Already at chapter eight, this story is moving quite quickly! I have twenty-four chapters planned out, so we are about a third of the way through. So, really fast, some context for this chapter. The last thing we know happened in chapter 7 was Gilbert having another episode and feeling like he was being pulled away from reality. This chapter is what he experiences as a result of this, so, each day is a flashback from his past. I really rather like this chapter so I hope you enjoy! Also please review! Do people like this story? Should I keep going?
Chapter 8: My Love
Sunday, October 27th, 1991: 59 Days left until Christmas
Birds softly sing around me. Leaves rustle in the gentle summer wind. It's warm outside but quite pleasant in the shade. I avoid the sun like the plague, naturally, so my ideal afternoon is spent lying under a tree and breathing in the fresh air.
When I open my eyes all I can see is the large branches of the tree, leaves spread out enough to almost block out the light of the sun. I turn my head to the left and am met with the most beautiful man I've ever laid my eyes on.
He turns to look at me and smiles, sky blue eyes glistening with mirth, plush pink lips curved.
"How long before they start looking for us?" He asks, voice deep and smooth.
"Psshh, it wouldn't surprise me if prissy pants began looking for you right when you left his sight." I answer.
Wolfgang laughs a bit before sitting up, his long blonde hair cascading over his shoulders as he does so. I watch his eyes trail down my body and I'm immediately set on fire. Sometimes I hate the way I react to him. It makes it harder to stay away, harder to do what's right. But dammit do I love him.
He crawls over to me and straddles my hips, causing me to lick my lips expectantly.
"I wish I could have married you." He whispers while cupping my cheek.
"You could have." I respond.
"I didn't have a choice, you know that. . . His king is my emperor, he has the Habsburgs, he's Catholic. . . They'd have my head if I married you."
". . . Don't you ever wish we were human?" I ask sadly.
"Even then we couldn't be together, you know how humans feel about our kind of relationship."
"Must you always be so negative. . ." I say while looking away. His hand hooks under my chin and gently turns my head so that I'm looking at him again.
"I love how hopeful you are, my love. No matter who I'm married to, or what side of the war we're on, I will always love you more than I have ever loved anything. If this life could be different I'd change it in a heartbeat." He leans down and places his lips on mine and I accept, opening my lips and deepening our connection.
We start off slow and passionate before getting more and more desperate as time moves on. Times like this are rare for us now, which makes it that much more special. Sometimes I'll go two or three years without feeling his touch.
Maybe every couple of months I'll get an arm touch here, a hand on the back there, a quick kiss in the corridor, a squeeze of my thigh at dinner, and if we're lucky, something quick and fast that usually only finishes one of us.
Of course my love for him is more than lust. I've loved him long before I even knew what sex was, and before the end to my chastity. The emotions I feel for him are so powerful and raw I can hardly explain it. I'd give my life for him, I'd leave my nationhood for him.
Sometimes it feels one-way.
That's what hurts the most.
"Your eyes are so beautiful." He says while tracing his thumb down my lips. I open my mouth and he pushes his thumb in. My eyes are wide as I look up at him, gently sucking. He bites his lip and gives me a rather desperate look.
"You have no idea how much I want your pretty mouth on me." He pulls his hand away and returns his lips to mine, gently kissing me while trailing his right hand down my chest and stomach, down past my hips.
A gasp leaves me as he begins to massage my cock over my pants. In a matter of minutes he has me writhing, moaning, and close to the edge. He keeps his lips on mine to quiet me down, as I get rather loud during acts like this.
I can feel that bubbling in my stomach and groin, warming up and tightening, bringing me closer and closer. Just a few more pumps of his hand and. . .
"Oh! My heavens!"
Startled, we both jump a bit, his arms tighten around me as if to shield and protect me.
"Roderich?" He says, eyes wide.
"What the hell are you two doing? Out here no less!" Austria lectures, look of disbelief on his face. Silently we pull apart. I stand and shamefully look down at the ground, willing my excitement to die down. Wolfgang approaches Roderich.
"Austria, I can expl-" Holy Rome begins.
"I don't want to hear whatever excuse you have in mind. Could you imagine the consequences of a passing human seeing you two like that? A noble no less? Go back to the manor and wait for me there." Austria says sternly. This makes Holy Rome furrow his eyebrows a bit, as he despises being told what to do.
