A/T: I cube, my college science fest, is this SATURDAY! Oh my fecking god, I'm so bloody hyped!

You guys—Adei, Scarlett, Em—have no idea what your reviews do to me. It gives me a bloody reason to laugh like a maniac. It gives me a reason to write. It gives me a reason to be proud of what I do—you guys have no idea what confidence you've instilled in me about my writing. I know I'm being bloody sentimental, but I saw the three of your reviews today, and I was like—I might be happy making others happy with what I do, but it makes me happier knowing what you think. It's being told you're worth it. Thanks, guys who read and who review and PM. I love you guys.

I finished reading Gamaran…EPICNESS. And I went on a rampage and downloaded 'Russia—Light my Heart', 'Paris is truly splendid', 'The land of the rising sun', 'Absolutely invincible British gentleman', 'Aiyaa Yonsennen' and China's Hatafutte Parade. All this on Sunday, and I've been mad since. And I'm in love with France—anything he says, he makes me melt. Like, right there—a dribbling mass of humanity. I swear, he's the first guy I've wished was real and mine. I love you, Francis Bonnefoy. Especially your Japanese voice.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

Claimer(?): My online besties and I totally own Random Questions.

My Friend Natalia

Chapter 26

"What's your favourite food?"

"My sister's food. Anything she cooks."

"Your turn."

"…The most painful thing that's happened to you."

"Kicked right there by my ex-ex-ex-girlfriend."

"Oh?" Nat said, jumping up in interest. "Who is this heroine?"

"One question that's supposed to be random," Al said starchily. "Okay, my turn. Painting or sketching—what do you love more?"

Nat blinked. "How do you know I draw?"

Al reached out, flicked a chunk of chicken from her plate and popped it in his mouth. "Mom. Dad. Everyone knows you draw. Now, answer question."

"It's like asking me whether I like one side of the coin or the other," Nat commented. "I get to sketch more than I do to paint."

"Do you carry your sketch pad everywhere?"

"Sometimes. Or a notepad and a pen."

"Can I see?"

"I don't have it with me now."

"No, not now. What about we…you know what? I'll swing by the restaurant tomorrow. I'll eat something for the sake of it—how about you get it then?"

She shrugged. "Fine. What's the girl's name?"

"Who"—he looked at her, arched an eyebrow. "You aren't going to give up, are you?"

"Answer."

"I hate myself."

"Wrong answer." Gods, but she was enjoying herself thoroughly. And he knew. And she enjoyed that, too.

"Why do you want to know?"

Honestly, she wanted to congratulate the girl, and then give her a big kiss bang on the mouth. "Exchange notes."

He groaned and lowered his head.

After the first time they'd gone for a pre-match dinner, he'd not eaten again, since he fought better on an empty stomach. When she'd asked him why he'd eaten the first time, he'd told her he didn't want her to eat alone. Touched, and slightly embarrassed, she'd muttered her thanks.

She couldn't believe that the carefree, obnoxious idiot she felt like chocking changed into the prowling, fast limbed predator that ruled the world inside the ring. She'd become a regular, so none of the other audience minded when she sat in the stack of hay and began sketching. She did have her sketching pad with her, but she didn't really want to show the object of her sketches her pictures—his ego would probably grow so much his head would blow up and his brains would splatter all over her. And she didn't want that at all.

Anyways…"Name her."

He was going to kill himself, by the looks of it, and Nat realized she'd never enjoyed random questions more.

"Boss?"

Alice looked up, and saw her secretary, Ms Churchill, standing at the door. "Yes?"

"Miss Wang is here."

Alice put down the document in hand, and got up. "Bring her in."

Ms Churchill left the room. Alice turned the chairs—after that initial time when they'd sat with a table between them, they'd never done it again—to face each other. She finished just as there was a knock. Alice didn't need to answer—Chun-Yan walked in, still in her work clothes—a traditional, long sleeved long top and a pair of slacks, faded and comfortable.

