A Matter of Course

By: cultureandseptember

Chapter Twelve: Late

The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. - Leo Tolstoy

No words can describe the emptiness and pain that overtook me that night. I can count on one hand to number of times I have felt that kind of darkness. It was all-consuming, controlling, devastating. My stomach was tangled and snarled, a terrible hollow feeling that was sickeningly endless. It had to be a nightmare, I thought for a long time. I would wake up and find myself at home. I would wake up to my mother's voice. I would see Corey in the kitchen, at the counter. We'd drink coffee like always. The nightmare never ended though. That bottomless, sickening feeling never left me. There was no need for negotiation, no reversing, and no undoing. I couldn't somehow get my family back. There was no magic to send me home.

They were there, in plain sight, but they weren't mine.

The family I had come to know was not mine. They weren't—it was as if my family was dead.

Gone.

And the effect that realization had on me was…devastating. It was the only word that seemed to fit.

I sat on my bed and stared at the floor. My eyes were tired from the tears I had shed the night before. And the lack of sleep.

I had nightmares. Nightmares that I couldn't remember.

Only that I was frightened and scared when I woke up. I would try again and again with the same result.

Eventually, I gave up on sleep.

I couldn't feel anything anymore.

Every sensation was dulled, less vibrant than it once had been. The sun that filtered through the window seemed to be muted. The skies were overcast. There was a knock on the door and I couldn't seem to focus on the person who cracked the door open. After a few moments, I was able to make out his face. Just narrowing my eyes a bit to get my vision to clear. Everything seemed to blur together. I saw his shape moving toward me, but the details were vague. I could barely feel myself breathing when he lowered himself onto the bed beside me. A hand took hold of my right wrist, squeezing just a bit.

"I packed your things," he said with a quiet timbre to his voice. "You're ready to go." I turned to him, raising my tired eyes to his face. I focused again for a moment, forcing my eyes to see the details. John looked as if he had not gotten a wink of sleep. The skin of his face was ashen, paper white and drawn. His usually bright green eyes were downcast and he looked somber. His grip on my wrist tightened. "The flight leaves at six. I was able to get the private jet from Virginia."

My dry lips parted and I started to ask him what time it was, but I just closed my mouth again. I felt sick. For a moment, I felt as if I was being overly dramatic. This was not the way to respond to any sort of news, much less the news I received. I was stronger than this, by far. I knew I was stronger than all of this. I just couldn't seem pull myself from my grief. I couldn't pull myself out. And that was what I was experiencing. Grief in its rawest form. It was hard to escape, hard to overcome. Looking away from him, I glanced toward the open door. I could see a blanket on the ground and a hand, almost as if someone were sleeping in the hall.

John must have seen my confusion. "He slept out there. America did. Said he couldn't leave you. Fell asleep around eight this morning." When I looked toward the bedside table, I hoped to see what time it was. The last number I could remember was four-seventeen. The numbers were flashing 12:00. I could feel the heaviness of my eyelids as I stared at those numbers. Why couldn't I just snap out of it? New York turned and looked at the blinking numbers before he understood. "It's one in the afternoon. Don't you remember eating that sandwich earlier?" The power must have gone out at some point.

I couldn't remember eating anything. My brows pulled together in confusion. How could I not remember that? Was my memory starting to falter again? It had been a while since I had one of those episodes. Maybe—

My memory wasn't that bad though, was it?

I had gotten all those facts right from the start.

I just couldn't remember what happened…here.

"I came in here and watched you eat it. It's…It's okay if you don't remember. It was just a turkey sandwich about three hours ago."

Pressing my lips together, I looked upward to the ceiling. I wanted to cry again, but I couldn't quite figure out why. Tears were just filling my eyes, but I wasn't thinking about my family. I was thinking about how ashamed I was of myself. I couldn't even remember the fact that I had eaten. I needed to pull myself out of it. I needed to push past my emotions and get. a. grip.

"I've seen you worse than this, Michelle."

