Chapter Twenty Five

A/N AAAA I'm so sorry it was almost late! I was just getting everything perfect, this is a very important chapter after all~

Warnings: I get into some very mild and poetically inspired descriptions of miscariage in this chapter. If anyone has problems with these things I warn you to take caution. A/N over.

"Ivan."

China put his tea down on the table with a soft clink, and when Russia glanced up from his own to check on him and answer with a soft hum, he saw that there was clearly something wrong in his eyes. He was thinking about something, and he was thinking hard, almost as if he wasn't sure how to proceed after he had gotten the other man's attention.

"Да?" Russia responded.

Sweet and simple, just a comfortable little way to answer a question that wasn't really a question.

China looked a little worried as he breathed in, carefully phrasing his next few words as if trending on eggshells. Before Russia even had the chance to process the words he felt himself frowning. Why did he seem so worried and so cautious of his words? Weren't they supposed to get along now? Was he still so untrustworthy that words had to be planned in a conversation between them as friends?

Russia bit his lip as China spoke, but he was careful not to let his mind drift, these words had to be important if China looked so uncomfortable as he spoke them.

"How much… how much time are you spending with America lately aru?"

Russia's eyebrows raised, he had been thinking that this question would be a lot worse, "Why do you want to know? I think it's a rather healthy amount after such a violent war, if you're worried about that,"

China nodded slowly, as if taking this information and wondering how to turn it into another question. Russia swallowed, whenever Ukraine was trying to politely get information out of him she did the same thing, not that they were able to talk much recently, or even for a while before that. All he hoped was that China wasn't about to be angry at him or something, or gods forbid, have found out about his stalker-like tendencies. (That would explain why he would ask about America, as America was technically a part of the operation. Still, Russia hoped it was not so.)

"So…" China started again, "have you, uhm, been talking to England much?"

Russia blinked, trying to remain with his permentanty innocent looking smile despite the deep worry that was now coursing through his bloodstream, "I've talked to him for work and things, just as normal, have you?"

That last bit was a genuine question, he did honestly wonder if they had spoken recently. It was a mostly non-invasive inquiry, with nothing to do with their operation, because he seriously wondered if China had been talking to his old allies much. Until recently Russia had not been, probably because he had been the direct perpetrator of America's rage, and the one that the remaining 'allies' from their Allied Powers group had been fighting so much. Of course, now that he was forced to think about it, China had also not been on the 'good' side in that war, as the winners had written them out to be equally as evil as their bosses. This was both unfair and mostly incorrect, so it came as an interesting idea that China and England would talk to each other on peaceful terms.

But still, it was worrying to think that perhaps England had told him about their investigation. It wasn't that far out from a sane thought (as Russia congratulated himself for so rarely) and because of this the mere idea was enough to make him angry at the blond already, even though he knew it probably wasn't the case.

Russia was so deep in thought that he almost didn't catch China's response.

"I haven't, no, I was just wondering if you have, since I've been seeing you near each other a lot more after meetings aru… the same with you and that American," He clicked his tongue, looking up at Russia, and for a moment the taller man thought he caught a glimpse of anger in his normally bright golden eyes, now tinted to an orange with what appeared to be red.

Not the type of red of someone who had been crying, the type in the whites of eyes. No, this was his irises, tinged red with, judging by the rest of his expression, anger. Even though it was only there for a brief moment and when that moment was over (and for the record it passed quite quickly) his eyes went back to being oddly blank. "Why are you talking to them so much aru?" he asked again, voice strangely upbeat, though desperately strangled, "Did you come up with an addition to your peace treaty? Is there trade… or something?"

Russia cringed, yeah, the brunet was definitely searching for some sort of information, though he sounded regrettably like a jealous girlfriend through the attempt. Ivan wondered if China had meant real trade or what it was often a code for in their world. He blushed, "Нет." his scarf swished as he interjected with an awkward laugh, "I haven't been doing anything indecent with either of those westerners, if that is what you are asking,"

China seemed to be struggling to keep down a genuine smile, seemingly unable to not find the miss-understanding amusing, "No, nothing like that aru,"

As much as Russia would have wanted a silence as a short rest from the highly stressful conversation (even though it had only been a few sentences so far he could feel the tension between them) he spoke before he could let it happen, "If not that, then what?"

