Ch. 12: "O, What a Tangled Web We Weave . . ."*

Ivan woke to the sounds of birds singing outside his window. The light from the window streamed in and filled the entire room, letting him know he'd slept soundly all night long. Ivan shielded his eyes and felt a slight tinge of headache from the night before. This surprised him because he'd never had a hangover . . . ever . . . not that he remembered, anyway. Ivan sat up and noticed he was only in his undershirt and trousers.

Why am I? he wondered, touching his undershirt as he sat there for a moment. He noticed a pair of ladies' black high heel shoes next to his bed. Malika's still here? he thought, embarrassed that she saw him dressed . . . or rather, undressed like this. He heard someone's sleeping breath and glanced next to him.

Malika was sleeping on top of the bed covers, fully clothed in the red, button-up blouse and black trousers she'd worn the night before.

A strand of her dark hair was resting on her cheek. Ivan shifted so that he was facing her and gently brushed it back away from her face with his right hand. His fingers lingered on her cheek. Even though his mind felt fuzzy, his memories started to float up from the night before as he gazed at her. He'd had dinner with Malika, and then when they had "Russian lessons" as usual, it had turned into a penalty-drinking game. She had poured both of them glasses of Karl's special cut brandy and toasted him, mentioning all the tender parts of their first meeting.

He felt his cheeks match the warmth he felt from hers as he traced his finger down her cheek and along her jawline. She stirred slightly at his touch, and Ivan pulled his hand away from her face. He felt his heart pound. Did I wake her?

She sighed softly but remained asleep.

Ivan remembered that his heart had pounded just as much last night as it was now pounding as he thought about the intimacy of her words in that toast. They would have meant nothing to Lithuania, but between them, they had conveyed volumes of meaning. To Ivan, it had been like she was saying she was glad they'd met and that their relationship was becoming something more to her too . . . and maybe, just maybe, like him, she was feeling some tugging of affection between them and maybe that affection was—and then "Plop!"

Ivan's heart had felt like it was going to leap right out of his chest with that line of thinking, and that's literally what it had done. His eyes grew wide as he recalled that he'd identified the heart as his.

He turned and reached for the faucet-pipe he kept hidden at his bedside behind the nightstand table, just in case. She's seen too much. She's clever enough to figure out by now I'm not a 'normal human'. He could feel his heart beating in his chest; someone must have put it back in, and she'd seen it all.

Ivan felt a twinge of regret as his left hand closed around the faucet-pipe's familiar shape. He had to protect the secret of his identity at all costs. His duty and his boss demanded it . . . sure Malika would be dead in another 50 years (if she was lucky enough to live that long), and anyone she told might think she was crazy. Only, there was that slight chance someone might believe her, and Ivan couldn't risk that.

His instructions from his boss were clear: Make sure the secret doesn't get out. Other nations may feel free to reveal their true natures, but in Soviet Russia that was not allowed. There was one other option: tell her the secret and offer her a government "job" in Moscow with a promise or understanding that she was not to tell anyone. The only problem with that is there was no guarantee she wouldn't talk, and if she ever did, he'd have to put her in an insane asylum with instructions to let no one speak to her. Some government "officials" had already had that happen to them in the past. But thinking of Malika in that kind of a situation hurt so much it made his stomach feel like it was being twisted in a knot. Ivan didn't like that feeling. If only there was a way to guarantee she'd keep the secret . . .

Malika audibly sighed, and he heard the bed squeak as she stirred. "Доброе утро, Ваня (Good morning, Vanya)."

Ivan's muscles froze. He glanced over his right shoulder.

She sat up, stretched, and smiled at him.

His heart ached, and the pipe felt heavy in his hand. I can't. I can't. I cannot do it, something inside him screamed. Not while that smile and those beautiful eyes are directed at me.

Then wait until they aren't, a dark part of him hissed from deep down. It is your duty to protect the secret. You must.

Ivan released the faucet-pipe quietly and turned to face her. "Доброе утро (Good morning), Malika," he replied, putting on a sweet smile. "You stayed here all last night?" he asked in Russian, already knowing the answer.

Malika blushed.

Ivan blinked; that was not the reaction he expected.

"I didn't mean to," she replied in Russian, looking away for a moment. "I helped that Toris fellow carry you in here after you passed out. You got very drunk last night, you see." She looked back at Ivan, then down at the bed covers. "Just so you know, Toris took off your coat and shirt so you'd be more comfortable, not me."

Suddenly Ivan understood why she was blushing and felt a little embarrassed that he was sitting there still only half-dressed. "Perhaps I should get dressed." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," Malika said, quickly crawling across the bed and touching him on the arm to stop him.

Ivan found himself unable to move as tingling and heat flowed over him from where she was touching him.

She sat down on the bed next to him but didn't pull her hand away. "Please don't worry about it. Papa used to walk around in his undershirt too, so it's not like I haven't . . . seen a m-ma-man . . . dressed like that . . ." Her cheeks colored a deeper pink. "I-I-I just felt embarrassed that I intruded upon your privacy."

She clearly does feel uncomfortable, yet she tries to hide it, Ivan thought with an amused smile.

"When I helped Toris lower you onto your bed, you grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go," she continued. "I had planned to leave once you fell completely asleep, but I guess I fell asleep too—at least, that's what I think happened." She rubbed her head. "I really need to talk to Karl about that brandy. My memories of what happened last night are all jumbled up and I don't remember much. Do you?"

Ivan shook his head. "I don't remember much at all," he lied, tapping his head. "There's nothing after that second bottle of vodka."

"One thing I do remember, though, was how tightly you held my hand to your chest," she mused. "I guess that's why I had that strange dream."

