Over the next few weeks, both Estonia and Finland had the same sensation of being watched. It seemed as though Sweden had somehow subdivided into two people, both of whom were always around to keep an eye on things. (Of course, given how much time Sweden usually spent working alone, it wasn't particularly hard for him to double his presence.) One moment he was "casually" mentioning Denmark and watching Estonia's face; the next, he was rummaging through the bathroom for "toothpaste." Both were left with the impression that he was only watching one of them, and paranoia made it clear to both which one it was. As a result, they preferred to seek safety in numbers, failing to notice the necessary split in Sweden's attention that would result from avoiding each other.

"Ha! Checkmate. I win again." Estonia triumphantly added another short stroke to the score sheet. (He'd started with long ones, but it'd been clear that they weren't going to fit.) "What's that, 50-something games in a row?"

"Yeah." Finland glanced at the hallway, where Sweden had been straightening a painting for the last half hour. ('Can't he just switch to something in here? At least then I wouldn't have to crane my neck. No, focus on Estonia. He'll get suspicious.') "How'd you get so good at chess, anyway?"

"Oh, Lithuania liked it a lot, and Latvia never had the patience to play with him." He shrugged. "I'm not crazy about it, but it passed the time." ('He's still watching me, isn't he? Finland probably only asked to – no, he wouldn't do that. If only I could just turn around and, and say… Just don't say anything stupid.')

"What about Russia?" ('Gah! Moron, quit bringing up Russia.')

"Oh, he liked playing. He was just kind of a sore loser." ('That counts as stupid.') "I mean, not to say that he was mean when he lost. He just… didn't like losing, is all."

"Yeah." Sweden's position hadn't changed, but Finland thought he could detect a slight stiffening of his shoulders. "I know what you mean." ('Why would I even say something like that?') "Anyway, want to play again?" Without waiting for his friend to answer, he started setting out the board, trying to ignore how strained his smile felt.

"Sure, why not?" He moved his first pawn, eyes straining desperately to look out of the back of his head. He could feel his attention slipping out into the hallway behind him, and he could think of only one conversation that would root it in the game. "So how'd you learn to play?"

"Oh, here and there. I played with a lot of different people when I was younger, and I still keep it up every now and then. England and France are both fair players, and they both like to compete."

"Ever play with Russia?" It was like a scab: even knowing it would hurt to pick at it, he was driven by an odd fascination.

"…Yes. Quite often, actually, when I worked for him. He had other servants, but he liked to play with as many different people as possible."

"Like you."

"I –I suppose you could say that." He awkwardly nudged a rook past his now undefended queen.

"You and Sweden play a lot?"

"Not really. We're both kind of busy." Neither dared look, and the odds that Sweden had actually turned around were low, but it suddenly felt as though he was staring directly at them. "I've been trying to teach Sealand, but he doesn't have the head for it."

"That kind of thing can be learned, can't it?"

"I suppose, but it's too much effort for most people to bother." He noticed an opportunity to take his opponent's bishop, and it wasn't until after the piece was at his side that he recognized the trap. His face a picture of glum neutrality, he watched three pieces fall in quick succession. Two moves later, his king was cornered.

He didn't know whether it was the irritation of losing again, frustration with the suspense, or something else entirely, but he looked up clearly at Sweden.

"Sweden, how long have you been there?" he asked cheerfully. The strong offensive seemed to have worked: Sweden seemed momentarily nonplussed.

"I'm fixing this picture. It's crooked."

"Still? Maybe we need a new hanging system."

"Maybe."

"In the meantime, how about taking a break and joining us? I know Estonia could use a better opponent than me."

"Sure." He firmly marched into the room and sat on the floor beside Finland. "You want to watch."

"Of course. Let me get a drink first, though. I'm parched." Sweden's only response was an acquiescing grunt.

'Ha! I'm out.' Resisting the urge to laugh at the sudden feeling of relief, he headed to the kitchen.

It wasn't until he'd started to pour himself something (having ignored labels in his relaxed state) that it occurred to him what being alone meant. Of course, it'd be risky, especially with the others only a room away, and he'd have to be careful about stains. But it was possible.

They had a butcher's block of knives as new-looking and spotless as anything else in the house. (Why they owned fourteen different kinds of knives when he'd only seen Sweden use three was anyone's guess.) He spared a thought to the possibility that Sweden could notice any stain, however microscopic, but dismissed it instantly. After all, that wouldn't explain why it hadn't been mentioned before now.

People always seemed to assume that the largest knife was the most tempting. In reality, it was the slim cleaner knife that caught his eye. It had an interesting curve in its tip that, as well as its cutting ability, provided an obstacle for juices running down to the handle. It wasn't annoyingly heavy, and it would be easy to control.

"Hey, Finland, where are you?" It was Estonia. "You gotten the drink yet?"

"Oh, yeah. Coming!" He grabbed the glass, still only filled halfway, and dashed back into the living room. ('I'll have to clean up those spills in the hall later.') He was panting slightly when he entered.

Both other nations looked up from their game, expressions shifting quickly from mild surprise to shock. ('Should've walked normally. This just makes me look weirder.') "Sorry it took me so long. I was just…" He trailed off, realizing that they were staring at the hand that wasn't holding the glass.

He was still holding the knife.

"Sit down," said Sweden ominously, "and give me that." Finland numbly handed it over and slowly seated himself. Sweden placed it as far from both of them as possible. He knew that when Sweden rolled up his sleeves, there wouldn't be any new scars, but it didn't matter. There was nothing in the kitchen to suggest any kind of food preparation, any kind of difficulty in opening bottles, anything other than the truth.

Sweden quietly finished his inspection and turned back to the game. Without taking his eyes off the board, Sweden reached up and stroked Finland's neck.

"Just relax," he muttered. "We'll talk about this later."