Alice gestured to the chairs, and Chun-Yan nodded. She closed the door behind her, and the two women sat opposite each other.

"What is it, aru?"

Alice dragged out a document from underneath the disorganized pile on her desk, and handed it to Chun-Yan. "For the past three weeks, I've been having certain…hindrances…occurring regularly, especially in the case of transport and storage." Chun-Yan continued to read the document, but Alice knew she was paying attention by the frown on her face. Chun-Yan rarely frowned. "Simply to say, we're having our trucks stopped, godowns burnt, our goods tampered with, our truck drivers threatened and our shipping employees kicked around. And there have been threats of burning us down. Tea?"

Chun-Yan jolted as her attention broke, and she saw Alice accepting the tea-tray from Ms Churchill. She poured out tea for both of them, and handed a cup to Chun-Yan, who accepted it, since it was perfectly normal for Alice to drop the death on someone, then hold it just because it was tea time.

Still, Chun-Yan knew better than to take long drafts of tea when Alice was talking.

"My men have figured out exactly who's done it. And I'm surprised that Ivan Braginsky would be doing such a thing."

Chun-Yan dropped the cup, but Alice caught it neatly and placed it to the side. Still, Chun-Yan picked it up, and held it in front of her with both hands.

Alice saw the defensive gesture. "I called you here, Chun-Yan, not because I assume that you're his keeper. I came here because you understand him better than anyone else. I'll probably say something that'll be unnecessary and detrimental to the business."

"You're furious, aru," Chun-Yan said softly.

Alice smiled, but the glint in her eyes scared even Chun-Yan. "Yes. I am. Very much, even. But threatening a man like Ivan goes nowhere."

"You want me to talk to him, aru."

Alice nodded. "His siblings' employment isn't in jeopardy—I know of Ivan's decision in keeping his siblings out of his business. I'll ignore this if it stops, no matter what be the losses. But more than anything else, Chun-Yan," she said as Chun-Yan opened her mouth to ask, "I want to know why he did it. And that isn't something I can ask him."

Chun-Yan nodded. "I understand." She tapped the file with a finger. "Can I keep this, aru? I want to read it thoroughly."

Alice gazed at Chun-Yan's face intently for long moments, and Chun-Yan suspected it was the only copy she had. Before she could ask, however, Alice said, "Burn it, if you want, once you're done reading it."

Chun-Yan was used to having Alice think ahead, way ahead, and nodded. She was going to burn it, because she couldn't think of having to keep anything hidden from Ivan.

"Is that all?"

"Fantastic job on the restaurant. If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd hidden a money-printing press in the kitchen instead of talented chefs." Chun-Yan rose, and as she reached the door, Alice called out, "The day isn't far when you buy the restaurant from me."

Chun-Yan grinned. "That's the plan, aru."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Chun-Yan nodded. "Goodbye, Mrs Bonnefoy."

"Goodbye, Miss Wang."

Alice sat back, contemplating what the hell was going on. She was Chun-Yan's confidante—she had always been—and she knew of Chun-Yan's anxiety concerning Ivan.

Which was why she hadn't gotten to destroying him already.

But if Chun-Yan said she'd do it, she'd do it. Alice would trust her with her entire empire on any given day.

Alice's phone rang, and she was jolted out of her thoughts. She took out her phone, and saw the caller. Deeming it impersonal enough to eat while talking—a rule she would never see broken by her son, at least in front of her, but thought it perfectly alright to do it with her son—she took a biscuit from the tea-tray. Besides, she didn't chomp as rudely as her son did.

"How may I help you?"

"Mom, do you mind if I borrow Natalia from your restaurant? For two, three days?"

"Son, you do not pinch away my employees. I'll have your business beheaded."