"A dream?" Ivan asked, trying not to panic and reach for the faucet-pipe.

Malika let out a quiet laugh and nodded. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but please hear me out and don't laugh too hard. I blame a creative mind mixed with alcohol."

She laughed again and shook her head slightly. "First off, we were walking here from Karl's when suddenly this dark-haired Siberian kitty started following us," she said, gesturing over her shoulder as if the cat was behind them. "For some reason, he reminded me of you, Ivan. Well, the penguins had already introduced us to him earlier, so we didn't think anything of his following us until he started singing 'Alle Leut' geh'n jetzt nach Haus' (Everyone, Everyone is Going Home)§. . ."

What on earth? Ivan thought, letting out a chuckle. I hope she doesn't intend to ask me to interpret this dream.

"Even though it was polite of him to offer, I still told him, 'We don't need a taxi; Ivan's house is not that far away'," she gestured shooing away the cat. "Then a green monkey started asking us for the time, but neither of us had a watch on us." She tapped on her wrist and then continued gesturing as she continued to relate the dream.

She has to act out every little detail, Ivan thought only half-listening to what she was saying as he watched her act out the dream. Adorable things like that are what I love about her. Ivan paused for a moment to consider what he had just thought; he didn't use that word very lightly, even in his thoughts.

"Then you showed me medovie† recipes, which I think were in the dream because that's what we had for dessert last night, and I took pictures of all of them. Then, after I gave you a sunflower, your heart fell out, and I had to put it back in for you," she said, placing her right hand on the left side of his chest and pushing on it a little. "But it's clear such a thing is impossible: No hole, no scars, just Vanya," she stated, staring at his chest in a daze as if she was still dreaming.

Ivan felt a wave of relief pour over him. Thank goodness for her fallible human mind. It couldn't come to terms with what had actually happened, so it jumbled everything up in her memories and decided the strange part was a dream.

"And then I woke up and saw you . . . what were you reaching for anyway?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.

"My alarm clock," he lied, pointing at the clock on the nightstand table. "I wanted to see what time it was."

"Oh. Okay, did we sleep very late?"

He shook his head.

"So was it very crazy? Do you think I'm weird now?" she asked, looking worried.

Ivan laughed. "You aren't weird, even if it was crazy," he said. Hmm? Why does my heart and my chest feel warm? he wondered, looking down. Malika still had her hand pressed against his chest.

He felt his heart leap and his face grow hot. He examined her hand, her adorable, little hand that had put his heart back in. He imagined he could almost feel the impressions of her warm, delicate fingers ingrained on it. Without thinking, he reached up and placed his hand over hers and pressed both of them closer to his chest, almost as if to keep his pounding heart from falling out again.

Malika looked at their hands and crimsoned deeply. "I'm sorry. I just realized what I was doing. You can let go of my hand now."

Ivan held onto her hand as he lowered them both to rest on the bed covers between them. The action caused a wave of nervousness to flow over him.

"Vanya, what's the matter?"

He moved closer to her and looked into those blue-gray eyes. His stomach flip-flopped. He caressed her palm with his thumb. "Malika, what do you think of me? You don't hate me, do you?" Ivan wondered why her possible answer to those questions made him feel tense.

She smiled. "Of course I don't hate you." She seemed to ponder her answer for a moment. "In fact, I like you quite a bit. You're kind, sweet, and interesting, and those violet eyes are to die for, and I . . ." She trailed off as Ivan brought her palm to his lips.

Those words were all he needed to hear. It didn't need to be a love confession. This was enough for now. Enough for what? something inside his head asked. He chose to ignore it.

"Vanya! What are you doing?" Malika said, her words returning back to her native German as her face turned scarlet.

Ivan looked up and felt a wave of delight at her expression. "Thanking you," he said in German.

"For what?"

"Touching my heart," he answered, kissing her palm again.

She tried to pull her hand away.

How cute! She's acting shy, he thought. It almost makes me want to tease her a little.

"That was just a dream," Malika said.

"I wasn't talking about your dream," he said, looking into her eyes.

She stopped pulling away.

Ivan held her hand in his hand and stroked her cheek with the fingers of his free hand. What's going on? My heart feels like it's being squeezed. Why does it seem difficult to breathe? "Моя темноволосая лисица (My dark-haired vixen) . . ." He hesitated only for a moment before continuing. "I think I'm falling in love with you," he quickly said in Russian before he lost his courage.

Malika opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated. "Wait. What did you just say?" she asked in German. "You used a combination of words that I'm not as familiar with."

Ivan smiled. There's no way I could repeat that in German, he thought, his cheeks growing hot. Plus I don't know what she meant or how strongly she meant it when she said she 'liked' me. He could see that she was concentrating on sounding out what he just said so much she hadn't even noticed that he was still holding her hand or that his fingers were now lingering on her jawline.

"My . . . dark-haired . . .vixen . . ." she said in German, "I think I'm—" Ivan leaned in closer, entangled his fingers in her hair, and pulled Malika into a kiss before she could finish. If she didn't understand what he'd said earlier, there could be no doubt now.

"Ivan, wait, we shouldn't be doing this right now," Malika said when their lips parted, pushing on his chest. "That Toris fellow might be in the room next to us."

"Is that your only objection?" Ivan asked. "Because he won't disturb us. He'd only come in here if the house was on fire or some other kind of emergency."

Malika paused as if to think about that for a moment. "I—" He kissed her again, cutting off any other protests.

