A/N: …And so begins the OTP of Engloslavia. If anyone bashes me for it, I will get Russia to personally pound you into the snow. ^j^ (I'm sorry if the last chapter was really bad, by the way, because I suck at fluff.)

Chapter Eleven

The road to Belgrade was a long one, especially for the two foreigners in the black Dodge D-19. German soldiers flooded the streets of the new Axis territory, constantly on the lookout for any suspicious people coming in or out of the bordering cities. In fact, it was a miracle that they hadn't been caught yet; two foreigners traveling through occupied territory, one wearing an overcoat over what looked like a military uniform? If she hadn't been there to start speaking Croatian to the questioning soldiers, they would have already been captured, no doubt about it. [1]

Now, as they neared the outer edges of the Yugoslav capitol city, Yugoslavia couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh. The city itself was in terrible shape – buildings all over were crumbled and destroyed, a sight that made the scar on her lip throb slightly – but she could already see the signs of repair in the form of people in the streets holding hammers and boards, and in the steady stream of music that seemed to flow unsupervised from every visible side alley. Belgrade definitely looked worse than it had the last time she had seen it, but even then, she was happy to be home.

She stole a glance over at England, who was the one driving the car, his eyes planted firmly on the road ahead. At the moment, he was wearing his military uniform – why he put it on rather than civilian clothes, she wasn't quite sure – and his hat, gray with a darker brim and a bronze-colored eagle pin just above it, sat idly on the car's dashboard. He had been generally silent for most of the trip, which was strange for him. It must be the German soldiers that are making him so quiet, Yugoslavia reasoned, but something still seemed a little off. …Then again, maybe he –

"Where did you say your house was?" England asked suddenly, drawing her away from her thoughts and giving her a sideways glance.

Yugoslavia drew her attention back to the city before them. "Across the river and down the first road on the left," she instructed, nodding in the general direction of the house.

A few minutes and several complicated directions later, the car pulled into the cobblestone driveway of a huge villa hugging the shore of the Danube River. The house obviously belonged to someone of high power, with its intricate arched doorways, its sun-bleached walls, and the black iron railing ringing the terrace on the top floor, but even the most beautiful of homes had the war take a toll on it. Two craters marked the corners of the property: one placed at the opposite end of the driveway surrounded by scattered stone, and the other sitting directly at the edge of the house, its presence made note-worthy by the demolished portion of wall beside it.

Yugoslavia stepped out of the car just as it pulled to a halt, staring despondently at the wreckage before her. My house… She couldn't seem to find any words to say, so she just stood there with her mouth hanging slightly open, unable to rip her gaze away. She didn't notice England get out of the car until he was standing beside her.

"Don't worry," England reassured, placing a calming arm around her shoulders. "The damage doesn't look too bad." That must have been from the bombing…

"…R…Right," Yugoslavia murmured, forcing her voice to work again. "Yes." She walked around the side of the house, forcing herself to look away from the splintered wood that used to be a wall. "Tito!" she called out suddenly, opening the supposedly unlocked front door and letting herself in, England following behind. "Gdje si, dečko?"

The call echoed through the house, sending her words back to her a thousand times before growing silent. She took a step into the foyer, about to call out again when a tan-and-black blur flew down at her from the stairs above and plowed into her, sending her to the ground with a laugh. "Gdje samostalno možete! Gledao kuću za mene, vi?" [2]

England stood behind her, staring at the thing with eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It took his mind a moment to realize that the thing that knocked Yugoslavia over was a dog, a large, furry one with a tan coat ticked with black and strong, broad shoulders. At this point, Y was sitting up with her back against the wall, and the dog was in her lap, enjoying the petting and kind words that it was being given.

After a moment, Yugoslavia looked up from the dog, reverting back to English. "England, this is Tito. He is a Yugoslav Shepherd." Quietly, she added, "He does not understand English, only Croatian."

At the sound of his name, the dog followed his master's gaze and stared straight at England, a faint growl rumbling in his throat.

England wasn't quite sure of what just happened, but he stood his ground, not allowing himself to be shown up by a dog. "Y, why is he growling?" In case bad came to worse, he mentally prepared himself for the moment the dog decided to jump at him.

Yugoslavia crouched beside the dog, holding him by the scruff of the neck. "Tito, br. Engleska je moj prijatelj. England is my friend." [3]

Tito growled a bit more, moving his head slightly so he could look England over. The stare-down went on for countless moments, man vs. dog, country representative vs. pet of country representative, before Tito yipped contentedly, trotting forward and sitting on England's foot.

England, still prepared for an all-out attack from the dog, didn't bother moving his foot before the dog plopped itself down on it. Despite his shock and confusion, he smirked down at the dog. "Well, that was interesting."
"I am sorry about him," Yugoslavia apologized, chuckling a little in amusement. "He does that to people he does not know."

"Why are you apologizing?" England joked, moving his foot out from under Tito and earning a sharp glare from him. "He was the one who sat on me!"

Shaking her head slightly, Yugoslavia took a moment to wander the house and assess any other damage done from the bombing. Most of the house was standing strong, and its structure was sound, but the scene she saw from outside was the worst. Her dining room and a large chunk of her living room were completely destroyed, chunks of wood and plaster thrown everywhere among torched bits of grass and plants. The terrace above had collapsed in on itself, its iron railing badly bent and what used to be wooden furniture blackened with dirt and ashes. In a word, the scene looked horrendous. She let out a sigh. This is going to need some serious renovation.

"Y?" England's voice came from behind her, although there were no footsteps to accompany it. "Do you mind if I go get something real quick?"

