After three days, Ivan returned. He smoothly landed the helicopter in the middle of the snow. Having to use it so much, he was one of the best pilots, flying in snow storms and much else. Today, however, there was not even snow fall.

The first place he went was Alfred's room, as always. The blond was reading on the bed, a sorrowful look on his face. "So? How did you enjoy my present?"

Looking up from his book, America mumbled quietly, "I didn't use it," before looking back to the novel. After all that had happened, being left alone for three days had only given him more time to think about everything, and it wasn't a good thing. He was even more confused about his feelings toward the Russian, and had no idea what to do about it.

"Well that's not nice." He went to sit on the bed. "So, did you cremate him, too?"

Alfred flinched slightly as Ivan sat down, but quickly relaxed. "No." He continued mumbling, unable to meet his eyes. How was he supposed to act around him now?

Leaning in to see what book America was reading, Ivan cocked his head slightly. "Well what did you do with the body? The ground is frozen, so you couldn't have buried him."

"Nothing." He stated simply, still keeping his eyes locked on the book. "I just left it." He really should have felt worse about it, but at the moment he could only concentrate on the fact that Russia was sitting on his bed and not making a move to do anything. It had been a while since they had done anything; was killing Eduard enough for him for a while? All America knew was that his heart started beating fast from fear mixed with arousal.

"Well that's not very nice. Just leaving him behind the house like that to freeze." He gave a small laugh, mouth curling into a half-smile. "Maybe you have a little sadism in you, after all."

Instead of fighting back, Alfred just tried to ignore both Ivan's comment and his presence by reading. It wasn't a very interesting book to begin with, but it was helping him somewhat forget just how awkward he was feeling at the moment. A light blush made it's way onto his face as Russia continued to just sit there, watching him with smiling eyes.

"Well, now the water is probably frozen, and you will have a more difficult time getting it out." Russia raised his eyebrow, making sure that his idiot of a lover understood exactly what he meant.

America stood up, the blood in his face drained slowly. How was he going to get the body out now that it was frozen in the cauldron? America was going to have to melt the water with some more firewood and such. And what was the point anyways? He wasn't going to be able to cremate it like the others since it was wet, so what could he do? Did Russia expect him to do the impossible?

"Well, you should be able to find dry firewood upstairs in the room with the fireplace. There are also some matches there." He stood up, going to the door. "Have fun. Dinner will be in about an hour."

Watching as Ivan left, Alfred stood still for a second before leaving his room and going to the room he mentioned. He had hoped he wouldn't need too much firewood so that he wouldn't have to take too many trips, but he was prepared to do so if it was to follow Russia's order.

Grabbing as much as he could from the room, he then made his way down the stairs to the back door and placed the logs around the cauldron. It was completely frozen over, and America was glad that it wasn't possible to see the body in it yet. He decided that it would be better to have more wood, so he made one more trip before trying to get the fire started. It took him three matches before the small flame stayed, slowly engulfing the rest of the firewood.

It took a few minutes before America could tell that it was actually melting the ice inside. With the fire rapidly eating away at it's fuel, he made another trip back to the house; barely thinking about what he was going to do once it was melted.

Once he was back outside, putting the wood on the growing fire, Alfred noticed that the water was mostly thawed and that he could now get the body out. The reason why he had left it in the first place was not because he didn't want to deal with it, but more because he was the one to physically kill him. It wasn't like with Lithuania that Russia killed him because of his choice. With Estonia, he had to physically kill him by putting him in the cauldron. That was why he felt so put off with taking care of the corpse.

After taking a deep breath, America then tried pushing against the iron pot to tip it over enough to get the water and hopefully the body out. He only succeeded in getting a bit out, but that little bit made it easier to push it over more to eventually get the corpse of Eduard out.

Because of the water from the pot, the fire had mostly died out; leaving the body on top of a rapidly disappearing flame. He figured that if he let it dry out on the fire for a bit, then it would eventually be able to burn, but it was going to take a while. And on top of all that, he had to be able to keep the fire going after almost dousing the entire thing out.

All but running back and forth to get more fuel for the fire, he eventually got the fire back to a roaring blaze; drying out the body and watching as it started to burn. It wasn't nearly as instantaneous as Toris or Raivis' was, but they weren't in water for a few days before hand like he was.

Once there were only bones left, America let himself go back in the house, hoping that Ivan wouldn't be upset with him for how long it took. Looking into the kitchen he saw Russia just standing there, looking intimidating.

"You know, for one so spoilt, you would think that you would want your dinner while it is hot." Russia said, putting Alfred's plate on the table. It was about an hour old, the heat long-since gone from it.

"Sorry." He murmured, going over to the table and sitting down in front of the plate. Looking up at Russia expectantly, he waited for his nod before he started eating passively. America wasn't too hungry after what he just did, but he knew that he had to eat or else starve. Sure Ivan always fed him, but there were some times when he disobeyed him or did something wrong when he wasn't able to eat.