Turning to John, I saw the worry in his eyes. I could see the way he was chewing his bottom lip. His free hand went to rub the back of his neck. "W-Worse?" I wasn't sure that I wanted to know. Nothing could be worse than what I felt. If I had felt worse than this in the past, I didn't want to remember it. I watched as New York lowered his gaze to the hand that held my wrist. The expression on his face was contemplative, deeply thoughtful. There was something profound that he was thinking. I could tell. Still, I kept silent. The strength wasn't in me to speak.

"You dealt with some things. Things that few have. I—I watched you go through all of it. You're—You're the strongest person I know." As he was speaking, I felt irritation well in me. It was the first thing I had felt aside from sadness in hours and I latched onto like a life preserver. Finally an emotion that was safe. An emotion that didn't require my dampening. My hands fisted in my lap. "You're the strongest human we've come across."

"So…So strong that you didn't tell me?"

He went very still, hand still griping my wrist. I lifted my gaze to his face, seeing the apprehension there. I could see again. I could focus. Ah, so he knew what they did was wrong. He knew that it was wrong to keep something so vital hidden from me. The anger felt amplified by the hours of unfeeling silence had come before.

I was feeling something, but it wasn't overwhelming grief.

It was anger.

He must have seen that in my eyes because he immediately released my wrist.

"Michelle," he said. "Please don't—"

"Don't what?" I questioned as I started to my feet. My legs felt weak, but I was able to force myself upright. With a very pronounced limp, I made my way to the door and slammed it shut. I could hear a soft snore outside acknowledge the sudden sound, but there was no shout. White-hot fury flooded through me. And it felt better than the hurt. "Don't what, John? Don't get mad? Don't get upset? Don't get pissed? Don't do what, John? You knew from the first moment you met me again that something wasn't right. You know from the first moment that you heard Corey—this Corey—was in the Army that something was off. You knew from the moment you met me and you never said a word!" There were no tears. My eyes were dry. I had already cried too much. "Why, John? Or is it New York? Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't lie!"

"It's called lying by omission!" I shouted back. Some part of me, the logical part, knew that I needed to calm down. I was growing more and more irate by the second. As my rage grew stronger, my voice grew louder and shriller. It wasn't normal for me. I never shouted. I rarely ever raised my voice. "Did you think I would never find out? That's not my family, New York! They're…They're imposters! Do you know how scared I was those first few months? Hell, the first year! Even now! I couldn't remember any facts. I couldn't remember my own family. Well, I couldn't remember facts because they're different people! They're not my family. AND YOU KNEW! YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?"

John never rose from the bed. He simply leaned forward and laced his fingers together. His elbows rested on his knees. My anger was blind and I realized that would have aimed it at anyone who came within reach. "Michelle, calm—" He stopped himself and let out a breath. He glanced to me and saw how heavily I was breathing. "No. You're right to be angry at me. Yeah, you should be pissed." I faltered for a moment, losing my momentum. "I didn't think you could handle it. Not with everything else going on. Not after what happened to Donny and that night with Loraine. No, I didn't tell you. I was trying to—Michelle, obviously I was try to protect you."

There was a moment of silence. My anger evaporated. In its place was that same hurt and pain and grief. No, I wanted to be angry. I was still mad. I needed to be mad. My hands went to my mouth and I lifted my eyes up, tilting my face head back to keep the new tears from falling. At the sight, New York rose to his feet and made to comfort me.

Keeping one hand on my mouth, I backed up and held out my right hand. "No. I—I just…I can't." My outstretched hand formed a fist and I closed my eyes tight for a moment before opening them again.

John froze, his arms outstretched. After a moment, he lowered them and stared in my direction. Conflicting emotions flickered across his face until he finally nodded. "I—" His voice shook and he cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh, the flight's at six. We need to leave around three-thirty." He lowered his head and I felt my heart break when he looked up at me through his lashes. He looked as if he felt guilty for the pain I was experiencing. "Shelly, I—I never meant to…The last thing I would ever do is hurt you. You know that." He let out a sigh and started for the door. "Try to get some rest."