"We would not have been seen, and what I do on my own time is none of your business, Austria."
"It is my business, we are wed and share an empire. What ever ignoble and shameful acts you do reflect upon me."
Holy Rome scoffs at this.
"Shameful, ignoble, sinful, you know that you want me in the same way."
Austria's eyes narrow and he slaps Wolfgang across the face. My eyes widen in shock and so do Holy Rome's.
"I am tired of this entitled, cocky attitude, Wolfgang. Get the fuck up and go to the manor, lest I speak with our leader about your infedility with an insignificant protestant kingdom!" Austria's voice is laced with malice as he speaks.
Holy Rome glances at me before hesitantly obeying and walking away. Once he's out of sight, Austria turns his sights on me.
"You hypocritical whore." He says, slowly approaching me.
"A-Austria," I stutter out while putting my hands up and slowly backing away, "it's true, I have no excuses for my actions. I know I shouldn't, I'm sorry."
"Your apology means nothing to me, Prussia. You don't mean it."
"What do you want me to do?" I offer, his intense glare making me nervous.
"Oh, I don't know, the Christian thing to do. Stop seducing my husband."
"I don't seduce him, he loves me."
"You can't honestly believe that!," he says with laughter, "he only wants you because you're forbidden. Before, you were this little innocent nation who had taken an oath of chastity that he wanted to break. And now, he's married. You'll never be the center of his love, only of his lust."
His words cut deep, right into my greatest insecurity. I'm speechless and backed into the tree, watching him approach me until he stands right before me. "I've never liked you. You always thought you were so high and holy, now look at you. You've turned in your priesthood for adultery and sordid desire. How pathetic." He ends his abusive statement by kneeing me quite hard in between my legs. Immediately I fall to the ground with a groan. "If I ever catch you two again, I'll castrate you." He practically growls before turning around and leaving me alone to hold myself and whimper at the pain.
October 28th, 1991
I'm hopelessly out of breath, gasping with my face in the snow.
"I bet if you took all your clothes off you'd completely blend in." Denmark jokes from above me.
"I bet you'd like that." I manage, pushing myself up into a sitting position. He laughs and extends a hand out to me.
"I would, very much so. But this is about your endurance and man, you suck." He says while helping me stand up.
"What did you expect? You are on a horse, I'm supposed to out run that?"
"Yes, or at the very least find a way to escape. If Sweden is pursuing you on horseback, how are you going to out maneuver him?"
"Take off my clothes and blend into the snow." I joke. He laughs again and gives me a powerful pat on the back.
"Holy Rome never told me you were funny. Let's get back to camp."
He mounts his horse then pats the space in front of him. I roll my eyes.
"I'd rather walk."
"Suit yourself, snow bunny." He gives me a wink before riding off toward the camp. I smile to myself and head the same direction.
By the time I reach the outskirts of the camp, the sun has fully dipped down underneath the horizon. The moonlight is dim but I've never had a problem with seeing in the dark. As I walk through the camp I notice a man standing out by the fire. Curious, I approach him and eventually identify him as the Russian Empire.
"Beautiful night." I say.
"It is." He answers simply.
"How's your arm?" I ask, looking at the sling around his right arm.
"A little sore. Should be better by tomorrow."
"That's a little optimistic, don't you think?"
"Little optimism never hurt anyone." He says with a smile. I smile back and give him a soft pat on the back.
"Have a good night." I say while walking toward Denmark's tent.
"You as well."
"Took you long enough." Denmark comments as I walk in.
"Not everyone has the privilege to make a horse do all their work."
"Hmm, I don't make him do all my work." He says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. I laugh and he kisses my cheek.
"We should really get some rest."
He lets me go and plops down onto the makeshift bed.
"I can't get rest with you here."
"Stop that, we have an important battle tomorrow. We might even have the chance to finally turn this around." I end on a serious note, causing him to sit up and sigh.
"I know, I'm nervous."
"You shouldn't be, we've been training for months for this. Even if he beats us we will be ready again in no time."