She seemed to pull away only for a moment before returning his kiss. Her hand caressed his bare arm and then moved up behind his neck, and he marveled at how his skin became hot everywhere her fingers softly touched. When their lips parted again, he glanced at her. She'd closed her eyes, and dark lashes graced her flushed cheeks.

Releasing her hand, he cradled her head in his hands as he hovered near her mouth for a moment before lightly brushing his lips over hers. He felt an electric volt pass between them, and a hunger flowed up in him as he pulled her lips in to meet his again.

His hands played with her hair, then wandered to her shoulders. He traced his fingers over her back, her arms, and then back to her shoulders as they continued to kiss. Every time her lips touched his, Ivan felt his heart leap and his entire body tingle.

Malika gently explored Ivan's neck with her fingers, then stroked them through his hair and across his ear, then back to his neck and collarbone. One of her hands had stopped when it had touched his hair, and she'd entangled strands of his pale blond locks around her fingers. Ivan drank in the incredible feeling of slight pain and sheer ecstasy that action created.

She released his hair and pulled him in closer for a longer kiss, her hands running over his shoulders and locking behind his neck to pull him into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her as well and relished in this new passion he felt from her. They fell on the bed with a soft "Poof!" as they continued that kiss.

She breathed in deeply, and then suddenly she moved away from his mouth. "I need to go to work," Malika said, gasping for breath as Ivan kissed her cheek, then the bridge of her nose, and then her other cheek.

"Call in sick," Ivan said as a wave of desire flowed over him.

"Why would I call—" he cut Malika's words off again as he cupped her chin and brought his mouth to hers, enveloping it. "Vanya, wait," she said, panting as she turned away from him. "Not this fast."

He nuzzled her neck, caressing the hollow of it with his lips before planting them on her warm skin.

She let out a cry of surprise but put her hands on his chest and pushed."Ivan, stop!" she said, looking him in the eyes with an aggravated expression.

Ivan knew he should do as she asked, but he didn't want to stop. He pulled her in closer, covering her lips with his again.

Malika allowed that only for a moment before she brought her knee up into his gut.

Ivan gasped; he actually felt the impact, and that surprised him. He didn't have time pull himself out of his surprised stupor because she then grabbed him, and with her leg, flung him over the bed and across the room‡. He crashed against the wall and slid down to the floor, upside down, feeling more astonishment than pain.

Malika stood up, straightened her clothes, and then looked over at Ivan as he righted himself. He was still so shocked that he didn't bother trying to stand up. She smoothed her dark hair and then flipped it over her shoulder, glaring at him as she did so. "I decide how fast that part of our relationship goes, not you! When I say 'Stop', we stop," Malika said, slipping on her shoes. "Now if you'll excuse me, Ivan, I have work to do."

Lithuania burst into the room. "What was that? I thought I heard a cr—" he froze when he saw where Ivan was sitting. "What on earth?"

"Excuse me, Toris," Malika said, walking past him as she walked out the door. "I'll get my things and show myself out."

Ivan heard some noises in the front room and watched Lithuania jump when the door slammed.

Lithuania turned to him. "Russia, what happened?" he asked in Russian.

"Apparently, I pushed on some boundaries I should not have, and she threw me over here," he replied in Russian.

"What?" Lithuania cried. "She threw you? Are you sure you're not still drunk?"

Ivan brought a finger to his lips. They were still tingling from earlier, and he blushed at the sensation. "Da. I'm not drunk . . . It's interesting, Lithuania. I've never met anyone as strong as her," he mused. "No one . . . except that America."

Lithuania laughed. "D-d-don't be silly," he said. "She couldn't be that strong; she's a non-nation human. She probably just used some judo or something like it on you."

"Judo?"

"Yeah, it's a martial art," Lithuania explained. "You can throw an opponent around even if he or she is stronger, bigger, or heavier than you. A lot of young women these days are learning some kind of self-defense, judo included."

"Judo, huh," Ivan said, rubbing his chin. "I could have sworn it was strength, not skill, that I felt."

Lithuania laughed again but said nothing.

Ivan stood up and felt a little dizzy. "Maybe I am a little drunk from last night," he said. "That's probably why I behaved like that earlier."

Lithuania looked curious but didn't ask what Ivan meant by that.

He flopped down on his bed. "Wake me in an hour, da?"

Lithuania nodded and closed the door as he left.

Ivan buried his face in his pillow. He really did feel groggy now that he thought about it. Maybe a nap would clear his mind. What were you thinking? he scolded himself. A nation doing those things with a non-nation? Relationships of that kind never work. They risk too much . . . unless the non-nation is in on the secret and even then . . . He rolled over and got more comfortable.

But wait, Ivan thought. Doesn't that smelly France have 'relationships' all the time with non-nations of both genders? That's it! As long as it's not a long-time relationship . . . He scowled. He didn't like the thought of following France's example; it felt cheap, shallow, and lacked all kinds of affection.

Maybe if I just stay with her for 20 years or so, he mused, then just disappear . . . He drifted off to sleep with that thought.


Amelia had been very lucky the night before: Ivan had invited her to his place before she could invite him to hers; she'd managed to trick Toris into letting her stay instead of insisting she leave immediately; she'd given the "tainted brandy" to Ivan without him waiting for her to drink too; she'd convinced Toris that she couldn't break free of Ivan's grip when that really was not true, which finally, had given her the opportunity to obtain the valuable information she was after from Ivan's briefcase.

But that's where her luck had ended. She'd made one mistake: she'd fallen asleep while waiting for Ivan and Toris to fall asleep. Luckily, waking up early to go to work at the factory every day for the last 5 months had finally paid off. She bolted up out of bed as soon as her internal clock realized it was 6:00 a.m.