When the door shut, I just stared at the back of it. The last vestiges of my anger fluttered away and I was left with that same frighteningly hollow feeling again.

I had to get a grip. I had to get myself under control before I left my room in a couple hours. I had to. Being weak was not an option. Leaning against the wall, I raised both hands and raked them through my hair. I needed to get a shower and get dressed. I couldn't allow myself to wallow any longer. New York seemed to feel guilty for lying and some part of me could understand his reasoning.

I just felt so mad…I just felt so alone.

I just felt.

Letting out a breath, I opened my eyes as wide as they could go and shook my head.

Get a grip, Michelle. Get a grip.

Pulling the jacket a little tighter around my shoulders, I stepped out of the car. Behind me, George stepped out as well. He had quietly led me to the second car in what was essentially a motorcade of vehicles that left New York's row house in Brooklyn. After a while, I realized that I was utterly thankful to Delaware for stepping in to subdue a situation before it even arose. As soon as I stepped out of my room, America had pounced. He was hurriedly trying to explain his actions and I was trying not to panic outside of those four walls where I had let my emotions loose. America was curbed by New York and Delaware had quickly escorted me to a car before Alfred could catch me.

"America feels emotions like this really strongly," was all George said in explanation. "And you don't seem overly fond of Britain at the moment. We figured it would be best if you rode with me."

He wasn't wrong. Every time I saw Arthur, I got this strong feeling over anger in the pit of my stomach. I was just as mad at him as I was America and New York. George gave me one final glance and let it go for the rest of the ride.

As I stepped out of the car however, George reached out and took hold of my hand. He gripped just long enough to stop me from moving away, giving a cursory glance toward the other cars and the Nations that were exiting them. His lips pursed just a bit in thought.

"Listen," he looked to me. "I know that you have experienced a great loss, Michelle." I felt my heart sink a bit. I was hoping that no one would broach the topic if I held myself together. I was hoping at least he would leave me alone. "I'm not the type to barge into something like this, but hear me out. I know you want to be left alone, but…" He waited for my approval and I struggled to nod my head. I really didn't want to hear it. "They didn't mean to harm you and you know that. I'm not going to bother defending their actions. What they did was wrong, but it was with the best of intentions. What I have to tell you is just this: depend on someone. Rely on them. You cannot endure all of this by yourself." He leaned down just a bit, lowering himself to eye level. And I felt as if he really were my older brother for a moment. "You can't endure it all in silence. Believe me, Michelle. I know."

I looked to his eyes and saw the same expression I had seen on my own face earlier in the mirror. Hollow distance. My mouth opened, but I couldn't find the strength to speak.

"We live forever, Michelle." Delaware told me, glancing toward the Nations who were gathering near the private jet. "We're immortal and we've all lost someone. Every generation, we lose someone. We know loss, Michelle. We know loss better than anyone." He stepped away and nodded his head to me. "As lonesome as you feel right now," he stepped back again. "Each of us has felt the same. Tell someone how you feel."

My mouth went dry as I watched him turn his back on me and walk toward the other immortals. Though the desolation still lingered in my chest, it felt less consuming. Nodding my head, I stepped out into the departing sunlight. The sun was setting in the west as the Nations prepared to leave.

America made to run over to me, but I saw Arthur grab his shoulder and shake his head.

"Shelly," I focused on New York as he walked over to me. "I—I can't come with you."

My heart started to beat a little faster. He wasn't coming? I couldn't just leave him behind. He was the only stability I had. Even with everything going wrong, he was like a rock. In my mind, I thought back to my shouts earlier in the day. "W-Why? It is because—"

"Too dangerous. Alfred needs all the States to stay stateside. It's the safest move. We'll be handling the investigation over here." He hesitated for a moment before sweeping me up in an embrace. Instinctually, I grabbed the back of his jacket. "I know you well enough to know that you're feeling guilty about this morning already." His face pressed into my shoulder and I held him just a little tighter. "It's forgotten. You were right anyway." Pulling away, New York surprised me by placing his forehead to mine. I held my breath, knowing that there was nothing between us that was remotely romantic. It was a show of deep connection though. "America will protect you. You'll be safe. I promise. Don't do anything reckless though. Let the guys handle it."