"It's not the prospect of fighting Sweden that has me nervous. . . It's the possibility of seeing Norway again. What if he has her fighting? I couldn't hurt her, even if she was trying to kill me, I wouldn't lay a hand on her." I sit down next to him and place a comforting hand on his knee. "How did you do it? Fight someone you love?" He asks.
"It's not easy but. . . When you're out there and the fight means your freedom or the subjugation of your people you'd be surprised how hard your punches can land."
His look turns sympathetic and he pulls me into a hug.
"I'm so sorry you had to do that. . . But you're here now. Fuck Austria and the Holy Roman Empire, we're your family now."
October 29th, 1991
It's so quiet in the morning, early, before the sun peaks over the tall mountains. A soft wind blows to the east, rustling a few leaves and cooling the air. My eyes remain locked onto the forest floor below me, as I placed myself in one of the smaller trees to get a better range. With no sun and no moon eliminating the sky and the trees blocking any light from the manor, the interior of this little plot of forest is practically pitch black. But I have a knack for seeing in the dark. Unlike my prey.
His eyes are light blue, not as hardy as brown eyes and definitely not as special as mine. He must rely on sound and smell only. I would include touch, but by the time he is close enough to touch me he will be done for.
I will admit, he has gotten a lot better at watching where he steps. The light rustling of leaves from the wind is throwing me off. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Perhaps he is standing west of me. . . No. . . Clever boy. This will be harder than I thought.
I can't be too hasty, or too impatient, however the night is my advantage. Once the sun begins shining over the mountains, I will have the disadvantage, as I'm extremely photophobic. I'd guess that I have about an hour or two left of complete darkness. If I'm going to catch him, now is the time.
Quietly, I descend from the tree and softly place myself on the ground. Scanning the forest vigilantly, I slowly move about the terrain in an arc shape. If I can get him to stand west of me, I'll be able to pinpoint where he is due to the wind.
As I make my little arc, a heavy rustling catches my attention. I look to the left and notice a large stick settling on the ground. My mistake. I can hardly turn to the right fast enough to face what will be coming at me.
Nothing.
Perhaps an animal moved the stick, I think for only a millisecond before an overwhelming feeling of danger floods my body. Clever boy.
An arm wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground, a hand comes up to my mouth to silence me. Not that anyone would hear my screams anyway. I try to fight but it's futile. I'm not even touching the ground, I can't use anything to help me.
My heart is pounding from the utter surprise. I'm proud, but also shocked.
I'm rudely dropped to the forest floor and I fall ungracefully, as I wasn't expecting it. The air is knocked out of me right when the sun begins to peak over the mountains. By the time I can breathe again I'm being straddled with my wrists pinned.
"And you're dead." He says to me, light blue eyes looking down at me.
"Well it's about damn time." I answer, regaining my composure, "We've been doing this exercise for how many decades and this is your first time catching me?" I tease.
"Is that your weird way of telling me you're proud? You can't honestly be surprised that the great Empire of Germany got the better of you." He says while letting go of my wrists and sitting back on me.
"I am proud. With a teacher like me you were bound to reach awesome levels of skill. . . Now get off of me, you're heavy." I say while lightly pushing him. He just smiles at me.
"And what if I say no? Will you actually be able to move me?" He teases.
"Yes, I would be, and you wouldn't like it so I suggest you move." I threaten.
"Oh really? I'd like to see you try."
"Stubborn as ever." I comment while giving his chest a firm push. He almost loses his balance and ends up on all fours over me. I use the gap between our bodies to bend my left knee and place it on his stomach. His eyes widen a bit at his sensitive position and moves off of me before I can hurt him. He rolls onto his back next to me and laughs.
"Okay, okay, I got the message." He says.
"I warned you." I laugh.
I take a deep breath and stare up at the trees, watching the sun slowly illuminate the sky. Germany props himself up on one elbow and looks at me. I turn my head to look at him.
"What?" I ask, noticing his look has changed. He's given me this look before, but I've always brushed it off or looked away. It makes me nervous, honestly. Holy Rome used to look at me like that.
He answers me by gently cupping my cheek and the pounding in my chest has returned. Leaning forward, he places his lips on mine and my eyes widen considerably. What do I do? What do I do?
