A/N

I'm back!

I think I'm going to die from having a heart attack whenever I see the amount of reviews this gets. S-seriously? T-Three hundred? The review thing must be broken...no way...

J-just...no way...

U-um, let's keep going!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

(December-6 months)

(America's POV)

The American woke up to the sound of his doorbell ringing. Rolling out of bed, he scrambled for his glasses and stood up, glancing around the room in a war-induced state of adrenaline-rush. He didn't expect any visitors today. Canada and England were overly-polite, and always made a point to make an appointment with him. France always dropped by unannounced, but he knocked, and snuck inside.

Could today be the day? Oh hell no, he was NOT going out without a fight!

Standing up, he immediately took in his surroundings, one hand reaching for an imaginary pistol at the waistband of his boxers. When there was no gun to be found, he grabbed the un-loaded one on his nightstand, and grabbed a load of bullets. Throwing on a pair of pants and a tshirt, he ran downstairs, throwing open the door.

Natalya Arvloskya jumped at the sight of Alfred Jones, half-naked, and pointing a gun at him. America blinked for a second, taking her in.

Natalya was wearing a black winter pea-coat over a dress, and a white scarf laced around her neck. Under that, she wore a simple, black dress, edged with lace. In her hands, she was carrying a wrapped gift, which she cupped in her mittens like a precious treasure. Snow was tangled in her long, platinum hair, and it almost came up to her knees. She was shivering, since her dress was rather thin, and the only think between her bare legs and the snow was a pair of black pantyhose.

"Why are you outside, Belarus?! You must be freezing, come on! Get inside!" He told her, holding the door open for Natalya. The Belarusian didn't say a word, rather, she shielded her face with her bangs and walked inside, stopping in the middle of the room. She still didn't look up from the present in her hands.

"Are you hungry? Cold? Anything? Come on, sit down, Belarus. Anywhere you like." America told her. Still, she did not move. America gently reached out and took her arm. The jacket was soaked with snow, and America felt guilt claw at his heart. How long had she been standing outside?

"Belarus, look at me..." he told her, his voice getting softer. Natalya flinched at the sound of his voice, but did not shy away from his hand on her arm. Hesitating for a moment, the American brushed her bangs aside, peering into her face. Natalya's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she was biting her lip so hard that he was afraid she would bite right through. Pressing his lips together in both worry and frustration at not being able to help her, America gently took her hand. Natalya held the present tight against her chest when he took one hand away from it. He slowly directed her to his couch, and he let go of her hand, indicating her to sit next to him. The Belarusian did so, and she hunched her shoulders, still not looking at him.

"Belarus, what's wrong? Why are you so scared?" he asked her. Slowly, with a shaking hand, she handed him the present. Guessing it was for him, Alfred took it.

Inside was a small bag of cookies-twenty total-all home-made, and heart shaped, with frosting evenly spread over each cookie. One half showed the American flag, carefully, meticulously made. A flush of warmth surged through America when he saw that all fifty stars were carefully done on each cookie, and all of them were evenly spread out, and even had all five, tiny points. The stripes, all thirteen of them, were even and smooth, with no icing invading either colour. It even started the way his flag should, with a red stripe starting, and a red stripe ending. The other half of the cookie was a simple red and green striped side, but America recognized it as half of Natalya's flag.

Looking back at the Belarusian, America felt his heart sink. She was staring down at her lap, her hands folded neatly together. He could see her face through her long hair. It was still the same as before. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she was biting her lip.

He was only going to break her heart...he couldn't do this. He couldn't make her love him, and then leave her. It just wasn't right...he couldn't do this to her.

But...he couldn't leave her like this, either. He could plainly feel it. Belarus...she needed someone to love her. And no one else would understand her, no one else could see how plainly broken she was. All they saw was the scary girl who wanted her brother. America, though, could feel how broken she was. He could see the haunted look in her dark, indigo eyes.

"Natalya..." he said to her. The Belarusian finally looked up. Alfred could see the fear in her eyes, and he swallowed a lump rising in his throat. This was so cruel, it was so wrong...but...but he couldn't let her go without knowing the love of someone who really knew her and cared about her. Slowly, he moved across the couch, and took her in his arms, holding her against his chest. He could feel her trembling softly in his arms. Alfred released her and gently cupped her snow-kissed cheek with his hands, looking into her eyes.

For the first time since he had known the Belarusian, he saw life in them.

Shutting his own eyes, Alfred leaned in and kissed her.

It was the best feeling he had ever known.

"CHRISTMAS TIME!" Alfred cried out happily, throwing his hands up in the air. As soon as his hands left his side, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his midsection, and the familiar feeling of warmth pressed up against his back. A light blush dusted the American's cheek, but he pushed it down. Across from him, he watched England snort, and Mattie roll his eyes.

"Why do you do that?" Alfred asked to Belarus, twisting his head over his shoulder. There was no response for a minute, then he heard a soft one, muffled by the leather of his jacket.

"You're mine." she replied simply. America made a soft noise of surprise, the blush coming back onto his face with a vengeance. He swore that he could feel her smile a little bit at his unexpected reaction.

"But, you know, I would rather carry you or something than have you attack me like this." he told her, once more twisting his head back. In response, she nestled closer against him, burying her cheek against his back.

"Tak, but I like seeing you surprised. It's...nice..."

"Why? I mean, you always-"

"Okay, okay, enough of that..." England said, waving his hand dismissively. In response, Belarus whipped out one of her many hidden knives, and peered out from behind Belarus's back, a Russia aura surrounding her.

"Do not interrupt!" she snapped. England took several steps back, his face draining of colour. America laughed and took her hand gently. He didn't see the bright blush that bloomed over her face, but he did hear the soft squeak she made, and saw her bury her face in his jacket again. She dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor.

"It's okay, Natalya. I don't mind." he told her, smiling. Strangely, he felt the her weight on his back. He didn't, of course, know that she had gone weak-kneed at his smile.

"This year, can you guys host the party? I'm kind of...busy..." America requested. To make up for his lack of attention to Natalya, he squeezed her hand. She moved again, holding him tight.

"I see that...well, I guess it won't be a problem." England replied, casting a look at Belarus. "I'll see what I can do."

"Awesome~! I love you guys!" America cheered. Once more, Belarus poked her face from behind his back, giving a murderous glare.

"What? I'll kill them!" she cried out, whipping out (another) hidden knife.

America laughed.

"I meant in a family way, сланечнік." he told her. To reassure her, he kissed her hand.

Once more, she hid again.

Canada, seeing all this, mouthed 'good luck'.

In reply, America smiled at him.

"I'm already lucky, stupid."

A/N P-please review!