There was a moment of hesitation in which the back of my mind though about how I had been lied to and how the result of meeting these Nation was the loss of my family. I forced that dark thought away. "Okay," I murmured as he released me.

"C'mon! Time to get this show on the road. Or in the air!" America called from the bottom of the staircase. He waved his hands energetically while the others started into the plane. His smile was blinding. Russia stopped at the crest of the stairs to turn and watch me approach. Behind him, Egypt did the same. At the bottom, Britain had his arms crossed and I could see his foot tapping with impatience. I guessed that the others were already on the plane. "LET'S GO CATCH SOME VILLAINS! YEE-HAW!"

"Be careful," New York said as he stepped toward where George was standing. Virginia stood on the other side of the car, a cell phone to her ear. "Try to keep America out of trouble, too. I know it's tough, but he might listen to you."

"Not likely," I muttered and started toward the plane.

Every other Nation that had been on the gangway had already disappeared into the cabin and America was now the only one waiting. His waving arms settled by his side and I felt that same sick feeling from earlier settle in the pit of my stomach. I was still mad at him and I needed to get that out of the air. Before he could say a word, I held up a hand.

"You know I'm mad at you, but let me tell you why." His bright smile from before melted away and in its place rested a sad frown. "You lied to me. I'm sure New York told you what I said to him. Or you heard it while you were faking sleep outside—"

"I was not—"

"You were! Don't deny it. You don't snore when you sleep. Don't ask me how I know that. I just do. Mostly because my memories are shot to hell! And before you say that it was for my own sake, don't condescend to me that way. It's my family, America. I sacrificed my family to fix whatever problem I caused. It was all apparently my own fault. And I get why you didn't tell me. I get it. And irrationally, I'm still mad at you. I'm going to be mad for a little while longer. Just…give me some space for a while until I get my thoughts straightened out, okay?" His eyes were wide and he stared at me as if I had grown another head. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes and tiredly looked toward the plane.

He finally blinked and nodded, seeming to reach some sort of conclusion. With an overly formal air, he stepped back and gestured toward the stairs. "I'll stay clear for a while. Just…know that I'm sorry, okay? I really am. About everything."

I tried to turn the corners of my lips up in a smile, but instead it seemed that I just looked at him and proceeded up into the plane. He followed behind and shouted something down to the crew as he stepped inside.

The plane was huge, much too big for the amount of people that we had. It seemed that it was a private plane much like what the president uses for his travels, much like Air Force One. I glanced around, looking for the seats. Instead of rowed seating, there was a collection of arm chairs and a sofa. No one was in sight. Confused, I glanced toward the back of the plane. America stood in the doorway, his hand on the metal detail-work.

"This is Air Force Four. It's my personal plane. There's three sitting rooms and a full kitchen. You can wonder around. Just find a seat for take-off." He turned and started down the hall as fast as his feet could carry him. The hollow feeling returned and I narrowed my eyes, determined not to fall into the pit of grief again. No matter how precarious my position on the precipice.

"I knew I be finding you, dushenka."

Turning, I could see Russia's enormous figure in a doorway different from the one that America had disappeared into. Behind him, I could see what looked to be a private sitting room. His expression was soft, far softer than I had been expecting of the gigantic Nation. I didn't quite know what to expect of him, but that expression was not it. He looked as if he had heard my words to America and had seen the sadness flicker over my face in my moment of weakness. He had seen it. I could tell.

"You can come sit with me, if you wanting to." He paused for a moment and gestured inside. "There is no one else. They do not wanting to be near me."

