A Matter of Time

By: Dr. Cultural Studies

Chapter Nineteen: Effect

-Part Two-

"I say that we do not propose to take this lying down. Our determination not to take it lying down has been expressed in the orders to the American Navy to shoot on sight. Those orders stand." – Franklin Delano Roosevelt (October 27, 1941)

America's scream was painful and terrifying. It was a sound that I never, ever wanted to hear again in my life. It tore through my body like an unbridled fire, scorching nearly every fiber of my being. The effect of it was hard to explain. It felt as if it were my pain. It was behind the heart, in a deep part of my chest. There was no true focus to it besides the searing heat that blazed there. I doubled over, clutching at Alfred's hand like a lifeline. Was this his pain? He was my home. My Nation. My nation. Whatever hurt him, hurt me. Whatever hurt him—Another scream. I felt myself growing frustrated by my own inaction. The world became clearer and more vivid as the pain was shoved aside. I had to get it together. I had to focus. I had to help.

Alfred was still staring at Arthur, eyes wide and worried. He couldn't communicate at this point, but every time that Arthur yelled his name, America's breathing would hitch a little faster. I saw the situation in an instant and flew into action. Damn the consequence. Damn my own weaknesses. None of this was helping Alfred. That was all that mattered. All that mattered. Not my failing sanity, not the glimpses of otherworldly scenes. Not the dark dungeon of my own mind. Nothing but America. I surged forward and grabbed Britain's shaking wrist. "Arthur, you need to calm down. You're making him hyperventilate." My voice felt distant, as if it weren't my own. "Calm—"

"I am calm!" Britain shouted and jerked his hand from my reach. I flinched at his volume. He was madder than I had ever seen him. Far more furious than when I had arrived on the ship as half a woman. Far madder than when we had our argument. He was in a rage and now that anger was directed toward me. (I wondered though, if perhaps that anger had always been directed toward me. Anger for everything he was going through.) He snarled, "You bit—"

"Calm. Down." I ordered and turned my attention away. My hands flittered over Alfred's face and he sent me a weak smile, just to show that he was alright. When Britain began yelling again, I raised my voice a little louder, not bothering to care about anything that came out of his mouth. It would likely be something he would regret in a few hours' time anyway. "Arthur! Britain! I understand! I get it! You're scared and you're worried! I get that, but shut up or so help me God, I'll slap you so hard you'll be speaking Cockney for a week! Matthew, help me out here!" Knowing I'd never actually hit him, I refocused on America.

"You…t-tell him, Sh-Shelly." America let out a strangled laugh, but it seemed more like a whimper. "Shell's Bells is back…again."

Refocusing, I shifted and pressed a hand to his shoulder. His breathing hitched again as he dealt with another wave of pain. "Breathe. In. Out. You're gonna be alright. Good…Good. Keep it up." My right hand reached up to his hair and I brushed it carefully away from his face. He was sweating and his glasses were fogging up.

A quivering hand reached up to take the glasses off. Britain hesitated as he pulled the glasses away. Without them, Alfred looked infinitely younger—like a student that might've sat in the back row of my class, goofing off on his Apple computer. It was actually quite astounding. My nation was so young in comparison to others, just a kid himself. He shivered and then groaned again, his arm reaching across his midsection.

"You've gotta breathe, America. Breathe."

"N-Navy. Sh-Shit! Nine." He winced, legs drawing up as he postured. It seemed another wave of pain was crashing over him. I tried to prepare myself for what was to come. I felt my arms tingling from my own lack of stable breathing. "Ten. Oh God, t-ten." His hand snapped out to grab my hand and he squeezed it tightly, with such force that I thought my fingers would break. "N-No, eleven. D-Damn it."

Then, as if the storm had passed, he let out a sigh and relaxed. His hand still grasped mine, but it was a limp grip.

"E-Eleven."

"Y-You felt each soldier?" Britain questioned in an awed voice. He shook his head in utter confusion, staring at America's relaxed face. Now that the pain was gone, he was obvious dog-tired. I pressed my index and forefinger to his neck and directed my attention to the clock above the door. I began to count, barely paying attention to the discussion around me. "Y-You, America…"

"Y-Yeah. Each one."

America sighed, turning to look at me. I finished counting as the second hand hit the 'three.' I looked toward Britain and sighed, "He's tachycardic. Seems obvious after that…episode."