China's nose twitched in an almost cat-like way as his eyebrows lowered over his golden eyes. He very slowly reached forward and picked his tea cup back off the table, maintaining eye-contact the whole time. "I was wondering if you could tell me that, huh Ivan?" his voice was low as he peered over the cup at the man before him. Russia swallowed. He was definitely on to something even if he hadn't been tipped off by England. (For some reason China's statement about the non-existent social situations between himself and the Brit seemed as though they were not lies.)

"I don't know what you mean," Russia tilted his head to the side inquisitively, even if the curiosity was completely faked as his mind raced behind the scenes. If there was one thing he had learned from being part of Mongolia's territory back all those hundreds of years ago it was that no one wanted to be on China's bad side.

Even at the time they had not been enemies, in fact they had worked together to escape Mongolia in that age. But seeing China fight, as in fighting in war and hand to hand combat… it still sent shivers up his spine, be them out of attraction or fear, (Wait, attraction? Did he actually just think that?)

Fortunately before he could think about it too hard China spoke again. Russia distantly acknowledged that he had set his cup of tea down, but he hadn't noticed when it had happened.

"Russia," China started, speaking very plainly, his accent pretty much as thin as it got, "I would say I will ask you once but I will ask as many times as I deem necessary, so that would be a lie aru." His lip twitched with annoyance, "why are you talking to them so much? And," he added quickly, "by this I mean France as well, and that other one," he stared off into space for a second or two, trying to remember Canada's name before remembering and rushing on. "Canada, that's his name. I want to know why you're talking to them so much aru,"

Russia smirked, eyes darkening protectively, "Why are you suddenly so interested?"

China scowled, "I'm interested because you never talk to them, it's not a normal thing for you to do, so I'm worried aru,"

Scoffing, Russia felt annoyance boiling up in his throat, "You're worried? About what exactly, that I have a social life again?"

"Sort of," China's fingers were tapping on the table again, quickly, as if he were struggling not to make a rash decision, "If I did not get along with you currently, yes, I would find that quite worrying aru,"

"Wooph," Russia blew the air out of his mostly closed mouth, eyes still angry, "harsh, aren't you?"

"No need to be so defensive aru," China's voice was again light-hearted, though that angry look remained in his eyes, "that isn't the full reason, and before you get mad and attempt to hurt me- which I would not let you do- maybe listen to what I want to say properly,"

Russia felt a pang in his heart, and if he could have become much paler he probably would have. The mention of his apparent want to hurt the brunet was worrying to say the least, was that really what he looked like? He hadn't meant to seem threatening, not really, he was just trying to play defensive and act in a similar way then China was. It was purely an act of self-defence.

The evening had been very quiet, and not much conversation had been had.

The rare bits of conversation had only peppered the silence, but Russia didn't mind it at the time. Now, with the perspective of everything that was happening and their current situation he wished that they had found something else to talk about. Something that dismissed self-preserving concerns. Something that could build a friendship instead of tear it down.

Russia had noticed that recently, instead of searching for information or listening to accidental hints in muscle-memory speech, he had been genuinely enjoying spending time with Yao. When they let each other get along the space between them seemed to shrink, and Russia was happy for that. Unfortunately they rarely listened to each other as actual friends, or even as people who could trust the other.

Throughout their existence they had been allies many times and clashed just as much, maybe more in fact.

So, with their constantly changing alliances and personality quirks, it should have come as no surprise that it was hard for them to truly trust one another. Ivan had always envied his fellow representations, they often seemed more capable of building positive relationships than he was. (But, to be fair to himself, it was important to remember that they were also generally scared of him so it was harder for him to have positive interactions with any.)

It had really come as a terrible shock that most of the others didn't like him at all. He knew that maybe he went a bit overboard, snapping Latvia's neck for example, but from personal experience he knew that most of the others were the same underneath all of their fake emotions.