I let him kiss me, and for a moment I allow myself to enjoy it. But I can't help but feel this isn't right. I practically raised this kid, not to mention he can't be any older than physically sixteen. I think about all the times Holy Rome used his position of power over me in less than innocent ways, and the last thing I want to be like is him. But Germany kissed me, I didn't start any of this. He's the one who gives me those looks, and tries to kiss and touch me, not the other way around. . . Still, I probably shouldn't let this happen. . . He should explore these feelings with nations closer to his physical age like Italy or Czechia, or even Slovakia or Romania if he prefers boys. . . We all live in the same manor, It's not like I'm the only other person that he can explore this with. . .Maybe if he was older and I wasn't the first, I'd revisit the possibility of a romantic relationship between us but. . . Not now.
I push him away and give him an incredulous look. He immediately blushes and looks down.
"I am not the person to be doing that to." Is all I can manage.
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. . ." He says meekly.
"I know you're getting older, and probably feeling certain things. . . I don't mind you exploring that, it's healthy to do so, just not with me. Our relationship is closest to that of student and teacher, father and son if you prefer."
He nods but still won't look at me. This will probably be awkward for a little while.
"There are four other nations your age in that manor, I'm sure that you like at least one of them." I reassure. He nods again, still looking down.
I stand up and so does he.
I think I handled that well.
October 30th, 1991
I try to put weight on my left leg but it crumbles immediately, pain erupting up my body and causing me to hold onto the wall. I was walking back from the bathroom when I ran into the Soviet Union. He abused me verbally for some time, but got irritated when I just threw it back at him. He resorted to something I could never match him in, physical strength, and perhaps broke my ankle.
I'm trying to limp back to my holding cell that the allies so graciously left insecure enough for me to escape. . . The pain is great.
"Ah." I wince as I take another step.
"Do you need help?"
I turn and see Canada standing there, young eyes looking at me brightly.
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you." I manage in shitty English.
"Okay. Let's walk back, shall we?" He says, gesturing for me to keep walking. I sigh and look forward, steeling myself to pretend like nothing is wrong. I take a step and bite my lip, only limping slightly as we walk.
"Did someone let you out?" He asks.
"I found one." I admit.
"Hm." He comments.
Each new step brings me greater pain, searing hot sensations, weak footings. I've never been able to handle pain well.
"Ahh." I moan before losing the strength in my leg. He catches me, and I push him away.
"Don't touch me." I say breathlessly.
"Would you have liked to fall to the ground?" He asks.
"I'm fine."
"Clearly you're not. I'm not here to hurt you, nor tease you about your circumstances. I am here to help those who are injured, that is my job. I had plenty of chances to do what I wanted with you when Russia brought you back from Berlin, and all I did was bring you back from the brink of death. Let me help you."
I sigh.
"Fine." I give in.
He helps me walk into the infirmary and sits me down on a bed. I look around and notice it is completely empty.
"Where is everyone?" I ask while he kneels down in front of me.
"Transferred. The war is over so now we have to try and get everyone home. . . Not really an easy feat." He says while lifting up my pant leg. I look down and see that my ankle is already swollen and purple. "What did you do?"
"I fell." I lie. He gives me a quizzical look but ends up getting to work on my ankle, no further questions asked. He gently wraps my leg and I stare at his face. He's young, like Germany, maybe around eighteen or nineteen. He's very attractive, which comes at no surprise since he took after France. He would have fit in very well at the Versailles court. He looks up at me then quickly looks back down, blush spreading across his face. This causes me to smirk.
"How old are you?" I ask.
"Physically? Or really?"
"Both."
"Uh. Seventeen and two hundred and forty-seven."
"How old is your brother?"
"Twenty physically and the same as me really."
"Why are you younger, if you are the same?" I ask.
"I. . . I'm still under the Empire. . . How old are you?" He asks, probably to get the focus off of him.
"Twenty-seven, and seven hundred and fifty." I say, trying not to cringe at how bad my accent is.
"Wow." He comments, smiling a bit.
"You're awfully cute." I say in a bid to fluster him. His blush deepens and he looks back down at my ankle.
"Th-thanks. ."
I take off my coat and place it next to me on the bed. If I really want to flirt with this young North American nation I probably shouldn't do it with a bunch of Nazi symbolism all over me. Not that it doesn't make me a Nazi anymore but. . .