His invitation seemed genuine and, really, there was no side benefit for him. I had nothing that he could gain from and so part of me couldn't understand the offer. My brows pulled together and I had to stop myself from asking why he was being so kind. He seemed to read my curiosity and he smiled. It was probably the first genuine smile I had seen from him since meeting him the day before. His smiles always seemed cruel or fake. This one was warm though. His eyes flickered to the other doorway.

"I will not talking to you about losing family. It just be quiet. We talk if you want to talk. Okay, dushenka?"

I considered for a moment where else I would go on the plane. To America? No. Not when I had just finished telling him I was mad. Britain? No, I felt uneasy around him. Italy was concerned with Germany and I still felt anxious around the German Nation. The only viable Nation was Egypt and I couldn't bring myself to sit with him. I felt apprehension around him as well, though I couldn't say why. Reaching my decision, I started toward him and he backed up to allow me entrance. "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?"

"Dushenka. What does it mean? It's not a pet name or something, right?"

Russia simply shrugged and started to remove his big coat, setting it on the arm of a chair. His light purple (almost pink) scarf remained around his neck as he settled himself into an armchair. One leg crossed the other and he looked completely at ease. It was strange. His mask was off. There was no pretense. I watched carefully from near the windows. "You know that there are beds on this plane, too, and you can sleep on the couch. You need to rest."

He effectively avoided the question and went to buckle himself into the seat just as the pilot came on the intercom and the plane began to move underfoot. "Flight attendants, cross-check and prepare for roll out." I stumbled just a bit and caught myself on the wall, hearing Russia chuckle a bit at my surprised expression. Private jets allowed for more leeway, I guessed. Either way, they should have given some warning. Fighting the force of the moving plane, I made my way to the chair across from Russia and strapped myself in. He watched with amusement the entire time, never moving to help. "We'll be taking off here shortly, folks. Grab a seat and buckle in. Our flight time is about nine hours, so make yourself comfortable."

I felt nervous energy spike in my chest as I glanced out of the nearby window. We were already on the tarmac. My white-knuckled hands gripped the arms of the chair as we taxied out and prepared for departure.

"Are you nervous, comrade?"

"Just a little," I admitted. I was much more than just nervous, but I expected that he had already figured that much out. He eyed me for a moment before chuckling again.

"Do not be. I have jumped from plane before. A couple times, actually. If something happens, I will be safe." He would be safe…jumping from a plane. Confused, I looked to him and found a bright smile on his face. He was telling the truth. I couldn't quite figure out how I knew. I just could tell. For a moment, I struggled to smile back, but I couldn't find the energy or the will. I just stared at him. "The water will break my fall."

Eyes wide, I took in his words. He was talking about jumping out of a supposedly-crashing plane into the North Atlantic. "Even then," I reasoned, shaking my head. "The water's below freezing."

"It feel like tropical water then." He shrugged and I heard the engines begin to rev. "All water in Russia is frozen solid." He practically giggled and observed me for some sort of reaction.

A wave of something crashed over me as the plane started to speed up. My heart was thundering in my chest and something close to exhilaration hit me in the stomach. It was a sort of mixture between dread and anticipation. As soon as I realized that some part of that emotion was positive, I clamped it down and stamped it out. A sick feeling overtook my stomach then. I couldn't let myself feel good, not when I had lost everyone. Not when, in the back of my mind, I was wondering how my real family was doing—if they were safe and still alive. Not when I was still mourning.

The plane started to lift from the ground and I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes as that weightless feeling filled my gut. I had to hold myself together. I had to find justice for Donny, even if I had to overcome the worst of obstacles to get it. Not only that, maybe if I spoke to Norway…I could figure out a way to get back to my true home. Or maybe I could recover the rest of my memories from this world so I wouldn't feel so lost and helpless if I were to stay. Whatever the case may be, I needed to be strong. I needed to overcome all of it.

"Even if the plane crash…" Somewhere in the din of the takeoff, I heard Russia's voice. "You will be safe, dushenka." When I turned to look at him, he was staring right at me. And while that might've been disturbing to most, there was such a careful sort of care in his eyes that I found myself speechless. I started to ask what he had said, just for my own nerves, but he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. I stared at him for a while and decided to let it go.