Oh my aching . . . everything, she thought, reeling slightly from the type of hangover consuming a whole bottle of vodka by yourself induces. Wait. Where the hell am I? She glanced around a bedroom she didn't recognize. She heard someone's sleeping breath and glanced down next to her.

Ivan quietly sighed and continued to sleep.

Oh.

Carefully climbing off the bed, she quietly opened Ivan's bedroom door and peeked out. No noise from the kitchen, she thought. That means Toris is still asleep. Good. I can't have any witnesses, even if he's a friend. She sneaked over to where she'd seen Ivan's briefcase the night before.

The latch on it clicked open easily. Lucky! Carefully, she pulled out the camera hidden in her bra and photographed each document inside, making sure she kept them in the order they were originally placed (just how Lena had trained her).

She walked over to her bag and hid the camera inside a secret pocket. Now to get out of here before they wake up.

She hurried back into Ivan's bedroom to grab her shoes. As she leaned over to pick them up, Ivan rolled over to the side of the bed facing her.

"You called?" he murmured quietly.

Shit! Amelia thought, looking up at him. A wave of relief flooded over her when she realized he had merely been talking in his sleep. But he's probably going to wake up any second now. She stood up and looked at the bedroom door. I'll never make it out without him seeing me. She considered running over to the adjoined bathroom, knowing she could hide in there for a few minutes at least before Ivan came to talk to her, but he started to stir again.

No choice now. The bed's closer. She hurried back over to the other side of the bed, carefully laid down next to Ivan, facing him, and pretended to be still asleep. She started mimicking what she hoped sounded like breathing while sleeping.

I need to think up a story for last night if I'm going to get out of here with no questions asked, she mused. She heard the bed squeak as Ivan sat up next to her. He didn't move for a couple of minutes and she wondered what was going until she felt the bed jostle a little more.

Amelia concentrated as hard as she could on "sleeping". I need to turn the whole 'heart replacing scenario' into a dream. That's the only part that would give him away as a nation, and I'm pretty sure his identity needs to stay a secret, just like with Al and me.

A finger brushed against her cheek, pushing away some hair she'd felt tickling her cheek earlier. When Ivan's fingers lingered on her cheek, she felt it grow a little warm as a reaction. No. Don't react. It's not embarrassing, it's not embarrassing, it's fine, she told herself. She felt his finger trace down her cheek and then her jawline. Her skin started tingling where he touched her, so she moved a little as if she was waking up.

Ivan pulled his hand away.

She involuntarily let out a semi-loud sigh of relief, then panicked hoping it didn't sound like she was awake. She felt the bed shift again and opened one eye just enough to peep through her eyelashes.

Ivan seemed preoccupied by something on or behind his bedside nightstand. He reached for whatever it was and was starting to turn back toward Amelia.

"Sis, whatever you do, watch out for that Commie bastard's faucet-pipe," Amelia remembered Alfred saying to her before she had left for her assignment several months earlier.

"Huh? Why should I watch out for a piece of plumbing?" she'd asked.

Alfred had sighed and shook his head. "He uses it as a blunt-trauma weapon and is pretty lethal with it," he had said. "I've managed to make him think that it's no big deal to me, but I always keep an eye on him and watch out for it. You should too."

Amelia hadn't noticed anything like what her brother had described anywhere in Ivan's house the night before. Perhaps he's reaching for it now? she wondered as she sighed loudly to signal that she was waking up. Now how did Lena say I should greet and call him at this point in our relationship? Oh yeah . . . "Good Morning, Vanya!" she said in Russian to him.

Ivan stopped whatever he was doing and glanced over his right shoulder at her.

Amelia sat up, stretched, and gave him a smile.

Ivan's expression looked like he was in pain and then as if he was wrestling over something in his mind. Finally, he turned to face her.

Amelia glanced at his hands. They were empty. Perhaps he wasn't reaching for anything after all, she mused.

"Good Morning, Malika," he replied in Russian, smiling sweetly at her. He hesitated for a moment. "You stayed here all last night?"

Amelia glanced at Ivan while she tried to think of what to tell him. It was then that she noticed for the first time how physically fit and muscular he was. Al told me he was strong but I never imagined, she thought, concluding that she had been too distracted and drunk last night to notice.

"I didn't mean to," she replied, looking away for a moment. She felt her face get hot as she started rehearsing to him about how Toris and she had helped him out last night after he'd gotten drunk.

"Perhaps I should get dressed," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," Amelia said, quickly crawling across the bed and touching him on the arm to stop him.

Ivan stopped immediately from getting up.

I didn't even have to work at convincing him to stay, she thought as she sat next to him. How come? Then Amelia remembered what Lena had told her once during a training session on espionage: "Physical touch is always a good distraction method, especially when your target is male," Lena had said. Amelia decided to leave her hand on his arm to test this out.

Ivan looked a little dazed.

Amelia found herself looking at his muscular arms and chest again. Stop staring at him; you've seen Al in nothing but his undershirt and boxers before, so this should be no big deal, she thought as she made up a story along those lines, turning Alfred into "Papa". Although this is the first time I've seen another m-ma-man like that. She heard herself stutter as she thought that.

Pull yourself together, idiot! she scolded herself. Time to throw him off by telling him about the 'dream' you cooked up. She then relied on her acting skills that she'd learned years before when Alfred had allowed her to help out with making some propaganda films during WWII. She made majority of the dream as crazy as possible so that she could hide the truth inside it. Amelia felt pleased that Ivan looked amused as she rehearsed every silly detail.