Arthur sent me a glare before rolling his eyes, "You maybe have a doctorate, but you aren't a medical doctor! Move aside!" His fingers pressed against Alfred's neck. I sighed, shaking my head. My eyes fell back on America's scared face.

"Gonna suck, isn't it, Michelle?" I caught the pained light in his eyes. It wasn't Pearl Harbor and that fact terrified me more than anything. This was something else. Something else entirely. "Those…Those were the first. First military— It wasn't—It wasn't it. Jap-Japan can d-do worse than that."

It struck me then. It struck me then what this was about. Why he was in such pain. A wave of guilt flew over me like nothing I had ever felt before. I should have known. I should have remembered this. Why didn't I remember it? The first military deaths of the war. Before war was even declared. October 17, 1941. I should have known something like that. I did know it. And I didn't warn him. A sick feeling welled in my gut even as Britain declared in a begrudging voice that I was right about America's extremely high heart rate.

I should have remembered this.

"USS Kearny," I murmured. "I should've—"

"I knew they were Navy," America responded. He brushed off Britain's hand and struggled to sit upright on his own. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Step off, Britain." I turned to look at him and he seemed to read my mind. His expression became grave as he finally sat upright. "This isn't your fault, Michelle." Hearing that conviction in his tone, I almost believed him. Almost. "My boys weren't killed 'cause you couldn't remember this. They were killed because Germany's bein' an asshole."

This was no time for me to wallow in self-pity. It wasn't the time for me to bemoan my own guilt. I could do that later, when I was alone. And I would. Instead, I just frowned toward my friend and reached forward to rest a hand on his shoulder. The other Nations were watching the interaction closely, but I didn't bother with them. This was me and America. "I know. And you're right. It will be much worse. A thousand times worse. When it comes."

America winced. We shared a long look. It was full of everything. The future. The past. The closeness that we now shared. Through trials and tribulations. Long talks and striped flags. It was something deeply moving. His head nodded just a bit, in understanding. I mirrored the action, showing my support of him. It was the simplest of actions and interactions. There were no words exchanged, no loud declarations, no fanfare, no screaming crowds. Some might have said that it was a very un-American exchange. And I would have told them that they were wrong.

It was one of the most patriotic exchanges I'd ever encountered.

We're loud. Yes. Extremely loud. Especially when we gather into large numbers. Sometimes, though, we don't need our volume to communicate our beliefs. We don't need any verbal communication at all. Just a nod or a significant look can communicate everything that needs to be said. It was a truth in all countries, but I knew it was so in America from experience.

If nothing else had, that moment America and I shared solidified out relationship: as family.

"What's all this about?" Britain interrupted the moment, clearly annoyed at having been ignored.

I kept my mouth shut, leaving it to America's discretion on how he wanted to handle the situation. It had become increasingly clear that Alfred had only told Britain about certain parts of my letter. Arthur clearly wasn't aware of the impending attack on Pearl Harbor, for example. If he was, then he would have been freaking out a bit more. Quite a bit more. Starting to move to stand up, I found a hand being held out to me.

Russia was smiling, as per his usual, but there was a sharper edge to it. There was a darker aura about him, oppressing and gleaming. "You need help up, comrade?" The gesture likely seemed innocent to all those observing, but I saw it as a test. He wanted to see if I would accept his hand, his help.

Reaching up, I grabbed his fingers and he effortlessly pulled me to my feet. "Thank you," I sent him a grateful grin before turning to see America being helped from the floor by Britain and Canada.

Arthur sent Russia, myself, and China a stern look before turning his back. "I'm taking him to the medical wing."

"Aw man—"

"Shut it! And we'll see to this meeting tomorrow morning. Guest quarters will be available to you, Ivan, Yao. Michelle, come."

Jerking at his commanding tone, I sent him a quick glare before he disappeared out of the meeting room. When I started to follow, I realized that the large Nation still had a hold on my hand. Turning slightly, I glanced up at him with a confused look. Ivan merely smiled disarmingly. The dark aura was gone and in its place was an easy sort of pleasure. Perhaps I had just earned his…respect? I didn't quite know what I had earned in taking his hand, but it was something.

"You do know the future." The pleasantness in that statement was more than a little unsettling. I wasn't sure if he meant it to be (unsettling) or not. I didn't quite want to jump to conclusions. Even still, I knew that Russia was just like every other Nation. He had both light and dark in him. "That is useful."