I have this ability I want to use on him. To make it work he needs to look at me.
"America said that I had brown eyes. . . Is that true?" I ask. He looks up into my eyes and before he can tell me that they are not brown he gets lost in them. I've had this ability for almost as long as I can remember, and now after many centuries of using it I can get even the strongest of wills to bend to mine. He remains kneeled in front of me, in a hypnotic like trance, as I search his eyes. There is a lot to them. I see joy, peace, knowledge, empathy. . . But there is something else. A great sadness behind it all. . . There is so much anguish, depressive episodes, heartbreak, loneliness. . .
My eyes begin to water as I feel what he feels. I am incredibly interested in him. . . It would seem that I have only hypnotized myself.
I look away, breaking the trance. He blinks a few times, a bit disorientated.
"There is a lot more to you than this, huh?" I ask.
"Um. . . I suppose." He answers while standing up. I stand as well, using only my right leg. He's a bit taller than me but I can still easily place my lips onto his. He accepts immediately and before I know it we are lying back on the bed, intertwined with one another. Normally, I'd want to straddle him and pin his wrists down, show him that I have this reputation for naught. But, considering our situation, I think it would be better for me not to do that. And besides, the way his lips on my neck and his hand on my hip feel I'm not sure I could.
He pulls me closer to him and I shudder in his embrace, barely registering any coherent thought as his mouth devastates my throat. I suppose he got his mother's talent for knowing exactly what to do to other peoples bodies.
I'm trying to think about what 'bruise' is in English, but I have no idea. It's probably too late to tell him I bruise easy anyway, I bet I already have a few.
Reaching down in between us, I grasp his cock through his pants, causing him to gasp against my neck. A smirk marks my face as I notice how sensitive he is to my touch, rolling his hips, arching his back.
"I wish I was this sensitive." I comment in a teasing manner.
"I achieve it through lack of human contact." He answers, voice airy. "People tend to forget that I-I exist."
I take my hand away from him and sit up.
"How could they?" I ask.
"I don't know. . . I'm quiet, far-away." He offers.
"I'd never forget you." I say. A little cheesy, sure, but the smile on his face makes it worth it. He pulls me back down and kisses me again, this time with a lot more vigor.
October 31st, 1991
I can't stop shivering. No matter how tired my muscles get, they refuse to stop shaking, refuse to relax so I could at least get some sleep. The grass is cold and wet underneath me and my skin has long exploded in goose bumps.
As the sun rises I guess that I'll be plunged into full sunlight in less than thirty minutes. I'm excited to feel the warmth on my skin, but I know that just fifteen minutes in direct sunlight will start to burn me.
Of course the reasonable response to this would be to get up and move into the shade, or go inside, but I am unable to do that. My wrists are bound tightly together above my head and held into place by a peg that was stuck deep into the ground. Each ankle has the same treatment, spreading my legs a bit and holding them down. . .
The worst part about this is they took all of my clothes, so nothing except for my back will be safe from the heinous rays of the sun. Of course they did this on purpose. And honestly, I don't blame them.
I was outside getting water from one of the wells when some of the other Eastern European countries stuck here jumped me. I recognized Poland but I honestly couldn't place any of the others. Not that it matters, I know they all despise me.
Warmth begins to spread on my legs as the sunlight slowly crawls up my body. Once it reaches my face I close my eyes and groan. I'm extremely photophobic.
The rays feel really good for a couple of minutes, warming up my cold body and soothing my sore muscles. Yet, perhaps about twenty minutes or so in the light, I can feel my skin beginning to burn and tingle. I'm unsure of what to do. How long will they leave me out here? I can get severely burned. . . Die, even. But can I really blame them? Their hatred toward me is justified. . . Reasonable.
I shift and pull on my restraints with no luck. The sunlight burns practically every inch of my body, and the pain starts to mess with me.
"Ahh, fuck." I moan in pain.
My face is shaded from the light and I cautiously open my eyes, finding Lithuania standing next to me.
"They're getting real creative." He comments.
"Yeah. . . This one is rather painful, though." I say through clenched teeth.
"Serves you right."
"I know. . ." I sigh out.
