"Button your lip. Don't let the shield slip.
Take a fresh grip on your bullet proof mask.
And if they try to break down your disguise with their questions
You can hide, hide, hide,
Behind paranoid eyes."
"Sestra, were you talking to that German bastard again?" Natalya's question was as savage as her expression as she stood before her older sister, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor of the meeting room.
"Hm?" Yekaterina replied, feigning absent-mindedness in order to have time to think about her answer. She really had no reason to lie—the war was over. She was free to talk to whomever she wanted. On the other hand, Natalya seemed to genuinely despise Ludwig. Having Yekaterina develop the smallest relationship with him after what he had done to her in the past might be enough for her to actually hurt him.
"You know damned well what I mean. The day we came to your house after the meeting. You stayed behind, and he left the meeting room just as you did. Now answer me: Were you talking to him?"
"Well, y-yes," the other replied, nervously adjusting the collar of her blouse.
"You shouldn't. Big Brother and I know it, and I think you do too. He's dangerous, that fascist Nazi kraut bastard—"
"He's not like that anymore! He's changed so much after Hitler; I wish you would see that!" Yekaterina interrupted, her sister's words stabbing her heart. She just needed her to understand…
"Ha! He betrayed Brother, all but raped you, and killed my people as well! Don't you remember, Sestra? For someone as wise as you, your childish naivety surprises me," the younger growled, her threatening expression and grimace clashing with her prettiness. Yekaterina couldn't think of a reply, and she frowned, staring back at her sibling.
"That was a long time ago," she finally managed, knowing in her heart that she had lost, "He's different now."
Natalya glared at her for a moment, something finally connecting behind her eyes. Her face lit up, but not with happiness—with shock.
"You talk of him as if you had a… a crush on him."
"I—I don't—"
Her sister's eyes only widened, and now she looked at her sibling as if she was the most absurd person on Earth.
"Katyusha, you would never fall for… for that, would you? No, of course you would, that's just like you, isn't it? Forgive and forget, is that what you believe? Let them stab you in the back and then send them flowers, is that your idea? Oh, nyet, Sestra. I'm not letting that happen."
The other woman just stared, her own eyes wide with disbelief. How could her sister think like this? It wasn't fair…
"I'm sure Brother would agree. And if I'm not getting through to that pretty little head of yours, maybe he will. I know he will."
"'Sup, my cute little Slavic ladies? You're here early today; what, did you get the wrong sche—"
Something whizzed by Alfred—whom had just entered the room with a McDonald's bag clutched in one hand— and lodged into the wall about two inches from his skull. Luckily, he had dodged it—Natalya had obviously meant the pencil she had thrown to implant itself into the American's brain.
Alfred glanced at the pencil and back at the two. Unfazed at the obvious death threat, he grinned at the younger sister. "Nice shot, Belarus; but I don't think England's gonna like having stuff in the wall, and all. You look pretty, by the way. Did you cut your hair—"
"Shut up and go eat your disgusting processed meat, America, or I promise you next time I won't miss," Natalya hissed, pointing to the far side of the room. Alfred raised an eyebrow, amused at the girl's anger, and winked at Yekaterina before walking away.
"I will talk to you later, Katyusha," Natalya whispered, standing up, "I'm going to look for Brother."
The other woman simply nodded. After her sister was out of the room, Alfred stood back up and approached her, leaning across the table to look her in the eyes.
"Is your sister single?" he asked, his face eager and hopeful. Yekaterina sighed, and began to answer.
"Well, she—"
"America! I would like to speak with you," another male voice boomed, one that made her breath catch in her throat.
"Sure, Germany, my man," Alfred replied, turning and heading over to Ludwig, who stood in front of the doorway, looking displeased. He didn't seem to notice her sitting there, and the two conversed for a minute, too quietly to be heard.
"'Kay man, sure thing!" she heard Alfred say cheerfully, walking away from the German man, who still looked irritated. Then he saw her, their eyes meeting. His mouth twitched up into a nervous smile, and he raised his hand in a half-wave. She returned the smile, her heart leaping. Then it was gone as Natalya returned, Ivan in tow.
"Move," she growled, pushing Ludwig to the side and heading towards Yekaterina. His blue eyes lit up with anger at the rudeness, and their eyes met again as she frowned apologetically at him. He looked at her for a moment with a blank expression before walking over to his section of the room.
"What is wrong, Bela?" Ivan asked Natalya, tilting his head to the side in confusion. Yekaterina sighed, relieved that her sister hadn't told him anything yet.
"Nothing, dear brother, just another mishap with the Nazi bastard again," she replied, her eyes darting to the eldest of the three accusingly.
"What?"
"It looks like the meeting is starting, Ivan, maybe we should pay attention," Yekaterina reminded him, leaning to the side and moving some of the white-blond hair away from his face. He looked at her for a moment, a question in his eyes. Then, Alfred began to speak, addressing the entire room.
"Well, dudes, I guess we should get started. So, like, about the riots that England's been having problems with, I think that we should—"
"What happens in my country is none of your business, America! We're here for what's happening amongst each other, not our individual problems!"
"Yeah, like your ideas are better than mine."
"Apparently not, since it was my idea to start you off as a country!"
"Shut up!" Ludwig shouted, making their heads turn, faces suddenly solemn.
"Why do you not just let them fight, Mr. Germany?" Ivan cut in, a blank, cruel smile masking his usual childish contentedness.
"Fighting isn't going to help anything right now!" the other shot back.
"I think it might help if England and America just fought to the death," the Russian continued, his eyes alight with the joy of his idea, "Then we would either be down one obnoxious fool or one whiny self-assured idiot. It is a good idea, da?"
"Russia, you are not helping!" Ludwig said, though he seemed to for a second consider the idea.
"Suit yourself, Mr. Germany, but you make a bad choice. If it were my decision, everyone would become one with Russia. The world would be a happy place of communism and sunflowers."
"Oh, great, this again," Roderich Edelstein, the Austrian representative, grumbled, "Nobody is ever going to become one with you, Russia, why don't you just give up?"
Ivan smiled threateningly, his eyes bright with fury as he stared at the black-haired man. The tense atmosphere was broken by Francis, who laughed. "Well, Mr. Russia, I'd 'become one' with you, if I didn't think you'd be into le S et M."
"I wouldn't think twice about tearing your throat out with my bare hands, France," he replied, almost conversationally. Ludwig sighed and sat back down, covering his face with his hand. It was useless to try and talk sense into these people. Yekaterina felt a wave of sympathy for him, and wished she could reassure him without anyone noticing.
When her attention left him, he peeked over his hand at her. He found himself fascinated by just watching her teal eyes move around the room, taking everything in with a somehow subconsciously cheerful aura about her.
She has so much hope for everyone, he thought, I wonder how she does it.
Then she glanced over towards him, and he averted his eyes, feeling a blush creep up to his face.