Man, I'm doing pretty well. I'm making up a whole story in Russian, she thought, proud of her new language skills. When she finished telling him about her "dream", Ivan looked relieved. She could see it in his eyes. Amelia hadn't stopped to think about what she was saying or doing until she heard herself say, "just Vanya." Uh-oh. I don't remember everything I just said; I hope I don't have to repeat any of it.

"And then I woke up and saw you . . . what were you reaching for anyway?" she asked, cocking her head to one side and trying to change the subject from the "dream".

"My alarm clock," Ivan said, pointing at the clock on the nightstand table. "I wanted to see what time it was."

I knew he wasn't as cruel as Al makes him out to be, she thought. "Oh. Okay, did we sleep very late?"

He shook his head.

"So was it very crazy? Do you think I'm weird now?" she asked, feeling flustered that she still didn't remember everything she'd said.

He laughed. "You aren't weird, even if it was crazy." Ivan blinked and looked down at his chest.

Amelia noticed that she felt light-headed for some reason and felt something pounding under her right hand. It was only then she noticed that she'd placed it on Ivan's chest. Was I gesturing while telling my story again? she thought. It had always been a bad habit of hers.

She felt his heart beat so strongly that Amelia worried it might try to escape again. Her heart started matching his rhythm. Why in the . . .? she wondered when Ivan unexpectedly placed his hand on hers, and she felt a tingle all the way up her arm.

She looked at their hands and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I just realized what I was doing. You can let go of my hand now."

Ivan didn't let go of her hand as he lowered both of their hands to the bed covers. His face went a little pale.

What's with that expression? "Vanya, what's the matter?" she asked.

He moved closer to her, looked in her eyes, and caressed her palm with his thumb. "Malika, what do you think of me? You don't hate me, do you?"

"Of course I don't hate you," Amelia said, smiling. Is that all it was? I thought he'd figured out that I remembered what happened last night, she thought and then hesitated. I should give him some reasons why I like him but keep them vague and friendly.

She really did like Ivan; he had been a good and kind friend to her. She couldn't understand what was so bad about him that Al and Toris tried to continually convince her of. The affection she felt for Ivan was nothing compared to what she felt for Arthur, though. As she recited the reasons she liked Ivan, Amelia found herself floating back to England and WWII in her mind.

Suddenly Ivan kissed the palm of her hand.

"Vanya! What are you doing?" Amelia said, falling back into German. Her face felt like it was on fire, and everything felt like it was spinning.

Ivan looked up from her hand and smiled. "Thanking you," he said in German.

"For what?"

"Touching my heart," he answered, bringing his lips to her palm again.

Amelia started pulling her hand away. "That was just a dream," she said.

"I wasn't talking about your dream," Ivan said, locking her in his gaze.

Amelia stopped dead in her tracks and suddenly couldn't breathe. If not the dream, what's he talking about then? For reasons she didn't want to acknowledge, she was starting to felt anxious. This feels like he's about to . . .

Ivan held her hand in his hand and stroked her cheek with the fingers of his free hand. She felt unable to move away from him for some reason.

"Моя темноволосая лисица (My dark-haired vixen)," he said.

Wait. What did he just say? She recognized "my" and some variation of "hair" but the other words threw her for a moment.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said in Russian.

Amelia felt her mouth drop open. Falling in love with me? N-n-no . . . I hadn't meant for it to go that far, she thought."Wait. What did you just say?" she asked in German. "You used a combination of words that I'm not as familiar with."

Ivan only smiled and blushed in response to her question.

Good. It's too embarrassing for him to say in German, Amelia thought. He'll drop it and tell me 'never mind', just like all the other non-nation men I've turned down this way after they've hit on me . . . heh . . . I think I'll push it a little further . . . then I'll be able to just walk right out of here. He'll be too embarrassed to stop me.

She did her best to translate his words into German."Meine . . . dunkelhaarige . . . Füchsin . . . (My dark-haired vixen)" she said, "Ich glaube, ich bin (I think I am—)" Suddenly Ivan leaned over, threaded his fingers in her hair, and drew Amelia into a kiss before she could repeat everything he'd said.

Her mind reeled in shock. "Ivan, wait, we shouldn't be doing this right now," Amelia said when he moved away from her lips. She pushed on his chest. "That Toris fellow might be in the room next to us."

"Is that your only objection?" Ivan asked. "Because he won't disturb us. He'd only come in here if the house was on fire or some other kind of emergency."

Stupid Toris . . . letting Ivan intimidate him so much, Amelia thought. "I—" He enveloped her mouth in his, cutting her off again.

No! she thought, her eyes widening. I don't like this. I really only want to do this with Arthur after all. She started give into the urge to pull away when suddenly the advice Lena had given her last night came into her mind. Lena had stopped her before Amelia and Ivan had left Karl's to give it to her.

"Look, I'll tell you this now before anything happens," Lena had said. "Seduction is the key weapon of a honey pot spy. Whatever affection you've manage to 'fake' up to this point you can only credit to your acting skills and my training. But if you kiss or do anything physical with Braginski and you don't mean it, it's very likely he'll be able to tell. From our sessions, I know that you don't have the experience to fake your way through that. Think of someone you love . . . try imagining Braginski as that Arthur fellow you've mentioned many times before."

I need to turn this to my advantage, Amelia thought. She closed her eyes and started kissing Ivan back. Maybe if I do this with him a little bit, that will satisfy him. After a few smooches, I can stop and make up an excuse to leave.