"Well, since I ate my food when it was warm, there is no reason to stay here. You can clean your own dishes, can't you?" He stood up and walked away, towards the stairs, not looking back. The cool marble under his fingers for the hand railing felt nice.

As Russia went upstairs, Alfred continued to eat slowly. Once he was finished the simple, cold meal, he got up from the table and brought his dishes to the sink. Ivan had told him to wash them himself, so he did so; filling the sink with warm soapy water then washing them methodically. Finished with them, he dried them and put them away after tidying up the rest of the kitchen.

Then, he started to make his way up the stairs to his room. On the way, he couldn't help but think about just how strange Ivan had been since Estonia died. Was he upset that Alfred made him kill him? Now that he was gone, Russia would have to get another person to torture, or finally just torture him. Would he even do that? It seemed like he was pretty against physical torture now that he knew that Alfred still cared about him, but now would he change his mind? He just hoped that he wouldn't be too distant for much longer.

.oOo.

Russia's murderous thoughts started about three weeks later.

If he saw the blond anywhere near water, the thought that people could drown in an inch of water would pop into his mind. If America was leaning on a pillow, he would think of gently squeezing the life out of him with that same pillow. Even if Alfred wasn't around, visions of soaking in his blood would float in front of his sight, the gruesome picture almost seeming to hang in thin air.

The steady click of the knife on the cutting board rang around the room. Of course, the thought of throwing it at America's left eye had been playing around in Ivan's head for a while. Because he was distracted, the knife slipped and cut his finger.

Alfred had been sitting at the table, idly watching Russia make dinner as he all of a sudden stopped and looked down at his hand. Concerned, he got up to see what had happened, and saw a small pool of blood forming near his finger on the cutting board. "What happened?" He asked, even though he already knew the answer. It had seemed like the longer since Estonia died, the more distracted Ivan got when he was in the same room as him. He had no idea why, but he knew he didn't like it.

"Nothing." Russia licked the blood off his finger and continued chopping, being careful to not touch the food with his wounded finger. He tried not to think about how close Alfred's neck was, and how easily the knife would slip in there, sending blood raining around the room. And of course he wasn't thinking about how his fingers would look drenched in that blood, or how America's head would look if he suddenly twisted it to the side until he heard that satisfying crack...

Suddenly his hand was being taken lightly into Alfred's, his eyes looking intently at the cut.

"Here," he murmured, looking around a bit before grabbing some paper towel. Wrapping it around the wounded finger, he raised it to be level with Ivan's chest and then grabbed his other hand; making him hold onto it. "Keep it above your heart and apply pressure. I'll be back with a bandage." And with that, Alfred all but ran up the stairs to the medical room, intent on doing just that.

For a second, Ivan watched America's retreating back. Then he shrugged, sweeping the chopped up carrots into a pot. He continued making the dinner, almost smiling when he started thinking about how many different poisons he could slip into Alfred's stew without him noticing the taste or smell, and die relatively quickly.

When he got back to the kitchen with the bandage, he stood still for a moment, watching Russia cook before he intervened. "What are you doing? You're going to bleed more." America went up to Ivan and grabbed his hand again, noticing that the only thing keeping the papertowel on was his own blood. He removed it slowly, making sure not to hurt Russia any more than he had to and carefully put the bandage on, making sure that it covered all of the cut. "Does it hurt?" Alfred asked quietly; his face dusted lightly with pink.

"It isn't too bad." He said, not looking at America. Because if he looked at him, he would surely see one of the pressure points that he could use to kill him with one hit. "It's not like I cut it off or something."

"But still..." He mumbled. It was becoming progressively more awkward to be around the Russian, but he couldn't help it. Ivan hadn't done anything with him except for meals for a while, and he was a bit nervous that he was starting to not care for him. Was it possible? After all, he sometimes looked at him with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Why was it?

Even with it, Alfred figured that if he was to spend more time with him, maybe he wouldn't be so awkward around him. It didn't seem if he was going to initiate anything, so he was going to have to take it upon himself. "Russia..." He started, letting go of his hand, "can I sleep with you tonight? Just beside you, I mean..."

"No." One firm word that made it impossible for any further discussion. How could he possibly stop himself when America was sleeping right beside him, completely unaware of the world around him, making it extremely easy to kill him any way he pleased? If he wanted, he could go get some electrical leads from downstairs and hook it up to kill him by electricity. Alfred wouldn't know anything! It wouldn't be a good situation. "I'm not hungry. Eat by yourself." Of course, Russia wasn't hungry because he had eaten something before making America's food.

"Ok." America said, nodding his head slowly. He was a bit disappointed he wouldn't be able to sleep in Ivan's bed, but he hadn't really thought just asking would work. After all, he was much more distant than he had been for a while, and it did make Alfred confused. Just why was he staying away from him?