"You're starting to get really red. . . Geez, they could have at least put something over your lap, how cruel." I'm not sure if he is teasing me or is genuinely concerned. . . I'd guess the former.
"If you're just going to stand there and mock me you might as well leave." I say rather harshly.
"Oh, fine." He says, stepping aside and allowing the sun to shine in my eyes again.
"Ow, fuck!"
He laughs and I groan. Like being held captive by Russia isn't enough, I also get to be relentlessly bullied by Eastern Europe.
"Alright. . . I will admit that this is kind of messed up. I know that the forties were insane but, it's been a decade," he says while bending down and pulling the pegs out of the ground, "what you did was fucked, but fighting evil with evil never gets anyone anywhere."
He helps me move over to the shade of a nearby tree and I sigh in relief, laying back down. He gives me his jacket and I give him a strange look.
"You should hate me the most." I say. He smiles.
"Yeah, well, I'm tired of hating. I've lived too damn long to hate those who have done me wrong."
November 1st, 1991
His face finally relaxes, lavender eyes hopelessly lost in mine. I expected horror, and that's what I saw, yes, but there was something else. A kind boy, one who has too much love to give. One who yearns for that love in return. Someone who has seen so much. High highs, low lows, no time for relaxing, no time for mediocre. So many he has loved, so few have actually loved him in return. He's constantly betrayed. That's why he's so bitter.
I push him away from me and he blinks a few times.
"Sorry." I say softly.
"For the push or the mind-fuck?" He asks.
"Both." I answer simply, noticing the light snowfall around us.
"Don't pity me."
I cautiously walk up to him, intimidated by our extreme height difference. He looks down at me and lifts an eyebrow, perhaps amused.
"It's too late for that." I say a bit sympathetically. He rolls his eyes, fluttering his eyelids as he does so.
"I don't need it, and I don't want it. I'm not some helpless little boy who has never felt the love of a mother or lover. I've had plenty of opportunities, plenty of chances to be like you, or France, or America. Didn't you have to pass something so unspeakably dark just to get to what you wanted to see in me?"
Always so angsty, he is. I smile a bit and look off to the horizon.
"Do you tell yourself that so you feel better about what has happened to you? That you somehow deserve this, because you are this dark and evil monster? Why do you surround yourself with all of that darkness?" I ask, not really expecting a real answer, but hoping to convey to him that his mask doesn't work on me. I look back at him to gauge his reaction and he seems speechless. Maybe a little surprised that I was so forward with him. He looks down, eyebrows raised.
"I don't know what to say to that. . . I just. . . It's been a long life, Gilbert, I'm no longer disillusioned by hope, love, and happiness. It's always been conditional for me. I've loved a lot of you dumb nations throughout my life, and I just can't hold on to it. They always. . ." He looks toward the horizon as the sun sets behind the distant mountains. The late afternoon hue gives him a youthful glow and smooths out his skin. His eyes have deepened to a mulberry shade, or even perhaps a light plum. Their watery look gives them a lot more depth than that steely pale lavender. "Die. . . Or find some fault in me to hate." He finishes.
"Well, I'm not going to die anytime soon." I hope out loud.
"Perhaps, sometime in the future, you will be so haunted by what I have done to you, and what you have seen here, that you will no longer be able to recognize the world around you for what it is. No matter how hard you try, no matter how 'nice' I am. . . It'll never erase the hell I put you through. . ." His eyes water dangerously close to tears and I furrow my eyebrows into a concerned look. I never expected him to open up like this to me. . .
"And. . . Maybe you won after all. . . I hate you so much for what you have taken from me, and what I was forced to do just to survive and I wanted to. . . I want to punish you for eternity for all of that, for betraying me and doing the same damn thing I was going to do. . For being something I could never be. . . And you go and make me fall in love with you, and I can never take back what I did."
His confession surprises me the most. Sure, lately, we have been expressing romantic feelings for each other but. . . Love? This complicates the relationships between everyone in the house. For a while, Lithuania and I have been clinging to each other for comfort, allowing for the Baltics to not only forgive me but learn to like me. Trust me, even. Belarus loves, and this is rather clear, Russia with all her heart but he couldn't be less impressed. She would be a formidable enemy to have in the house if she caught wind of this. . . Lithuania would not only be hurt, but destroyed. Not because we are exclusive, but rather he would never understand how I could love someone like Russia. . . It may cut off the only support I have in the house. Returning Russia's feelings would be hell for me in more ways than one. I'd be isolated and hated again. And to top it all off, Russia could tire of me or switch back to solely hating me and I'd be back to square one.