It was best to just let it go.

Sighing, I pressed my hand to my head and continued to lean on the wall. Russia was a confusing Nation. He certainly had that threatening aura about him, but there was an innocence there as well. It was once again a strange blessing to see the true man behind the mask. Though, after meeting so many Nations, it almost seemed like Russia was one of the least fake of them all. He smiled, yes, but his smile was so fake that it was obvious. How anyone could be fooled was beyond my fathoming. Besides, he was straightforward in a way that was somewhat refreshing. Shaking my head at the ridiculousness of my encounter with Ivan, I pushed off the wall and headed into my bedroom.

Just as I reached the doorway and began to step inside, the room became overlaid with another image. My eyes widened and I looked over the scene, bile rising in my throat.

It was…It was disturbing, chilling, haunting. And I recognized it immediately. I knew exactly what it was.

A white piano sat at the center of the room.

Somehow, I was able to make my feet move. I moved further inside and shut the door, staring at the blood all the while. It coated bits of the room, as if many battles had been fought throughout. Some numbers were painted here and there, but I paid them little mind. My body quivered and shook as I backed myself up against the closed door. The strength seemed to completely disappear from my legs and I slid to the wooden floors. On instinct, I tried to catch myself with my hands, but I couldn't find a grip. My hands were too slippery.

I raised them up to see blood coating them.

"Michelle! Michelle!"

"Two seconds is long enough…to save the life of one nation...you know..."

Letting out a breath, I just closed my eyes and listened to the voices speak. I'd seen enough of these images to last me a lifetime. Now, twice in one day. It was getting worse. The voices were new though. They were another clue. They were going to explain all of this. And I was going to figure it out. I was smart enough to figure this out. On my own. Alone. No need to involve anyone else. My hands fell into my lap and I clenched them into fists. I wasn't going to fall victim to whatever this was: waking nightmare, my own trauma.

No, I wasn't going to—

"Michelle Daniels, you must hurry. Hurry or it will be too late."

My eyes flew open, but the image was gone. The words seemed to echo in my ears.

"...too late."

Someone brushed a hand over my forehead and I gasped, forcing myself upright. I was breathing heavily and my skin felt clammy, almost as if I had been running. Was that a nightmare or a memory? It was starting to seem that there was little different between the two. Raising on hand to my chest, I could feel the rapid thumping of my heart. I had been so scared then. Seeing things that weren't there, visions. I must have thought myself crazy. Maybe I was. There was no telling. There was so much blood. So, so much blood.

"Michelle."

I turned to see Russia kneeling beside the sofa, his violet eyes wide. Part of me wondered how I had moved from the armchair to the couch, but one look at the giant Nation and my question was answered. "What—What happened?"

"That is what I wondering," he responded as his brows pulled together. "You were sleeping soundly and then you started thrashing. It was like you having an attack." A seizure, I would guess. My head nodded and I had a hard time focusing my eyes to anything in specific. Instead, I just stared at my knees under the heavy blanket that had been placed over me. "I did not go get America."

"I don't want him to know. I don't want anyone to know." My vision suddenly focused and I turned to look Russia in the eye. No, his name was Ivan, right? I looked Ivan in the eye and I didn't waver. Whatever the nightmare was, it was over. There was no need to worry anyone. "Please, Ivan. Don't tell anyone."

He stared at me a moment before a smile started to pull at his lips. "You call me Ivan."

"That's your name, right?"

He nodded while his smile became almost childlike. "Yes, that is my name. You can use it, if you want. It is what you always used to call me. We were friends then." He reached up and placed his hand on the top of my head and then seemed to think better of it. "No, sorry. You hate when I put hand on your head. You said it made you feel talked down to." He instead placed his hand on my shoulder. "In the nightmare, you were speaking in your sleep. You said, 'Too late.' What does that mean?"