No representation was really worthy of being trusted.

In a life where friendships could be torn down at the literal word of someone else's boss it was too painful to really try to connect with anyone. When the only positive experience was to forget their tortured lives and not kill each other, when the only way to forget was through even worse suffering, when all of their choices were regretted in the blink of an eye.

No, it was just too hard to give in to the human need for love.

Still, China's high pitched and yet so-so-so threatening voice popped his thoughts as if they were inside of a balloon, or perhaps a bubble.

"I'm asking because I've noticed stares and whispers... and when I get stared at it's rarely for a good reason aru," his words dripped with fake sweetness, the type that left an icey burn in your throat.

Russia attempted to swallow said burn, but it hurt to try, "I'm not trying to hurt you, I don't have anything to do with that,"

"Ah-ha!" China exclaimed triumphantly, eyes brightening in a worryingly familiar way, "You aren't trying to hurt me with what aru?"

"W-with nothing!" Russia stuttered, blushing despite the seriousness of the situation, "I'm not doing anything that would hurt you, that's what I mean!" even he felt the unreliability in that statement, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to be angry or really defensive. Maybe Yao was giving off his own anger aura and he felt too intimidated to do so, that was entirely plausible, but something in Russia told him that it was definitely more. It was like he didn't want to fight back, because he really didn't want to hurt the other. As much as he hated to admit it because of how embarrassed it made him, he had been getting very used to talking to Yao as friends, as friends that could have maybe become something… more.

He felt terrible at that thought, knowing that it was going to be a lot harder to come closer to one another if their trust shattered in such a preventable way. He bit his lip, now actively not listening to whatever China was saying. He didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to feel even worse than he had already, even before he had somehow been discovered.

He had been having second thoughts about telling Japan for a few weeks, and had been regretting ever letting the asian country mention it to the other's for even longer. At first, when it had just been him, it had been truly enjoyable, a hunt that he could follow with no regrets because at first he hadn't cared that much about China. And, more importantly, it had been an outlet for his loneliness after his family left him behind.

They had the right to leave anyway, that was what his thoughts always told him, and for goddamn once they were probably right.

He had been wrong to start trying to find out about Yao's past. He knew that now, now that he actually cared about him. Even in their past as, ah, poticaly closer nations he hadn't ever really connected with him as a person. He had been simply a place to run off to and nothing more, a way to escape from his cruel treatment in his childhood, a way to get away from his bosses while still participating in history as a being who could affect it with his actions.

At the time he had not wondered if China was there for the same reasons or if he felt something more, something worthy of the 'friendship' half of a relationship. It just hadn't mattered at the time. Now, with more knowledge on who he was as a person he didn't really have to wonder anymore.

China had never been one for conflict… but boy when he had to be part of it he fit the scene well.

Russia supposed it was his age, his years upon years upon years of experience as someone who had to deal with fighting and hatred constantly. At least for humans there was usually some escape from the unforgiving world of politics, but for representations like countries or American states or even Canadian provinces, there was never a way out. Everyone just had to deal with the toxicity of it all twenty four seven.

Everyone had built up tolerance to the war, the famine, the death. Ways to block it out from their everyday lives. Some had chosen healthy ways to forget their pain, Hungary, Austria, Finland and Sweden, as examples in a sea of others like them, had turned to love and friendship in times of pain. People like Japan or Liechtenstein had their families to go back to, even if the first of the two had half-destroyed it. Micronations like Sealand or Wy, who struggled to find their place in a hatefuly forgetful world, had people just like themselves to lean on when all seemed lost.

But some people hadn't been able to find safe outlets.

That was how Lativia found himself drinking beer and straight alcohol to forget his torture of a life that really wasn't worth living. How Germany found himself bottling up his emotions and using the rage to yell even louder at his soldiers. How America found himself running away from his fears on a treadmill until he couldn't stand, or how England turned to black magic to prove that he was better than everyone else. Even Russia's problem with stalking and hurting people for his own amusement could be explained as a terrible coping mechanism.