"Well, you could at least pretend not to look so horrified." He says, breaking me out of my internal thought.
"I'm sorry I just. . . It's not that I don't care for you. . . I do. . . I. . . It's not possible, or healthy."
"I know but. . . You fished it from me, don't act innocent. You have a great power with those eyes, but you must know by now that you could find things you may have wished never to see."
"I know. . ." I say softly. By now, the sun has completely set, only the light from the distant torches eliminate our area. "I was just excited that it finally worked on you."
"You should do that to America." Russia comments before turning and heading back toward the lighted path.
"I have once before, many, many, years ago. I'm not sure I'd be able to do it to him now." I say while catching up to him.
"Oh, are you trying to say I'm weaker?"
"No, no, not at all I just. . . Maybe you had your guard down today." I backtrack.
He just laughs at my stuttering.
"You're fine, I'm just messing with you." He reassures.
I sigh out. Going to have to get used to that.
I look ahead down the small path and feel a weird weight press down into my chest. I stop walking as I feel my head become light.
"Are you alright?" He asks.
". . . I." It's like every thought I have is being ripped from me, like my mind is being whisked away to some other place.
November 2nd, 1991
It's blurry. I'm lying on white sheets, not to mention the insufferable pounding in my head. It's hard to tell where I am. . . Where was I last?
With difficulty I sit up and notice the IV in my arm. No. No. Get it out.
I pull it out, wincing as I do so. Maybe I could have done that softer.
The door opens and I look up, eyes meeting Canada's.
"You've always been a difficult patient." He says a bit exasperated, rushing over to the first aid kit then to me.
"Sorry. . . I don't have the best experiences with waking up to an IV." I say meekly as I watch him clean and wrap my arm.
"No, don't be sorry, I shouldn't be so rude." He says in a much softer tone. "You have no idea how happy I am that you are awake. . . Though you should really stop pulling IVs out."
He looks me in the eye and I swallow thickly.
"Did I pass out or something?" I ask.
"Yes. . . For six days. Right when I thought you were getting better. . . It looks like you aren't out of the woods yet."
". . ." I look down at the bed sheets. Six days?. . .
"Hey, hey, look at me." I blink a few times and look at him. "Focus on the things around you, keep yourself grounded." He says.
"Uh, alright."
I decided to look into his eyes, and as I do so I find myself rather curious about what they hold now. But much to my dismay, I can't get into them. He doesn't get lost in mine. He just looks to the side then back at me before furrowing his eyebrows.
"You alright there?" He asks a bit awkwardly.
"Yeah, sorry. . . You have nice eyes." I recover. I notice a small blush forming on his cheeks as he shyly looks away.
"Thank you. . . yours are a nice shade of brown."
"Brown?" I ask.
"Yeah," he looks back into my eyes, "like a russet brown kind of color."
"Do you have a mirror?" I ask, not sure if I believe him.
"Um, yeah in the bathroom. . . Do you not believe me?" He asks, laughter in his voice.
"I don't." I say, attempting and failing at getting up.
"Okay, okay, I'll bring you a small one." He offers, standing up and disappearing from the room.
A few seconds later he comes back into the room and hands me a small handheld mirror. As I look into it I first notice how old I look. Ugh. Like many years over thirty. . . My hair is a lot thinner than I remember. . . Oh, my eyes. . . So brown and dead. . . Even my thin ass hair looks dead and gray.
"When the hell did I get so ugly." I think aloud, causing Canada to laugh.
"You are not ugly, just sick." He says before taking the mirror away from me.
I sigh deeply and look out of the window. Whether or not I was attractive before was highly debatable, and I knew that, and it never bothered me. . . I guess it's just weird seeing something else than what you are used to stare back at you in the mirror.
"Will I get better?" I ask.
"I have faith that you will. . . However it seems highly contingent on Russia. I got a call from Ukraine the day you passed out informing me that he fell unconscious as well."