"All my knowledge has done is hurt people." I began to step away, but he held my hand firmly.

"Information is not bad. It is the way you use the information." Ah, and there it was. The Russia I had been expecting all along. He shifted a bit, glancing around the space to see if anyone else was around. There was no one. (Save for Canada, who was waiting patiently at the doorway. His eyes were a little darker than I was expecting. Russia didn't see him though. Maybe that was Matthew's intention though—to remain invisible for the moment.) "You have the support of Russia, dushenka."

Despite myself, I couldn't help but to be surprised by that endearment. It seemed so oddly placed in the conversation. "That's not a romantic term, is it? As flattered as I might be…"

"No, simply a term between friends." Russia smiled disarmingly. He nodded his head in my direction. "We will get you home. Safe. Then we do fighting to end this war."

It wasn't going to be that simple, but I smiled anyway. Reaching forward, I pressed a hand to his upper arm. He seemed a little startled by the contact but his shock softened into something else after a moment. My voice was low when I spoke, but I knew that the other Nations could hear. "The war won't end for a while."

"I am knowing that," he nodded.

"MICHELLE!"

Jumping at the sheer volume of Arthur's shout, I turned toward the doorway where Matthew was waiting. He gave me a small nod and gestured toward the main house. So, it seemed he was waiting to escort me. Russia released my hand and I stepped away. I was in the doorway before Ivan called out to me, grabbing my cane as I went. Turning, I could see part of his face cast in shadow from the bright light of the windows. My breath caught. He looked the most intimidating since I had met him.

"Life never gets easier, does it? For me?"

Canada rested a hand on my shoulder in a silent show of support. I considered Russia's question before giving him the most supportive smile I could, even while my stomach was sinking into the earth. "That depends on who you ask. The same goes for every other Nation. You've lived for hundreds of years, Ivan. You tell me: does life get easier or does it just…go on?" With that, I turned and left him to his thoughts.

Matthew was quiet for most of the walk toward the infirmary wing. He fiddled with the buttons of his coat before finally clearing his throat. "You…might want to stay away from him."

"Russia wouldn't hurt me," I replied with confidence. "If anything, he would do the same thing as Germany. Keep me alive. None of the Nations would kill me because of my knowledge. Frankly, if I had anyone to fear, it would be China. He clearly sees the danger of having someone like me around. For that, he might be the smartest out of all of you. Removing that threat would be the most logical move at the moment."

"You can't just devalue yourself into an—an object like that!" Canada cried, a quiet strength hidden behind his high voice. I continued to walk. "Russia can be dangerous, Michelle."

"I know that," I replied equally, calmly. "So can America. Britain. China. You."

"Me?" He stopped suddenly with an alarmed squeak in his voice. I paused on the staircase, turning back to face him. Really, Canada was one of the most confusing characters in the whole Hetalia-verse. He was quiet, but outspoken to anyone who would listen. He was his own person, but often fell in line with Britain and America. He seemed like some quiet weakling, but was actually strong. "Dangerous? Me?"

He didn't know what was coming and the role he had to play in it. Certainly, he had been fighting for a year now, but…There was so much more coming, especially for him. "You're dangerous. Just as much as everyone else. You have one of the best Air Forces of anyone here. You'll command the respect of your allies for your contributions. You're far from a passive nation in this war."

He looked stunned. I turned on my heel and continued up the stairs. There was no way I would tell him that most people ultimately forgot his presence in the war effort. In all honesty though, at the time of World War Two, Canada only had eleven million in his population. Considering that, he did quite well in comparison to the other nations, who possessed far greater numbers. He didn't really ever get the credit he deserved for his role in the war.

Trekking down the hallway, I finally came to the infirmary.

"You need to calm down. Britain, I'm okay."

"I'll be the one to determine that."

"Geez, you're shaking. Mad that I ruined the meeting, huh?"

"Of course not! I just…Oh, bloody hell. Forget it. Give me your arm. I need to check your pulse again." There were a few muffled words before Britain let out a sigh. "Telling me that won't help. We're sending her somewhere, Alfred. We have to. For our own safety."

I stopped, pressing myself to the wall outside the room. By this time, I was so used to eavesdropping that no guilt even accompanied it any longer. It was simply a fact of life by this time. A fact of my life. And that realization was quite sad.