China, on the other hand, was a mystery.

Russia knew he would have loved to turn to family or friends but at this point he didn't really have that many that he could trust. In the past he had probably had many experiences with bad coping mechanisms, but Russia didn't know any specifics. Still, he somehow managed to keep himself composed and (though not very calm) at least politely secretive most of the time.

Russia supposed that was why he had been so drawn to a basic slip up in that meeting those few months ago.

When Russia started to tune in again, it was immediately clear that China was waiting for him to say something, though what specifically he hadn't caught onto due to his wondering. He bit his lip, looking down at the table (he was suddenly unable to meet the other's gaze, what was this, regular emotions? When had he started displaying those?) and felt himself blushing, "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice nearly too soft to hear, "w-what did you ask?"

China glowered at him, eyes displaying a red-ish tint again, "I just wanted to know if you know anything about why I feel like I'm being watched aru,"

Russia normally wouldn't have given in, not even to someone he cared about. Even if one of his sisters had asked a similar question in a similar situation he probably would not have told anything, but the anger in Yao's eyes was too great, he clearly already knew something, so why couldn't Russia just give up if he would be found out anyway? He squeezed his hands on his knees and took in a very deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the choice he was about to make. Leaning his head down to his chest, he exhaled the breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hide in his scarf without even noticing that the habit had resurfaced.

"I do," he said quietly. But even though it was barely audible he felt as though he had screamed a secret of his own at the top of his lungs in the middle of a world meeting.

China's eye twitched and he muttered something like a curse in his native language before standing up. Now that his suspicions had been confirmed his eyes were blank again, and his expression equally unreadable. Still, Russia could tell that he was very angry, and definitely thinking about something important because he turned his back and took a few steps away from the Russian before speaking again, as if trying to hide any signs of what he was imaging from prying eyes.

"If you don't mind aru," he sighed shakily, "what exactly do you have to do with that creeping feeling of being-" here, his voice turned to a murmur, as if trying to hide itself as well, "...stalked,"

Russia swallowed and ruffled his hair worriedly, lips trembling as he opened his mouth to speak. So it was then, only a few months after England had become involved in his and Japan's meetings, only two months after the rest had followed, Russia gave in and told China what had been going on. He hadn't even been confronted once before about it, so it was more than a little bit sad that he broke so quickly.

The whole while as he gave up small details about the group he had accidentally put together China paced back and forth on the other side of the table and Russia sank further and further into his chair. When Russia mentioned how France got involved due to the carelessness of meeting in such a public place China growled, literally growled, as if he were some sort of predatory animal. Russia could feel the fury seeping out of him, and he sank even deeper into his scarf with every word he uttered, with every little bit of anger that China admitted. He felt awful, he felt regretful, he felt disgusting, and (most extremely) he felt like a terrible person.

He never felt like a terrible person.

Well, not until now, not until he had a reason to believe that what he was doing was wrong, that what he was doing wasn't some sort of game or cruel joke. Seriously, if he had done this same thing with literally anyone else in the world he probably wouldn't have felt so terrible because he hadn't just become closer to a person he had known for millennia, because he wouldn't have been in real danger because of it.

When his voice finally died in his throat, having said everything that he had, the only sound was the soft tapping of China's heel as his knee bounced up and down. Funny, Russia hadn't even noticed that he had sat down again. He felt… a little faint, and definitely like he wasn't welcome. Still, Russia wasn't able to meet his eyes and still stared down blankly at the table.

Finally, after what felt like years of waiting, China spoke again and Russia looked up, catching a glimpse of the other's eyes before dropping his gaze again. "Ivan… wasn't that just fucking brilliant of you..."

His voice was low, dangerously low, and so so icey. Still, Russia was sure that the continued use of his human name was not a good sign. That combined with the absence of his regular vocal tic and the fact that the phrase was dripping with furious sarcasm made his heart drop about two feet in his chest. There seemed to be a lump forming in his throat, but he knew swallowing would do no good.