"I do not mind." Yugoslavia tried to imagine how the room was before the bombing, back when the country was excluded from the terrors of this World War. The more she thought about it, the less clear the image was in her mind. She remembered sitting at the piano in the living room and playing music to push away the silence that often enveloped the place. Unlike many of the other nations, she had very few "people," very few workers who stayed around the house and helped her with the little things that came up. Those people were gone now, but to where, she had no clue. It was times like those, times when she would try everything to get rid of the deafening silence, that she was truly afraid of being alone.

Footsteps behind her broke her away from her tired mind's rant as England walked back into the room, carrying a cardboard box within his arms. "Are you okay?" he asked, seeing the contemplative distress in her eyes.

She shook her head slightly to expel the negative thoughts. "Yes, I was just thinking." She glanced down at the box. "What is this?"

England gave her a soft smile, adjusting the package in his arms. "It's for you. Do you want me to put it down somewhere?"

"Er, yes." Yugoslavia led him into the remaining half of her living room, gesturing to the coffee table in the center of the space. "You can put it right there."

England gently placed the box in the center of the table and straightened again, wrapping his arms around Yugoslavia. "So this is goodbye," he breathed, the words filling the house – and their hearts – with dread.

Yugoslavia didn't object, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. "I suppose so…"

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before England took a step back and grasped Yugoslavia's shoulders. "Don't worry about me," he instructed, as if he could read her mind. "That's my job. You just need to watch out for yourself. If Germany starts hurting you again," he added with a smirk, "just tell me. I can handle him."

Yugoslavia smiled slightly. "I will keep that in mind." [4]

England shrugged innocently before continuing. "I'll be fine. Just make sure that you're keeping your country in check. …There's a meeting in France in a couple weeks, in Évian-les-Bains. It sounds pretty important, so I think you should go too. We'll meet up at the conference hall." He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I… I love you."

Yugoslavia gazed down at the ground before looking back up at him. "…I love you too."

The corners of England's mouth twitched up slightly when he heard that, and he gently kissed the top of her head. "Take care of yourself, Y."

And then he was gone.

Yugoslavia couldn't stand to watch him go, so she wandered the house, pausing at a window opening to the Danube River. As she watched the river ripple with waves, she strained to hear the music from the distant city streets across the water, trying to block out the Croatian proverb that kept repeating itself in her mind: Kak dobljeno, tak zgubljeno.

Easy come, easy go.

-x-

An hour passed.

Finally dragging herself away from the window, Yugoslavia settled down in a chair in her half-ruined living room, trying not to look at the damage behind her as she examined the cardboard box that England had given to her. It looked nearly brand new, felt fairly heavy for a box its size, and was being held closed by a strip of silver duct tape. "Why do you think England gave me this?" she asked Tito, who was sitting diligently on the floor at he feet. The dog looked at her strangely, obviously not understanding a word that she was saying. Shaking her head in annoyance, she reached out and plucked a letter opener from the table in front of her, slicing apart the tape and opening the top flaps.

The contents of the box were nestled within a lining of old newspapers, half-hidden by a folded piece of paper resting on top. Staring quizzically at the paper, she picked it up and carefully opened it so that the scrawling black text became visible.

I knew that your country is in bad shape at the moment, so I thought you could use a few things.

Yugoslavia cracked a smile at the simple opening sentence. It seemed so unlike England to do something like this, but then again, it was also unlike him to say that he loved someone. Letting out a sigh of remorse, she sifted through the objects within the box, occasionally glancing back at the letter to see what other information it held. The first item she pulled out was a bundle of blue-and-white fabric, softer than nearly anything she had ever seen before. When she unfolded it, one end dropped neatly to the ground.

I had made the scarf a while back and never actually needed it yet, so I thought you'd like it. It may be a little early, but come December, I'm sure it'll work just fine.

The next object was a small basket containing a few bundles wrapped in napkins. When she opened it, the faint smell of baking scones filled the air, causing her to smile wide with contentment.

You loved my scones so much, so I thought you would like some more. (The recipe is in there too, by the way.)

Sitting at the bottom of the box was a strangely familiar olive-green jacket with shoulder marks and matching buttons, a small leather-bound notebook poking out from one of its pockets. It looked so different to Yugoslavia now; the last time she saw it, it was no more than a tattered rag, but now it almost looked brand new.

You mentioned that you wanted to give your jacket back to Germany, but even though he probably wouldn't accept it, I assumed he wouldn't want a ripped-up piece of fabric. It's amazing what you can do with a little thread and some downtime.

I included your notebook too. I was sure you wouldn't want to leave it at my house, since you've already written so much in it. (I didn't read any of it, just so you know.)

There seemed to be nothing left in the box, so Yugoslavia dumped out the remaining newspapers onto the ground beside her feet. Surely I can use those for something, she was thinking, when her thoughts were interrupted by a near-silent clink somewhere near the ground. When she looked down again to search for the source of the sound, she saw something glint under the weak afternoon light: a small bronze-colored eagle, the pin that had just earlier been placed proudly on the front of England's hat. Just seeing it away from its owner nearly brought her to tears as she gently picked it up off the floor and held it in her palm.

Take care of yourself, Y.

I will, she said to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and closing her fist around the bronze eagle. I promise.

A/N:

[1] – The Dodge D-19 is a car from the early 1940's. You may have seen it in movies where important Nazi bosses or the Italian mafia or something start chasing the good guys in flashy black cars.

[2] – Since probably none of you speak Croatian, here's what Yugoslavia says in English: "Tito!" "Where are you, boy?" "There you are! Watched the house for me, did you?" (Of course, Tito is a dog.)

[3] – Yeah, Yugoslavia speaks Croatian a lot. Anyway, what she's saying here is, "Tito, no. England is my friend."

[4] – I'm sorry about this part, guys. I was writing this last night at 1:30 AM, so I apologize if it sucks. I already know it's OOC… Anyway, thanks for bearing with me.