"Of course you want to send her away!" America's voice was like steel. "You haven't stopped bein' an ass to her since she got here, Britain. It's startin' to really piss me off, man."

Arthur was silent for a few moments and I wondered whether he would answer that accusation. He did after a while. His words made my stomach tie into knots. "I do not mean to—to hurt her. She is merely…an easy target. Besides, she needs someone like me to keep her on her toes."

"You hate her—"

"I most certainly do not." Britain sounded completely affronted. "That girl is one that I would defend to the last, I'll have you know. You would do the same! I daresay that she's endeared herself to us all. Though thoroughly unintentionally."

"Defend to the—Britain, do you—What?"

There was an exhausted sigh and the sound of the bed springs crunching under some weight. In my mind, I could imagine Arthur sinking onto the edge of the bed while Alfred looked on with wide sky-blue eyes. "To send me letters. To remain strong in the face of uncertainty. To keep her secrets locked away so tightly even while she was…" i let out a sigh of relief, glad that Britain thouht better than to tell America what had happened while I was locked away. "To be so…To understand us. Truly, understand. She's someone that we can't allow to come into danger, Alfred. We cannot allow Germany to have her again. It's the principle of the matter, really. Nothing overly emotional about it."

"Cyeah, that explains the scowl on your face perfectly," was America's sarcastic response. There was a pause. "I'm warnin' you, Iggy. She's way off-limits. Like off the map, off-limits."

"W-what—You utter fool! Why do you Americans always think in those terms? You automatically jump to romance! That bloody frog's fault no doubt." I smiled slightly at the sheer incredulity in his tone. Seeing a movement out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew walking up with a bear held in his arms. I paid the animal little mind and looked to Canada's expression. He was smiling brightly. Well, that was a comfort at least. Matthew's smile was comforting in dark times.

"It probably is France's fault," Canada whispered. I shot him an amused grin.

"Just makin' sure that you're not aimin' for my citizen." I could hear the shrug in Alfred's tone. "Not that she would have you anyway."

"It's hardly the time." I couldn't have agreed more with Arthur's statement. America was being ridiculous. Perhaps the lack of oxygen had gone to his head. "Besides, you know that I've learned my lesson. Courting humans is considered bad form. Remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember. France taught me that lesson. Not you." Cringing, I looked to Canada. He gave me a sad nod of confirmation. It was a reference of France's former human love, Jeanne. America's voice was firm and careful, like he was worried about stepping on a landmine. Considering who actually killed Jeanne, it was probably a very sensitive topic for all involved. "She's around us a lot, Britain. It's a risk. You know what happened when Jeanne…and, well, I don't want that happening to her. It's not going to happen to her."

"She's a level-headed woman," Britain let out a sigh. "She'll take that into account, I'm sure, should the worst occur."

Up until this overheard conversation, I had never really given romantic love a second thought in this world. With everything that had been happening around me, it never seemed like a pressing issue. And it still wasn't. Really, it didn't make me sick or worried. It was barely a passing thought in my mind. The only real thought was that their worry was endearing. Beyond that, I dealt it nothing more than a shrug. Canada sent me a questioning look when I smiled to myself. I could set things like that aside to focus on the bigger picture at hand. And I was glad for it. I didn't have time to waste on romance.

Not while I had so much else to worry about.

Not when I couldn't even trust myself to be stable.

Not when I could barely tell reality from hallucination.

No.

Taking a deep breath, I sent Matthew a small smile before raising my voice and striding forward at the same time. "You summoned me, my liege?"

"You're getting more and more snarky, Michelle. It's concerning. Do be careful with that barbed tongue." I snorted at his sarcasm. He stood and stepped away from the bed as I made my way over. "He's fine. Just needs a bit of rest."

"Bit of rest, my lily white ass! I'm healthy as a horse!" America waved an enthusiastic hand at me, as if waving away the tension that was in the room before my arrival. "Come on, Shelly! You know I'm tougher than this. Tough as nails. It pisses me off more than anything else."

Nodding, I sank into the chair by the bed. Our positions were reversed now. He was in the bed and I was the one holding his hand. It was oddly poignant. "We Americans tend to do that, huh?"

"Do what? You normally laze about or shout the walls down." Britain snorted, shaking his head.