"That's why I said borrow, mom. I'll return her. Sharon's gone with her sons on a holiday, so I don't have my top artist in my team. And the Military's coming in another four days, by when we need to have the blueprints and designs drawn. Plus, Nat's drawings are awesome—she'll be an effing billionaire with her drawings alone. I know a few people who'll totally have her in their business"—

"Is that how you're convincing her to come, son?" she asked, noticing his restrain in using foul language with her. She didn't mind the occasional 'fuck', 'bastard', 'bloody', 'asshole'—she used them herself, quite a few times—but her son had made it a habit as an adolescent, and it was awful while getting him to speak without adding a curse after every other word.

"She's trying to get dad to disagree, but he saw her drawings, and he heard about the guys I want her to meet, and he's totally agreeing."

"Why not just get her the blueprints and"—

"Mom, you know Sharon. She's bloody obsessed over her instruments. If it's so much as moved from point A to point B without her permission, she blows her top. I sent her a few snaps of Nat's drawings, so she agreed. If I tell her I'm moving her stuff from Scottsdale to W City, she'll kill me—or worse. Besides, Nat refuses to hand over her sketch pad and her paintings, so I'll have to take her with me."

"Killing two birds with one stone, eh?" Alice murmured. "Three days, you said?"

"Yeah. Give and take."

"What's Nat saying?"

"She thinks I'm making a big fuss out of it."

Alice knew he had a tendency to do that, but Nat's drawings had a piece of her soul in each stroke, in each sketch. She could understand her refusal to give Al her drawings—Al's word was as good as gold, but he wouldn't probably care for it as much as Nat would.

"It's a good opportunity for her. Take her along."

"Awesome. Thanks, mom. She'll probably call you up and stuff, so just convince her, okay? Whatever you tell her gets through. And dad told me to tell you that grandmere's going to call in the afternoon or something—she called him up and ate his brains. You're married to a zombie, mom"—

"I don't care if I'm married to the very devil, Alfred, as long as he's Francis Bonnefoy."

"Yuck."

"Don't be childish, Alfred."

"Whatever, mom. Well, that's all. I need to skedaddle. See you."

"Bye, Al."

"Bye, mom."

She set the phone down, and even though it was just ten in the morning, she was steeling herself for the conversation with Maman, the Grand Lady Bonnefoy, Agatha Bonnefoy. The woman was crazy—she was probably from where Francis got his extreme flirtatious tendencies, and her quality of stubbornness far surpassed a mule. And she still continued to try and teach her daughter-in-law French—she'd speak in French, while Alice replied in crisply accented English, and it wasn't only on the phone. And she was probably the only mother-in-law who had an obsessive interest in Alice's bedroom life. She…she was probably the craziest, most hyper person Alice ever knew, even more that Elizabeta herself.

Mother-in-laws were an extraordinary breed of women.

"Mom agreed," Al said smugly, and at Nat's 'damn-it' expression, he laughed. "Oh, come on, Nat. It's not so bad—you'll get to draw your heart out, and that's awesome, right? Plus, you'll get to keep your own hours as long as you finish the work, and I'll be paying you twice of what dad pays you per day. Plus, there are a bunch of guys who'd probably kill for your stuff"—

"Whom?"

"I know a bunch of publishers and animators who'd want you to do covers and the likes. And there are galleries who'd put up your paintings"—

"Why?"

"Huh?" Al said, totally cut from his train of speech. "What do you mean…Nat," he said gently, reading the apprehension in her eyes. "Nat, that's what friends and well-wishers do—when I see your stuff, I want the entire world to see your stuff. Call me crazy, but it makes me proud to show your talent off—and you have talent, so don't shake your head, you crazy woman. It'll be an experience—mom will tell you the same thing if you talk to her. Do you"—

"No," she said. He was right—Mama Alice would be game, and tell Nat to go right ahead. Nat knew that Alice would've done that a very long time ago herself, but Alice was growing steadily and increasingly busy from the past years. But if she was perfectly okay with it, Nat didn't know how she could explain it to Mama Alice.

