"Me, and you.
God only knows it's not what we would choose to do. "

Not much changed between them in the next couple of weeks. Neither tried to engage in conversation past a shy hello, and there were always stolen glances at every World Meeting. Ludwig (usually without realizing it,) went out of his way to get closer to her whenever he could. It became increasingly difficult, of course, when her siblings got wind of his intentions, regardless of how he tried to hide them.

"Hello, Mr. Germany. So, you and my sister have been becoming close friends, da?" Ivan had asked him before a meeting had begun one day. His voice was friendly, but Ludwig knew enough to suspect hidden suspicion and annoyance below the mask. One look into his violet eyes confirmed this.

"I wouldn't call it a closeness, Herr Russia," he had said, his pointer finger tapping the surface of the table, his slight anxiety masquerading as impatience.

"Belarus is not happy about this, as you can imagine."

"Is that so?" he said in an off-hand way. He wasn't afraid of Natalya, but she did put him off ease. During World War II she had been absolutely vicious, and he doubted very much that that had changed the slightest bit since then.

"Da. And just for the record, Mr. Germany, I'm not so happy about you either. You can understand this, I assume. Hm?" The curtain of friendliness was slowly being lifted over his tone and expression, and Ludwig wondered how long it would be before the man lost it completely.

"I see. And I don't blame you, either," he said calmly, "Katya raised you and your sister, is that right?"

Then it was gone, and Ivan's eyes grew with anger, though his mouth just curved up in a smile.

"What did you call her, Mr. Germany?"

Ludwig realized his mistake and tried again, "Frau Ukraine raised you, Russia, am I right?"

The larger man went on as if he hadn't heard. "Never call her that. You called her that when—"

"Am I right, Mr. Russia?"

The man appeared confused. "Da. And she was a better mother than anyone could even try to be."

"Children don't often try to control their guardians."

"I am not a child."

"Neither is she."

Ivan's eyes were icy cold, full of prejudice and disgust. "She has always protected me. I am just trying to do the same. Don't forget what you did to her, to all of us. Not many people live after betraying me. Consider yourself very lucky, Beilschmidt." With that, Ivan had turned on heel and left the meeting room, not to be seen for the rest of the day by anyone.

Yekaterina, on the other hand, tried to avoid the Ludwig's glances and approaches. She had begun to think about her sister's advice, and as harsh as she had been, a fraction of it had been right. Maybe she shouldn't let him into her life so soon.

This decision had become harder and harder to keep, for it seemed that every time she looked up from the table she locked eyes with him, and her heart would flutter up to her throat. And the days that there were no meetings and she would not see him, she wished she could. It was all very confusing, and not to mention uncomfortable, for her.

Now her eyes drifted up to a small vase full of bright red poppies that she had put on her kitchen table. The day before, she had come from market to find them on her doorstep. There had been no note, but she had instantly known who had put them there.

She wondered why he was acting this way, and with her of all people. If it was a matter of apology—the simple desire to make things right again—he would have apologized to the whole world. There was no way he was going to try to hurt her again— he had changed, regardless of what Natalya said.

How much he had changed was a matter to consider, however. As different as he seemed to be, he was still the same man who had mercilessly slaughtered millions, destroyed so much, and had hurt people who were supposed to be his friends. He was still the man who had worn the uniform that showed him as a Nazi, as a messenger of hate and death. He was still the man who had looked her in the eyes with a smile of pure sadistic joy as he asked her how it felt to be so helpless.

Yet, he was also the man who had sent her flowers and who had shown her every sign of regretting the pain he had inflicted. She put her head down on the table, trying to cut off the confusing thoughts to her brain. In a way she was glad that Natalya had set her straight, but she wished that she hadn't interfered and made her feelings even more complicated.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, the sounds of wild birds outside almost lulling her to sleep.

Meanwhile, well across the world, two brothers sat on a porch watching the sun set.

"So, how's it been with that girl?" the older of the two asked in between gulps of beer. He didn't receive and answer for a moment as the other thought.

"I feel bad about everything I've been doing," Ludwig said quietly, his own glass untouched.

"Hm? Well, take the advice of the great Prussia," Gilbert Beilschmidt began, before he was interrupted.

"The once-great Prussia who now isn't even a nation anymore, you mean."

"Why'd'ya have to bring that up? You're just jealous because women love me."

Ludwig laughed dryly. "I'm not asking for advice."

"That time with Austria changed you a little, didn't it?" Gilbert asked, narrowing his maroon eyes, "You think less of me 'cause of him, right?"

"Austria is harder to deal with than you, and that's saying a lot. I just think that I can handle this situation myself."

"Mein kleine bruder, all grown up and making his own decisions," the other sighed, chugging the rest of his beer. Ludwig sighed; he was used to letting his brother making himself feel like he had the wisdom of a god. "I'm going to bed," he murmured, standing up and picking up the two glasses. "So soon? It's not late." "I'm tired. I've been worrying about all this too much." "I would too, for a girl like that. Didn't she used to have long hair? Mein gott. You have good taste, I'll give you that, Bruder," the other teased, smiling. But Ludwig didn't hear him, he was too busy imagining what had happened when Yekaterina had discovered the flowers. Could she think he was stalking her? Could she have told her brother? He sighed again, knowing he probably wasn't going to be able to get much sleep tonight. As he was walking up the stairs, he heard Gilbert open the door and stomp in, partially drunk. He had taken to using his drunkenness as an excuse to stay the night, and sure enough, he heard somebody fall heavily onto the sofa. "Guten nacht, Luddy," he heard him call up. "Ja, ja, guten nacht," he replied, feeling suddenly exhausted. Outside, a nightingale sang as the moon rose and Europe became dark.