Before America could retort, I shot Arthur a glare. "Americans don't take things lying down. We get riled up. If one of us is attacked by an outside party, you sure as hell better bet that some retribution is coming your way." I studiously ignored America's questioning look and settled my gaze on Matthew. He looked a little uncomfortable standing by the door. "You alright, Matt?"

He jumped at my address and looked with a note of panic toward Alfred. "I'm—I'm fine."

America shot his brother a look before nodding his head. His sigh caught my attention and he let his head fall back into the plump pillow behind his head. "It's okay, Canadia. Not your fault. (1)"

Confused, I looked between the two. I was intent not to intrude on the exchange, so I stepped away and walked to the window of the infirmary room. Arthur followed my actions, obviously intending to give the two brothers time to themselves. Matthew approached the bed quickly and grabbed his brother's hand, worry breaking over his face. It was heart-wrenching, so much so that it was difficult to look away. I did, though, and shifted my attention to the countryside outside the window. A haze rested on the hillside, lit by the moonlight.

"What was that about? Americans getting riled?"

Turning to face Britain, I wondered just how far I could go with my explanation. I settled for vague. "Just like everyone else, America has to learn from experience." Britain's mouth opened, but I cut him off. "Suffice to say that we don't simply mourn…We get even."

"Eleven sailors were killed," Arthur supplied after a few moments. I turned to face him, but he was staring over at Canada and America. There was a protective fondness in his eyes that made him look every bit the father-figure he was. It seemed that Britain had finally cracked a bit and he was allowing his true emotions to come through his angry mask. "He has endured many wars. They both have. I—I fear for them both."

It was the first time. The first time that Britain confided in me something that was so dear to his heart. And, despite his apparent distrust, it was a show of faith. I shifted and continued to listen to his quiet words. Quiet enough that the men across the room couldn't hear.

"I've seen more war than the two of them combined. I know the pain that comes with unprovoked attacks. It's the reason why Canada was able to remain composed and America reacted to the pain. He wasn't prepared. Once a Nation enters a state of war, they enter a mindset of almost-constant hurt. Always a dull ache, sometimes sharp spasms when the battles claim large numbers. America was unprepared. He doesn't think that anyone can harm him, so he never prepares for the pain that comes with war. I'm afraid that one day that arrogance will come back to haunt him."

"Does he not think of it?" I questioned, gaining Arthur's attention as he turned to stare at me. Some part of me knew that I had no right to question him. He knew America far longer than I did. He raised Alfred since he was a young boy. What could I possibly know? Still, I felt the need to explain something on the behalf of an American. "I think he does. He knows. America's not a fool. He may act that way most of the time and he can be an idiot at times. He's loud and obnoxious and he eats too much. That doesn't mean that he's unaware of the world's conflicts. He knew this would happen eventually. He just chose to ignore it."

"Is that really so much better?"

My head shook, "I'm not saying it's better. Is ignorance better than inaction? Some might say 'yes' while some might say 'no.'" Shrugging, I glanced toward where my Nation was speaking with Canada. His gaze flickered over to me and Arthur. He held up a hand and signaled a 'thumbs-up' while grinning like a maniac. "I don't know. All I know is that when you attack our Navy…When they run out of torpedoes, they shout things like 'Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.'"

Britain's eyes went wide at the smallest note of maliciousness in my tone. Frankly, I wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. I had never denied my patriotic side. It had been instilled in me since my biker grandfather had told me stories of the war while I sat on his knee. "What—"

I shrugged, "America is one Nation that you don't want to piss off. Mostly because he'll go to almost ridiculous means to get the job done. He's a good ally to have in this war. Maybe not quite as good as Russia." Britain looked at me sharply and I sighed. "Russia could kick Germany's ass by himself, probably. Stalin could probably take Hitler out at any time. Russia's got the cannon fodder to back himself up. Armies are ultimately finite resources. Russia's resources are broader."

"Ah, you don't sound impressed."

"It's war," I responded to him. "I'm not impressed with any of it. I'm merely stating facts. Do with it what you will."

He nodded mutely, looking over toward where America was still talking to Canada. After a few moments, Britain spoke up again. "He had to help me with the Great War. Got over himself and decided to talk to me again. I hated it. Needing his help. Now, he will have to help me with another was. And it makes me realize that...I'm not infallible. That I…cannot do this alone."