Carefully, Russia got to his feet and stiffened his arms at his sides (though his hands stayed in weak fists) he then rocked onto his front foot, unable to meet the asian's eyes and opened his mouth to apologize.

"I'm sorry," his voice was even weaker and much more strangled than before, "I'll go, I'm just hurting you," his voice was a whisper.

His first few steps to the door were slow, but as he felt China's eyes on the back of his neck they sped up. He had to get out, had to find somewhere there was alcohol, he couldn't just stay here. In the back of his mind the sudden and unpleasant question of what this would mean in that actual world of politics surfaced but he pushed it down. He couldn't let this deter him in his everyday life, he shouldn't have even cared in the first place.

As he walked to the entryway he felt as though he was still being watched and his ears flushed at the idea, how could he let himself be figured out? His feet quickend. How could he even start such a thing in the first place? He stumbled while picking up his coat. How could he let himself hurt someone he now cared about? His hand tightened on the door handle.

But then he faultured.

He didn't know if he was allowed to say anything now, but he lowered his gaze and turned around, tilting his head in the least awkward bow he could manage. "Прощай," his voice shook and died in his throat. It took a second or two to revive it, "я буду скучать по тебе подсолнух..." he finished, turning around again, his scarf swishing at his ankles. Even if the phrase was inappropriately placed he didn't care because he figured that he wouldn't have another chance to say it anytime soon.

Immediately after Russia left the house, China got up and walked to the window, his steps stumbling and uncertain. Nearly falling against the window, he watched Russia shuffle down the driveway. He was moving slowly, painfully slowly. Watching the tall nation leave, China felt an overwhelming sense of dread, he couldn't just let him go, not like this.

But suddenly, cruelly, he was somewhere else.

Somewhere a long time ago.

Somewhere too long ago.

There was blood, so much blood. Or were those tears? It was always hard to tell, and even harder now that they were mixing on fingers. Well, even as one he felt as though it was all over him, his eyes, his clothes, the floor… God, it was everywhere, he just couldn't seem to get out of it. Maybe he was crying, maybe he was screaming, or maybe it was utter silence.

It's hard to tell those sorts of things when the world is spinning, especially if you are alone to experience it. So unforgivably alone in a world that could never know. A world that would never know.

Sobs racked his body but no sound seemed to be coming out.

Was this panic? Or was it fear?

Was this what it felt like to be drowning or to be buried alive? Well, no, not quite. This was worse because he could breath, he could get oxygen, he could get free, but his lungs just weren't moving. (Or were they moving too quickly?)

He had been murdered though different forms of asphyxiation enough times to know that he had to keep calm unless he wanted to die of it, even if he doubted it was really as extreme as his racing thoughts made it seem. He was painiced, in agony (in physical ways as well as mental), and most importantly incredibly… helpless. He wasn't supposed to be helpless, that was what weaker nations were for, what non-empires were for, what younger groups did.

Helplessness was unforgivable, and yet so impossibly hard to stop.

'Just calm down,' he tried to tell himself, but the message didn't quite reach its destination, a letter long forgotten. A book burned and lost to the world. That was what this was, just something lost that couldn't be found. Sobs that shook bodies couldn't be heard unless the voice joined in, tears that stung old cuts couldn't be seen unless it was exposed.

He had to hide, but there was nowhere to run to, he was already alone. So much more alone than he had been before.

This shame would never be known.

There was no going back.

No one could ever know.

China blinked, shaking himself out of the memory and realizing dizzily that his hands were clutching the windowsill so hard that his knuckles were turning white. His head was spinning and it was suddenly hard to breath, oh so hard to breath. He had to get out of there, had to do something, but who could he talk to? Who but himself did he have?

Then, it hit (unpleasantly at first, though it gradually became a bitter sweet). If Russia was here and he had already been wondering why he had been acting strange at that meeting there was clearly no better option. He hadn't told anyone about this since the Han dynasty, so it was terrifying to mention anything about it, especially to someone who clearly wasn't trustworthy. But if he wasn't trustworthy and, though he had no idea how far their little 'group' was into digging up his past because Russia himself had apparently not met with any of them in quite some time, there was no point in hiding it.