"I don't know," I responded. Nervously, I glanced toward the door and around the room. Just to make sure that none of the other Nations witnessed the episode. "You won't tell them, will you?"

"I have kept bigger secret for you, dushenka. Keeping nightmare to myself is small apple." He stood and made his way toward the door. "Come. We get food. Maybe America has some hamburgers to spare." Feeling my stomach churn at the thought of food, I pushed the blanket off my legs and started to follow him. "America always has lots of food to spare." There was a note of appreciation and perhaps a small bit of jealousy in his tone as we made our way down the hall. It wasn't until we were three quarters of the way down the plane that the voices could be heard. At the mere tone of the yells, I felt my heart jump into my throat. Something was wrong.

"Don't shoot the messenger, dude! It's not my fault this happened!"

"It was your responsibility to make sure that everyone got home safe, America! How do you believe it wasn't your fault?" Britain's shout almost seemed to make the plane quiver underfoot.

"As soon as they leave my soil, they're no longer my responsibility." Alfred responded back with a far more serious tone to his voice. It was at this point that Russia and I entered the sitting area. Laptops sat discarded in the floor while their owners were standing in various degrees of anger. Britain had his fist raised as if he wanted to sock Alfred one in the nose. Germany, Italy, and Japan looked to have walked into the fray as well on the other end of the hallway. They must have taken up residence at the back of the huge plane. Meanwhile, France and Canada were also standing with identical expressions of worry on their faces. "I can't control what happens after they leave my lands. You freakin' know that."

Something terrible had happened. What though?

"So you're saying they were attacked over the Atlantic then? That's nigh impossible and you know it!"

"Do I have to spell it out for ya?" Alfred raked a hand through his hair and threw both arms out. "I don't know what happened after they left my airspace. Somewhere between New York and—"

"Who was attacked?" A calm voice asked from behind me. I turned to see Egypt stepping to my right. There was a light of concern in his eyes, almost as if he knew what was coming. My concern escalated quickly from worry to fear. Following his gaze, I turned back to see America's expression morph from defensive to concerned to guilty and back to defensive.

"Iceland, Denmark, and Belgium have disappeared. They never arrived in Copenhagen."

The sheer volume of what was said almost didn't even register until the chaos of arguing Nations broke loose. I found myself shuffled to the side as all the Nations converged on each other at the center of the sitting area. Some observed the argument between America and Britain. Some watched with worried expressions while others crossed their arms and waited for the tension to lessen. Germany was one of those. He remained several feet back with his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for a good moment to intervene. Japan stood with Canada and Italy off to the side. Meanwhile Russia and China looked to be discussing things in a quiet side-conference.

Three more Nations had disappeared.

And they were going to stand around and argue about it?

Something snapped within me.

They were going to waste time arguing when they could instead try to figure out what happened. I couldn't say why my fuse was so short or why my patience just evaporated, but I just couldn't deal with them any longer. I was in no mood for it. My head shook and I felt a little sick. Peoples lives were at stake. Their fellow personifications were in danger and they were bickering like little children. Taking a deep breath, I observed the scene one more time, just to verify that my anger was justified. My gaze skittered over to where it appeared Germany was considering his options. His eyes flickered to mine and I held my breath for a moment before looking toward the belligerents again. He must have read my look of disappointment because he started forward to intervene just as I turned on my heel.

Despite our history, whatever it was, there was a mutual understanding there.

"Everyone shut up!"

I made my way back down the hall and to the sitting room I had shared with Russia. Grabbing the blanket, I pulled it over my shoulders and wrapped it about my legs. The warmth was comforting. It retained the body heat from just minutes earlier when I had been wrapped in it on the sofa. Settling myself into the armchair Ivan had been sitting in before, I just stared at the floor. I didn't think on the loss I had experienced, or the newly-abducted Nations, or the nightmare. I just kept my mind carefully blank until I settled into sleep again. It was easier not to think.

Once again, the words "too late" echoed in my mind as I drifted off.

I wondered if perhaps the voice was right.

Maybe it was too late.