You can get to know whether he was involved or not.

That was the only reason why she was doing this. To confirm, and to keep him safe. Because…

She sighed resignedly. "Fine. I'll come. But when"—

She wanted to ask when they were going, how they were going, where would she say there, but all her million questions vanished into the heavily scented air of the diner when Al let out a gleeful yelp and hugged her all the way from the other end of the table. One hand found itself in his hair, the other arm curled around the entire expanse of his shoulders. She flinched, the nerves in her hand singing at the feel of his soft, full hair under her hand. Her hand could feel his warm body underneath the jacket, and her senses were filled by him. He smelled of mint, wood and an utterly knee-jellifying male scent, he felt warm and strong, and she was feeling fuzzy all over, from top to bottom and back to the top.

An unfamiliar emotion welled up in her, first slowly, then with such rapidity that she drew back abruptly, letting him go. He sat back down, and gruffly said, "Eat fast. We need to go."

Her whole body was blushing, it seemed. But when she sneaked a look at him, his entire face was red as well—and she didn't want to think about whether his body was flushed as well.

Sometimes, she thought as she shovelled food into her mouth, it was better to listen to him.

Nat was surprised at her brothers' and sister's reaction—and infuriated. They demanded to see all her paintings, and when she told them she couldn't bring all of them down and show them, they stormed up, led by Kat, and looked at all her paintings and sketches and artwork—except the ones she'd made of Al and Matt—those she'd managed to hide quite cleverly. Kat was so absolutely overjoyed she had tears in her eyes, and her brothers were stunned. Ravis hugged her and praised her work, Eduard just stood there, flummoxed, while Toris continued to drag out one painting after the other.

Nat just stood at the door, fingers crossed that they wouldn't find her sketchbooks, but she was really surprised at their reactions. For her, art had always been…there. She didn't know a time when she hadn't drawn something or the other. It was always there, in the background, discreet. Kat did notice it when Nat was a little girl, but after drowning in her depression, she hadn't a moment for anyone else. There was her…relationship with Ivan, and she'd never thought of showing her work to her younger brothers. She didn't know why. She just hadn't done it.

And watching them now…it just made her…

Happy.

"Where's Big Brother?" Nat asked suddenly. It was late, and Ivan would be back by then. Kat looked up, missing Nat's formal address of Ivan in her excitement, and said, "He's with Miss Wang. She told me he wouldn't be coming back tonight."

Nat smiled slyly when her sister went back to looking at her work, and hoped her brother was happy, at least with Miss Wang.

But she was quite far away from the truth.

"Where are your brothers and sister?"

"Doing the overnight shift for the restaurant, aru," Chun-Yan said. "I have something to say, aru, but I don't know how to say it."

Ivan smiled. "Something about me, da?"

She looked at him, frustrated and feeling defeated at the same time. How could he…Her loyalty towards Alice was unshakable—after everything Alice had done for her…she knew she couldn't expect him to have the same loyalty, but she just had to know why.

"Do you have a personal grudge against Alice Bonnefoy, aru?" she asked softly, as quietly as she could.

He looked at her, confused, but only for a second. His eyes hardened over, and her frustration grew, bubbling up like a sick man's bile. "What did she tell you?" he asked her, in the same, soft voice.

Chun-Yan shook her head. "Why you're doing it. She just wants to know why, aru."

"Chun-Yan"—

"Ivan, why are you doing it, aru?"

"Why did she put you up for this?"

"Because she's furious," Chun-Yan said, frustration edging her voice. "And she doesn't want to make an enemy of you or your family, aru. She doesn't want revenge or any such thing—she just wants answers, aru."

"Don't we all?" he whispered softly, and looked up at her. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Yes." When he opened his mouth, Chun-Yan spoke before he did. "I want to know why you did all that more than I want you to stop, aru."