He had nuclear weapons now and, on a more personal level, guns if he felt as though the absence of a specific representation would be necessary for his survival. He didn't want anyone to find out still, he never wanted anyone to know, but bottling up something for so long sometimes makes one make rash decisions.

And plus, he needed someone to talk to, even if the only person around was someone who had just betrayed him.

No, there was no way that he was letting Russia leave now.

Nervously, he peered out the window to see that Russia was now almost at the street. "Shit!" he cursed under his breath, slipping away from the window and dashing around the corner to the door. He threw on a coat (but it may have been inside out) and managed to slip one shoe on, opening the door with his hand while hopping forward and attempting to put the other on. The movements were weaving into each other as he rushed outside, too hurried to bother to shut the door behind him.

"嘿!" China's voice traveled fluently through the crisp air, but he sounded rather out of breath, "向日葵!"

Russia froze in place. He knew that word, even if it was really the only word of China's language that he could say that about.

Really, he knew its counterparts in most languages. Things like 'girasol', 'Sonnenblume', 'ひまわり', 'tournesol' and 'sunflower'. It was just too important of a word to disregard, so he had learned many of the names it went by (mostly because any sighting of the plant was good and he didn't want to miss a chance to glimpse one).

China rushed over to him, his coat slipping off one shoulder with the quick movement that he didn't bother to fix. Russia stared at him, transfixed, but then realized what he was doing and turned away again, muttering frantic apologies under his breath and pulling the hood of his coat over his head. He could tell China had stopped behind him because the sound of his shoes against the pavement had slowed and then stopped. His shadow moved closer, provided by the light coming from the windows, and Russia's apologies became more rushed, his shoulders raising to hide his face further.

China, however, didn't seem to care that the Russian felt awkward or regretful as he instead reached out and grabbed his arm, forcefully spinning him around so that they were facing each other once more. At first, Russia felt like he was about to get slapped or kicked until he saw China's expression. It wasn't quite a positive one, not really. Instead, there was a certain level of determination in his eyes and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. He had something more to say, though Russia hoped it wasn't going to be part of a rant because he already felt awful (even if he definitely deserved more than getting ranted at).

"Come," the Chinese nation's voice was clipped as he turned on his heel, hair swishing over his shoulder as he yanked Ivan along behind him. Russia stumbled, weakly trying to resist capture, but China was relentless. Soon, Ivan found himself back inside the sudden gush of warm air brought redness to his cheeks that hid among his already present blush. But it was mostly from worry and not embarrassment, though there was definitely a bit of nervousness as well. He didn't exactly feel welcome.

He thought they were going to stand in the entryway until he realized that Yao was just taking off his shoes (one handed, since his other was still wrapped almost painfully around Russia's wrist) he was always careful to abide by that sort of custom. Then, since the kitchen was right near the door, he thought that he was going to go sit down there instead, but no.

Soon he found himself being dragged into the living room, though China hadn't turned around to look at him the entire time. He swallowed, unable to tell if that was a good or bad sign.

Then he found himself being shoved down onto the couch.

He stared up in surprise, too shocked to fight back or try to stand again. China had let go of his arm and was now standing above him, the formerly defiant expression on his face now grim. He took a few steps back, and Russia looked on curiously, though he turned his head slightly and hunched his shoulders over, too worried if he was welcome or not to abide by the laws of polite conversation.

Luckily, China didn't seem to care about them at the moment either, because he did not sit down. (Russia vaguely recognized that they were almost at a more equal height than when they were both standing. If he wasn't so worried he would have smiled but it was immediately buried by more worrisome thoughts.)

For one thing, why did China bring him back inside if they were just going to get caught up in an angry staring match with each other? For another, if China was going to speak why hadn't he already? Stealing a glance upward, Russia was partially sure he caught the reason why.

