem to force himself to eat. Even if he knew that she would tell him otherwise, he can't seem to pull himself out of the darkness. With slow, deliberate movements, he stumbles to the fireplace. On the mantle, a picture sits with two smiling people in dress garb.

He closes his eyes tight and remembers America's sobs. There had been forty-seven missed calls. Most from America's cell number. Not one from Michelle. "Russia…There…There was an accident. It's Michelle." Russia's eyes open and he stares at the picture from her wedding. It's the same picture that he keeps on his phone. The same one that always used to appear whenever she would call. In a rash action, he picks up the picture and hurls it across the room. Breathing heavily, he rests his hands on the mantle and leans forward, head falling forward.

And he realizes: he can't do this.

Russia is the only Nation that doesn't attend her funeral. He doesn't think he's strong enough and he can't allow himself to be weak in front of the others. Russia mourns in silence, alone.

To this day, he listens to an old voicemail.

Just so that he doesn't forget her voice.

"Hey, Ivan! Just calling to check in. I saw that you texted me last night. Sorry. I was actually working on a restoration piece. Give me a call back when you can. I should be able to answer. Anyway. Love you and I hope everything is going well with the Olympic-prep. Bye!"

Russia still calls her phone out of habit.

She never answers.