She imagined messy hair, beautiful green eyes under thick eyebrows, and the slight smile Arthur sometimes wore in the photos she'd seen at Alfred's place. Arthur is kissing me, she thought, her cheeks growing warm at that thought. This is Arthur's bare arm and shoulder, she told herself as she ran her hand up Ivan's arm and behind his neck. In her mind's ears, Arthur had whispered earlier, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Amelia." She felt her entire face grow hot as she blushed in reaction to those words. Suddenly kissing back became easy; in fact, it was starting to feel nice.

"Arthur" released her hand and cradled her head in his hands. He seemed to hesitate for a moment as if he was trying to tease her. She could feel his warmth as he lingered near her mouth, then he lightly swept his lips over hers, sending a sensation all over her body that made her feel as if she was going to faint.

He pulled her in closer and kissed her with an urgency that scared and excited Amelia at the same time. As they exchanged several kisses, she felt her face and body grow hotter as their lips met over and over again. It tickled and tingled everywhere as he ran his hands through her hair, over her back, her arms, and then back to her shoulders.

Amelia caressed "Arthur's" neck with her fingers, then ran them through his hair and across his ear, then back to his neck and collarbone. She entangled her other hand in his hair, twisting some soft strands around her fingers.

Keeping her mind's eyes open and her actual eyes closed, Amelia moved away only for a moment before releasing his hair, wrapping her arms around "Arthur", and pulling him into a longer, heart-felt kiss as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. She felt him tightly enfold her in his arms, and it felt like he was squeezing her heart as well. She barely noticed the softness of the bed and blankets as they fell onto it with a soft "Poof!"

As they continued the kiss, Amelia noticed that "Arthur" smelled like chamomile and sunflowers. Suddenly he wasn't Arthur anymore; Arthur's natural smell was deep woods after rain. Years ago, during WWII, she'd smelled it on him and had never forgotten that. All of a sudden, she couldn't pretend anymore.

She pulled her mouth away from Ivan's. "I need to go to work," Amelia said, gasping for breath as Ivan kissed her on her cheek, then the bridge of her nose, and then her other cheek.

"Call in sick," he said.

Call in sick? What is he suggesting? she wondered. "Why would I call—" she started to say before Ivan returned to her mouth, silencing her.

Dammit. I can't seem to stop him, she thought. "Vanya, wait," Amelia said, panting as she turned away from his mouth. "Not this fast."

Ivan ran his nose and then his lips across her neck, before bringing them just above her collarbone and planting a kiss there. It tingled and felt hot everywhere his lips touched her.

Holy crap! This has gone too far! she thought as she let out a cry of surprise and put her hands on his chest. She pushed on his chest with the strongest "non-nation" strength she could guesstimate for someone of her build. "Ivan, stop!" she said as she made eye contact, slightly irritated that she couldn't force him off with her actual strength. If he's any kind of a gentleman, he'll do as I ask right now.

Ivan looked like he was considering it, but instead he pulled her in for another kiss.

Amelia felt her heart start pounding frantically, and her whole body became hot. Part of her wanted to keep going, but another part of her was upset that he hadn't stopped when she'd asked him to. Besides, she didn't feel for him like she felt for—

Arthur! her mind shouted. Then it went blank, and her body and mouth just moved on their own after that.

The next thing she became aware of was the cool breeze of the spring morning on her face. She'd ended up outside somehow. Amelia stopped, touched her lips, and frowned. She could still feel Ivan's kisses on them, and they tingled. What upset her about that was not the kisses, however; it was that she had liked them. Her cheeks burned as she remembered how each one felt.

What the hell were you doing? What are you thinking? she scolded herself. Aren't you in love with Arthur? Then she pinched her arm until it hurt. I was only pretending, she reassured herself as her arm throbbed in pain. It was Arthur's kisses that I liked so much, not Ivan's. Arthur was the one who made me feel that way, not Ivan.

Amelia cheerfully patted her bag and thought about its valuable contents: the mini-camera. The "work" she told Ivan she needed to do was get the information she'd gathered to Al as soon as possible. She started to walk again.

The memory of what had just happened drifted back into her mind again. But if it was 'Arthur', not Ivan, who made me feel that way, then what was that last part when I knew it wasn't Arthur? she wondered. Her legs suddenly felt like stakes driven into the ground, and her stomach felt nauseous as she mulled over this new thought.

". . . lika, wait!" Amelia heard Toris call out in German. He was running down the pavement towards her. She stared and waited for him to catch up to her; she couldn't move even if she had wanted to.

"What happened in there?" he asked when he finally reached her, panting and trying to catch his breath.

"Didn't he tell you?" Amelia asked in German.

Toris shook his head and shrugged. "What he said didn't make any sense at all."

She thought for a moment, and everything came back to her crystal-clear. "He wanted to go farther than I did, and I rejected him by giving him a quick kick to the gut and throwing him across the room," she stated, matter-of-factually.

"You used your regular strength to do it?" Toris stated more than asked.

Amelia's mouth dropped open.

Shit.

"I wasn't thinking at all. My body just moved on its own. Damn self-defense course! Why'd Al make me take that stupid class anyway?" she cried. Her heart leapt to her throat when she thought about all the horror stories Alfred had told her about an angry Russia. "What'll I do? Ivan's no dummy; he'll figure it out," she said. "Al's gonna kill me; that is, if Ivan doesn't do it first."

"I don't think Russia wants to kill you," Toris said. "He seemed more intrigued than angry. Of course, sometimes I can't tell what he's thinking."

Amelia paced back and forth; she only half-heard what Toris was saying. She was too preoccupied with the danger she'd put herself and the mission in. "I've gotta leave. I need to disappear," she rambled. "Argh! There's no way. I need more time to initiate the exit strategy. Dammit!"