My eyes shifted over to him and my head shook. "Arthur, you've never been alone in this war. If have felt like that then perhaps you should open your eyes and look around. Look at all the people gathered to help." A smile pulled at my lips as I reached out to place a supportive hand on his shoulder. "You'll make it through this and you'll be the stronger for it." A particularly poignant quote worked itself into my mind and for some reason, I felt like Britain needed to hear it. "Look for the helpers, Arthur. Even in the worst of times, you can always find helpers. (2)" Before he could respond, I decided to take my leave for the evening.

I had some serious thinking to do.

America's voice stopped me before I reached the door. "Straight to your room, young lady. Don't get near Russia." Rolling my eyes, I continued for the hallway. "I'm serious, Shelly! Don't be hatin!"

"Goodnight, America!" There was a muffled reply before I shut the door to the infirmary.

A long day was finally drawing to a close. At least, that's what I thought until I happened upon a rather large shadow standing in front of the door to my bedroom. My heart rate sped up almost instantly at the realization of who was waiting for me. Russia was leaning lazily against the wall in the darkness of the hallway. Only the pale light from the window behind him gave some illumination to an otherwise dark space. When he heard my boots against the hardwoods, he turned and gave me the barest hint of a smile.

"Hello, Ivan."

"Hello, dushenka."

Still a little unnerved by the endearment, I stopped and looked him over. There didn't seem to be anything unusual about his presence—aside from the time of night and the lack of other people. That fact alone had my breath growing a bit shallower than before. My head shook to get rid of the illogical fear. Russia was hardly aiming to intimidate. In fact, he was doing everything he could to appear unintimidating. His pipe cane was not present. He was leaning against the wall, almost as if to lower his height. He was wearing that typical smile, but it seemed a little less fake than usual.

Moving slowly, I positioned myself at the opposite side of the hallway. I settled my cane on the wall and leaned back, crossing my arms as I did so. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong."

To show my skepticism, I merely stared at him. He stared right back. After a few moments, I realized that this was going to get us nowhere. It was best to clear the air before anything else. "Sorry for being blunt, Ivan, but I want to clarify a few things. I don't know what plans you have in store for me and I apologize for assuming the worst of you. That's not my intention. Just, if anyone had the means to abduct me, it would be you. I want to clarify that I would never divulge my secrets to anyone. Not even you."

A flicker of shock threw across his shadowed face before his smile became a bit colder. "You believe I would kidnap you then?"

Shrugging, I closed my eyes and leaned back. "I don't actually think that, no, but I know that you're desperate. You're in a lot of pain right now, too. I know that desperation can sometimes bring out the worst in people."

He dropped the smile altogether. "More than anyone, I know what desperation can do."

"I believe that," I nodded.

Russia considered me for a few moments. "You are not afraid?"

"I am," I answered honestly. "For a lot of reasons. I'm scared that I'll be taken again. I'm scared that I'll be alone. I'm scared that the timeline will change too much. I'm scared of something harming America. I'm scared of what's to come. I'm scared for Arthur and Matthew. For you. For China. For New York and the States. I'm scared for Italy and Hungary. And Germany. I'm scared that I'll never make it back home. That a normal life is nothing but a dream. I'm scared of a lot of things, Ivan. In the grand scheme of these things, you're not my greatest fear."

For a moment, the giant Nation seemed utterly stunned. His violet eyes (which almost seemed to glow in the darkness) were wide with surprise. Then, his shoulders rounded a bit and he lowered his gaze to the floor. "Dushenka, yes. That is what I will call you." I still didn't know what the word meant, but when he said it this time, he said it with more conviction. He pushed off the wall and stood at his full height. "I mean what I say before. I will find you a way to your home. And I will not take you from here, if that is not what you wish. I will only do that if you want." Russia looked at me for a few more seconds before turning on his heel to walk toward the stairs.

"Wait… so were you planning to abduct me?"

"Da. Of course I was!" He replied happily over his shoulder. "Now, I just happy to meeting you!" With that said, he disappeared down the stairs. "Sleep well, little one."

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."

Footnotes:

(1) The USS Kearny was a American Naval ship that was guarding a Canadian contingent when they came under fire. The eleven soldiers that lost their lives were the first US American miltiary deaths of World War II.

(2) This is a quote from Mr. Rogers.