"That I can't tell you"—

Chun-Yan swore long and loudly. The confines of the chair were too much for her; she pushed the chair back and began pacing. "If you—Ivan, I want to…" She calmed herself down. She refused to lose her cool in front of anyone, and bargaining with Ivan without her composure spelt disaster. "Tell me what's going on, aru."

"I can't tell you."

"Nothing at all, aru?"

He met her blank gaze with a cool one. "Nothing at all."

She walked to the window, sat on the projected sill, and curled up into a ball, her head between her knees. She began laughing at the incredulity of it all as a million thoughts ran through her head, growing more unpleasant as they occurred. Then, finally, she whispered, "I'm a fool, aru."

"Why?"

He was sitting right in front of her. She lowered her legs from in front of her face, and she looked at him. And before either of them knew it, she reached out, and placed her mouth on his.

Ivan made a tiny sound of surprise, quickly swallowed by her probing tongue. She ran her tongue in, engulfing his taste in greedy gulps. He drew her even closer until she was sitting in his lap, freeing the plaits in her hair as he tilted his head slightly, drew her lips into his mouth. His hand dove into her long, free hair, pressing her mouth hard to his as he dominated. The heat in her veins surged suddenly, pumping ferociously as she fought back for dominance, for her footing. But in the spiralling world of heat and lightning and him, she would always drown.

At least she wasn't coward enough to admit it to herself.

She pulled back, but Ivan recaptured her mouth. With a tiny moan, she drew back further, pushing him back with one hand. He was breathing heavily, so was she. His heart was beating a million times per minute underneath her hand, and she could hear her own beat hard in her ears.

Her hand inched up; her thumb brushed over his lower lip. "I trust you enough to sit on you, without a knife or a gun or anything, not even the walls around my heart, aru. But when the day comes, when you can sit before me without a weapon or a wall, you'll find a place in my heart there for you, aru. But until then, Ivan," she said regretfully, brushing the hair away from his eyes, "it's going to be painful for both of us, aru."

And neither of them had any idea exactly how painful it'd be.

"Let's go."

She nodded, and hefted her bag a little higher on her back. He'd asked her to carry two evening dresses, three changes of clothes—since he didn't know for sure whether it'd be three days or nearly a week—and her toilette. He told her they'd buy a formal suit later in Scottsdale, so she didn't have to panic. She walked to her Harley, got on, and pulled on her helmet. They'd decided to go on their bikes, since Nat didn't really like the idea of depending on anyone for transport, and because Al knew shortcut roads with picturesque views that he guaranteed would blow her away. Always game for long-distance biking, Nat had agreed.

She'd driven up to Al's home in the morning, having said goodbyes to her family earlier. They were actually quite happy, and except for Ivan, didn't suspect anything different about the whole thing. Al had been rushing around the house—she'd heard him from all the way outside. She'd come in, only to see him running from one room to another, toothbrush in mouth, pajamas halfway down, revealing his blue, white and red boxers. He didn't see her, but she'd seen him—quite a bit of him, too. She'd gone and helped Francis make breakfast for Alice and Al, and the routine that they'd adapted from working together in the restaurant soothed her nerves.

They'd served up food, and to spare herself from being stuffed in the mouth with Francis's cooking, she wandered around the house, and finally found herself in Matt's room.

Not knowing what to do, she'd stood there awhile, swallowing down the awful feeling that was bubbling up her throat, and then left the room.

By the time she'd come down, they were done eating, and Al was ready. And now, as the wind ruffled her leather jacket, they were on the road.

The main road was noisy and crowded, and Nat was grateful when Al lead the way into a side path that opened up to a well-laid stretch of road from where the sea could be seen—far off in the distance, but still visible. Nat loved going on long rides—it just let her lose herself to the wind, to the roaring engine pumping underneath her, to the black asphalt speeding away beneath her—to everything. It all appealed to her—the solitude, the peace of mind, and the calmness of riding on the road not taken.