China's eyes were far away, and filled with an emotion Russia couldn't quite place a finger on. (But in that case why did it seem so familiar?) He seemed to be making a choice between speaking or letting Russia suffer in silence, and because the latter was already quite painful, Russia coughed softly in an attempt to grab the other's attention. It worked, and China's eyes focused on his face, tearing themselves away from whatever world they had been staring off into.

He took a deep breath, and Russia was immediately reminded of himself earlier that night when he had given up the secret of the group and it's participants' common interest. Was he also about to let go of a secret? If so, Russia felt a sharp stab of worry in his chest, he wanted to tell China to stop, to not tell him because he wasn't trustworthy.

But, as usual, because of both his curiosity and situational introvertedness he couldn't bring himself to speak up.

"Would you like to know why I'm so annoyed that you would be looking into my past aru?" his voice was much clearer than Russia had expected, as if he was determined to stay serious and above the other.

In a movement so small it was nearly undetectable, Russia nodded.

It was that action which opened whatever mental barrier had been keeping back China's emotions. Suddenly, Russia could sense a thousand different words for 'sad' a thousand different thoughts of 'I'm pathetic' a thousand different ways to say 'why me?'. But, without a care about how this sudden bombardment of mental states could affect his companion, China started talking, telling a story that started even before Russia had been born.

Apparently, there had been a war. In any other situation Russia would have considered this to be the most important aspect of such a story but China brushed past it, almost as if it did not matter. There had been whispered words, both threats and fears, but none of them were shocking enough to be mentioned. There had been deaths and injuries, but none of them had been central enough to bring into direct light.

Well, all except one injury and half a death.

In China's wording, which seemed to be slipping in and out of English as the story progressed, it was more of the death of a possibility than a physical loss of life. But, apparently, that hurt a lot more.

Russia could feel himself actively feeling sicker and sicker, as if experiencing what he could have felt if he had been a witness, though apparently no one knew. No one except one old woman who died a few years later, bringing the dirty, awful secret with her. Truly, it was more of a mix of secrets, secrets that Russia could somehow see himself in despite having no memory of any such event. Perhaps it was just so well retold, even if as it went it became more nonsensical and more focused on emotions rather than memory.

Russia wondered if China realized that his wording was confusing or if he simply had no other way to put it, if he himself didn't quite understand what had happened or even why it happened. The Russian didn't blame him for not delving too much deeper. Truthfully, the way it was told sort of caught onto his emotions. The cryptic way sentences were started and others were finished in their place. The overarching feeling of doubt that sat over the words. Even the way that parts of it were definitely not in a language (or a dialect of a language) that Russia understood, as China seemed to sink too far into memory to hear what he was saying every now and again.

The mystery aspect of such a sad event.

The tragedy of a possibility lost.

Those sorts of things were so much more heartbreaking than a video or photo could ever capture. A failed creation of life, an injury that ripped any chance at success away. The end of something that hadn't even started. Truly, only poetic phrases for the event seemed to be fitting, as nothing else could really capture the heartbreak right.

As he talked, China paced back and forth across the room, fidgeting with his clothes or hair occasionally, sometimes talking so quickly that his accent blended words together to the point of being incomprehensible. His eyes were wide open but still didn't appear to be focused on anything. Honestly, seeing how he reacted to the memory was a hundred times more terrifying than the story itself.

It got to the point where Russia felt the urge to stand up and stop him, just stop him from speaking, stop the ever present fidgeting movement, and make it so he was calm. But he didn't know how to go about such a thing, let alone possess the courage to do it. He knew that he had to do something, but what exactly was not clear. He just needed a way to provide comfort, but how could he do that when China was so clearly off in the past and no longer consciously aware of exactly where he was?

The vent seemed to go on forever, mostly because Russia's urge to stand up and either slap him and start crying or hug him and start crying increased significantly the longer China spoke. When it was over there was an empty silence so full of emotions that Russia couldn't even tell which were his, which were China's, and which were fabricated out of lost memories.

The only noise was China's heavy breathing as he collapsed onto the couch next to Russia, though this time his eyes were the ones that refused to meet his companion's. Russia could tell that he was having second thoughts about telling about his past but he could also sense a certain sense of pride, a certain relief. A weight that had been ever so slightly lifted off his shoulders, though it still stayed in place for everyone else but the two of them.