Amelia bit her thumbnail as she considered the alternate strategy she and Al had worked out: knocking out some Wall guards and scaling the Berlin Wall. Even if she was shot at, even if a bullet managed to hit her, she should be able to make it to the other side quickly, if not easily. But she really didn't want to use that strategy; she'd already learned from experience that not dying from things that should kill you hurt a lot. Besides, Al had told her only to go for that strategy if she was in desperate straits.

"Relax," Toris said, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her out of her musings. "I told Russia that you knew judo or some martial art like that and that's why you could throw him like that. Just stick to that story."

Amelia felt a wave of relief rush over her. She bear-hugged Toris.

"Um . . . Amelia . . . I can't breathe . . ." he managed to get out.

"Sorry," she said, releasing him. "And don't call me that. Remember, I'm Malika while I'm here, and you really don't know me that well. You really are smart, you know that?" She squeezed his shoulders.

"Thanks," Toris said, blushing and scratching his head.

Amelia turned to leave.

"Hey wait. Just one more thing," Toris said.

She turned back towards him.

"You'd better give me your Berlin phone number," he said. "That way I can warn you if Russia decides that he is angry at you after all and you need escape."

That seems reasonable, Amelia thought as she weighed the suggestion. She dug for a pen and scrap of paper in her bag, wrote down her phone number, and handed it to him.

"Goodbye," Toris said. "I don't know when I'll see you again, but I hope you stay well until then."

They clasped hands.

"Same to you, Toris," she said, smiling. He really is a good friend. She watched Toris walk back down the pavement to Ivan's house and then headed back to her apartment.

Amelia saw a couple kiss goodbye as one of them left for work, and her mind went back to what happened that morning. She felt her cheeks burn and her whole body tingle. It's just physical attraction or whatever, she told herself. He doesn't make my heart pound like even thinking of Arthur does. Physical attraction . . . nothing more.

She continued to tell herself that all the way back to her apartment. Amelia turned her key in the door and went in feeling gloomy as she turned on the nearest light.

"Sehr gut, Honigtopf," Lena said from the shadows.

Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin. She glared at her handler and suspected that Lena got some secret enjoyment out of scaring the wits out of her. "What do you mean, 'very good'? What are you praising me for?" Amelia asked in German.

"You stayed overnight," Lena stated, laughing. "And you, silly girl, thought you didn't have it in you to do that with anyone but Arthur."

Amelia remembered again what she'd done that morning. With anyone but Arthur rang in her head and tears started streaming down her cheeks.

Lena walked over to Amelia and gently grabbed her shoulders. "Oh dear. Please tell me that last night was not your first time?" she asked, concern written all over her face. "I assumed that since you were lovers with your Arthur, you had already—"

"Arthur's not my lover," Amelia said between sniffs. She felt her cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

Lena stepped back and studied Amelia's face. "But you want him to be," she concluded.

Amelia nodded. "I've loved him for . . ." She stopped and calculated it in her head. About 38 years. She let out a laugh because she knew she couldn't share that with Lena. "Let's just say, for a long time," she said instead. "But I don't know how he feels about me." I'm not even sure he remembers who I am, she thought as she recalled that all the times they'd met, she'd always managed to forget to tell him her name, or they'd been interrupted by someone . . . usually her loving brother Alfred.

"Well you'd better not let him know what you did with Braginski before you find out how he feels about you," Lena said. "Otherwise, he might not forgive you for it."

Amelia felt the tears really pour out of her eyes when she heard that. "But all we did was kiss! You mean that Arthur won't forgive me for kissing Ivan?"

Lena stared for a moment and then laughed. "You only kissed?" she said, between laughs. "Then why are you crying, silly girl?"

"I only wanted to kiss Arthur . . ."

"Too late for that kiddo," Lena said, smacking her on the arm. "So stop crying about it. If this Arthur fellow does end up caring for you, then I'm sure he'll make it so you forget every kiss you've had before, and if he doesn't forgive you for those previous kisses, he's not man enough to stay with anyway."

Amelia wiped away her tears and hiccupped. "Really?"

Lena nodded. "Even though I'm around your age, I have had a lot more experience with love and sex than you," she said. "Take it from someone who knows. Not forgiving someone for kissing another person before you date each other is just plain silly and stupid."

Amelia smiled and sighed, drying the rest of her tears.

"Besides, all that kissing got you what you wanted, right?" Lena asked. "Give me the microfilm from your camera, and I'll take care of it for you." She held out her hand.

Amelia shook her head. "Sorry. I have orders that I can't give it to anyone but the person in charge of this whole operation."

"That's absurd. It could take months to get that outside of the Eastern Bloc, and until then, we might be able to use some of that information," Lena argued.

Amelia shook her head again. "Some of this information is too sensitive to share, but I promise that you'll get all the information that's useful to you."

Lena frowned. "I've heard that promise before, but it was never kept."

"You can trust me on this," Amelia said. "The guy in charge and I have an agreement that allows me to set certain conditions as payment for this assignment; I'll add your request to the list."

Lena raised an eyebrow and then shook her head. "I don't even want to know what that's supposed to mean," she said. "So what now?"

Amelia walked over to her desk and wrote something on a piece of paper. "We send this message via telegram to this number, and then I wait for my contact to give me further instructions based on what I've gathered."

Lena took the paper out of Amelia's hand. "Cake recipe acquired. Stop. Baking instructions requested urgently. Stop," she read. "What the hell? If this is code, I've never seen it in our code-books."

"Yeah, well . . . it's a special code to notify my contact that I need him to call me right away," Amelia said. "So can you tell me where I can send this?"

"There's a place a few blocks from here," Lena said. "Oh. I almost forgot to ask. Did that sedative you put in the brandy work out for you?"