Her peaceful meditation was broken when Al raised his hand. She recognized the signal as pulling over to the side, and raised her hand back in response. He cut to the side, and drove into the trees. Nat pulled her focus together, and followed him.

They parked their vehicles off the road, in between some bushes. Nat got off, took off her helmet and let it dangle from one handlebar. When she looked up, she saw Al standing by his bike, picnic hamper in his hand.

"We'll have lunch here, okay? It's gonna get quite a bit hotter now, so I thought we could rest for a while," Al said as she removed her bandanna. She used the bandanna as a hairband and tied up her hair, removed her jacket and stuffed it in her bag. She followed him, and he led her further into the woods. They came across a clearing, and Al dropped the hamper down on the grass. He removed his jacket and tied it around his waist, revealing his lean and muscular form. Nat looked away quickly, and looked at the surroundings.

It was a rather large clearing, making Nat wonder why they hadn't brought their bikes along. "Oi, Alfred, why couldn't we park here?"

"The path's too narrow to bring the bikes—don't worry, the bikes are hidden quite well."

She clasped her hands behind her, and stretched as she looked around. It was nice, shady and quiet—and Nat could see the sea from this height. She inched closer towards the edge closer to the sea, startled suddenly when she felt Al coming up behind her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured, looking out.

She nodded, looking away. It was afternoon, and the farms that stretched below them were quiet and peaceful. There was a field of sunflowers, their yellow heads mirroring the afternoon sun. The hills beyond rolled gentle and green, and the blue, glittering sea peeked in between the mounds of the hills. The sun wasn't too harsh, and the whole place just seemed…alive.

"Let's eat here," he whispered, his voice flowing into her ears, the words accentuated by the lack of artificial noise in the surroundings. She didn't know whether it was the view, or the golden colour the sun lent to all underneath it, or the breeze that carried his voice to her, but at that time, there was nothing as mesmerizing as the play of his voice with the soft wind. She turned, and saw him already sitting. He held out his hand; she placed it in his, and sat. They ate the fare Francis had made for them the previous night—chicken soup, still hot, freshly baked bread with cheese spread liberally, the crepes Al had had for breakfast, ratatouille, and strawberry tarts. For a while they spoke about what Nat would do upon reaching Scottsdale, but conversation died out quickly, and they just stared, wrapped by the peace that seemed to emanate from the very soil.

"Nat."

She turned around, looked at him. His golden hair was on fire, his blue eyes smouldered, and the air buzzed with hidden tension. He raised his hand, brushed aside a crumb of the strawberry crust from her, and she found herself unable to move.

"I want to kiss you, Nat. Can I?"

She blinked at him, uncomprehending, his words coming from too far away. A roaring sound grew in between her ears, and heat spiralled dangerously in her stomach.

I want to kiss you, Nat.

She stared at him, and realization grew within her as well. She looked into his eyes—they burned and, yet, were serious.

He means it.

She snapped the silence around them with a long, loud curse, and closed the space between them.

A/T: I-cube was yesterday, and…it was anticlimactic. It built up so well, and then…they had to go screw up in announcing the results of the winners of the overall I-cube. They called school A as the winners of I-cube and school B as runner ups, and then corrected it a few moments later by announcing School B as the winners and school A as the runners up, whereas the actual results were that School A won and School C were the runners up—School B weren't even there on the list. We felt like such jackasses…after everything we'd done for the past two months, they had to ruin the whole thing by screwing up with the announcements.

Well, I guess this is going to stretch to an extra chappie…I was planning to wrap it up in this chapter, but I have a seven-day week this week—which means I have school the coming Sunday till 5:30 in the fecking evening. If you guys don't get a chappie next week, it's because I'm dead due to exhaustion. I'll try to do what I can do, but I'll work on it whenever I can.

If you liked it even a little, I'll be happy.

Love,

R. K. Iris.