Amelia smiled and decided not to confess how many sedatives she'd actually used. Lena had said two were enough to knock out a full-grown man less than 20 minutes, and she'd used three. "It worked really well, actually, thanks," she said.


"Russia. Russia, wake up," Lithuania called.

Ivan lifted his head but didn't open his eyes. "You have some sort of death wish, da?" he asked, flopping his head back onto his pillow. He still felt drained.

"No! You told me to wake you in an hour," Lithuania protested.

Ivan's mind started to work again when he heard Lithuania say that. "Call home and tell them we have business that requires we stay in Berlin for a few days," Ivan said, "and then get Prussia on the line."

"Prussia?"

"Da. Once he's on the line, bring me the phone."

After a few minutes, Lithuania brought in the phone from the front room, doing his best to not unplug the cord. Ivan sat up and grabbed the receiver.

"Prussia?"

"Ja," Prussia replied, yawning and sounding annoyed. "What is it?"

"So sorry to interrupt your nap," Ivan said, feeling irritation at his underling's impertinence. "Perhaps I should come there and help you sleep more soundly, da?"

"I wasn't napping!" he heard the other nation protest, panic rising in his voice, making it crack slightly. "It's just that I've just barely finished all the jobs you gave me, and I was feeling a little tired, that's all. So what's up? You have another job for me already?"

"Da. I need you to come here," Ivan said.

Silence echoed on the other end for a couple seconds.

"To Berlin?"

"Of course, dunderhead," Ivan said. "Where else?"

There was another, longer pause on the other end of the line.

"Why?" Prussia asked finally. "I finished everything you wanted me to take care of there two weeks ago while you handled your other business in town. I know I didn't forget to do anything because I'm awesome like that."

Ivan weighed carefully his next question. He really didn't want to sound like he was praising Prussia. "Are you really as good with German women as you brag?" he asked. He heard Prussia let out a small laugh.

"Natürlich! Ich bin ein Frauenheld (Of course! I'm a lady-killer)!" he crowed.

"Good. Come to Berlin as quickly as you can, da?"


A/N

*The title is, of course, from the famous lines—"Oh what a tangled web we weave, / When first we practise to deceive!"—in Sir Walter Scott's poem, Marmion (Canto vi. Stanza 17). Scott (a Scottish author & novelist {1771 – 1832}) is warning us that a liar or deceiver spins a web or trap for himself/herself, not realizing it until it's too late to untangle himself/herself. *shakes head * Alfred . . . Amelia . . . what were you thinking by believing this would all go the way you wanted it to?

Medovie/Honey Layer Cake is a very popular Russian dessert. This cake usually has about 5-7 layers but can have up to 15 layers. It is extremely delicious and becomes a favorite of almost anyone who tries it. It could resemble sheets of paper laying on top of each other, which is why Amelia used it; she was talking about the documents she photographed.

The throw I was imagining is something similar to the circle throw (in judo) only it would be performed while Amelia was laying on her back, not standing as is standard for this move. This is one of the moves I learned from my self-defense course when your "attacker" has you in the same position Ivan had put her in.


Translations

Доброе утро, Ваня = Good morning, Vanya—Please note: this is the diminutive form of Ivan and is a form a woman would use as a term of endearment. It would be the same as saying "Ivan darling" or "dearest Ivan" (Lena knew why she was instructing Amelia to call him this, but Amelia didn't 100% understand that she was using a term of endearment; she thought it was just something that people who are close say). So you can now see why Ivan reacted the way he did . . . (Ivan just repeats good morning to her, so I saw no point in repeating the translation here)

"Alle Leut' geh'n jetztnachHaus" is a German children's song, "Everyone, Everyone Is Going Home" (see the translated lyrics below)

Моя темноволосая лисица = My dark-haired vixen (Russian)

"You called?" I know that Russia's catchphrase is "Yonda?" and that's the canon way to say it, but for some reason I felt the need to translate it. =_= I hope that you won't be bothered by that.

Meine dunkelhaarige Füchsin = My dark-haired vixen (German)

Ich glaube, ich bin = I think I am (German)

Sehr gut, Honigtopf = Very good, honey pot.

Natürlich! Ich bin ein Frauenheld! = Of course! I'm a lady-killer!


§Alle Leut' geh'n jetzt nach Haus

Alle Leut', alle Leut' geh'n jetzt nach Haus'
Alle Leut', alle Leut' geh'n jetzt nach Haus'
Grosse Leut', kleine Leut',
Dicke Leut', dünne Leut'
Laute Leut', leise Leut'
Alle Leut', alle Leut' geh'n jetzt nach Haus'

Alle Leut', alle Leut' winken sich zu,
Sagen auf wiedersehen,
Das war heut' wieder schön.
Alle Leut', alle Leut' winken sich zu.

Translated Lyrics:

Everyone, everyone is going home.

Everyone, everyone is going home.

Big people, little people,

Fat people, thin people,

Loud people, quiet people,

Everyone, everyone is going home.

Everyone, everyone is waving goodbye.

We say goodbye,

That was fun again today!

Everyone, everyone is waving goodbye.


Ivan: "It's a cute song, da?"

Me: *starts* "Oh, y-yes; it is."

Ivan: "So what happens next?"

Me: "Wait . . . don't you know?"

Ivan: "No. I'm '1982-Ivan'. I'm only seeing things as they happen."

Me: "I see . . . that explains a lot from earlier."

Ivan: "So once we clear up this one little misunderstanding, Malika and I are going to live happily ever after, da?"

Me: ". . ." *runs away*

Ivan: "Where are you going?"