It took a long time for Russia to get his voice back in a clear enough way to speak regular words.

"Yao…. Yao why didn't you-" Ivan's words cut themselves off as his voice choked with too many emotions. When it came back it was much weaker, but despite this he turned to his side and reached forward, grabbing the other's arms, "why didn't you tell me?"

A sad laugh escaped the Chinese man as he stared up into the white-haired Russian's eyes, "you know perfectly well why I did not aru…"

"But…" even Ivan didn't understand why he was so choked up, perhaps it was because of his broken ties with his sisters? Or maybe something else, but in that case, what? Yet his mouth finished his sentence before he could finish thinking, or even finish drafting the words in his head, "but we've known each other for so long, physically how have you never mentioned it?" he wanted to add 'can't you trust me?' but he knew that the older man couldn't trust him. He had just told him about how he had already broken his trust so recently.

Yao shook his head sadly, "I…" he was desperately grasping at words, but nothing he could say seemed good enough, despite the fact that he knew exactly how he had never even accidentally hinted it, "I'm sorry aru." he paused, his slightly open mouth falling shut into a final, official looking frown, "I'm sorry. Is that good?"

The truth was that he was almost constantly thinking about what he could and couldn't say in the back of his mind, filtering out things that would have been suspicious. It was purley paranoia (and the fear of being blamed) but if this year proved anything it was that even a minor slip up could lead to utter chaos. He had made it a couple thousand years, and that probably should have been enough but it just wasn't, he still didn't feel safe.

Ivan's breath came shakily, "A-ah, я, uh, I…" his shoulders were raising and falling in a very exaggerated way as he struggled to think of something to say. But nothing came as the emotion forced everything of meaning out of his head. The grip of his gloved hands on China's wrist loosened and one traveled up to rest on the other's shoulder.

Yao nodded softly, sniffing and raising a hand to wipe away a stray tear (the first of it's kind really, he hadn't started crying during his vent) from his eye, jostling Russia's arm off his shoulder. "Did you want an apology? For not telling you?" His voice was weak, uncertain, and Russia felt a pang in his chest, agonizingly strong as if something had stabbed him through his slowly cracking heart.

Russia's words sounded strangled as Yao pulled away and stood, his back now turned. "No!" he exclaimed, voice cracking when China looked back at him, back to his disturbingly fury filled glare from earlier in their conversation, "No, ah, I…" even though China's back was now turned, arms wrapped softly around his abdomen, Russia struggled to find comforting words. He had never been one for social interaction or friendship or love. But he and China had known each other for hundreds, if not a couple thousand, of years. He couldn't just do nothing, not when he had just been trusted with a secret as insanely fucked up as the secret he had just been given. Still, he knew that if there was anyone who could help him now it was the one who had started the mess they had both been dragged into; this whole stalking situation.

"Yao, I… I didn't… I didn't know," Russia's voice was weak as he half-stumbled forward.

He hated this.

He wasn't supposed to feel regret like this! Wasn't supposed to care about China, especially not since this was supposed to have been for his own sake, for entertainment of all things!

"Yao… Yao I'm so sorry,"

China glanced back at him, gaze hard and full of pain.

Russia realized he sounded weak, frail, and pathetic… but it didn't matter. If he was supposed to be a good friend, even in a friendship that started from a never ending urge to spread secrets and claw his way to the top. He couldn't just stand there and do nothing when China had just told him about such a terrible and secret thing from the past.

It surely hadn't been shared out of trust, no, it had been the opposite.

Yet here he was, not yet kicked out and not yet ready to leave. He couldn't just say nothing, couldn't just act as though this wasn't a big thing to be trusted with. (Or rather left with the information of, the way China had told him had seemed like more of a way to get a weight off of his shoulders and not a secret that he even trusted to be kept. It was the harshest type of retaliation, the type that also served as some sort of white flag.)

Russia stood from the couch and lunged forward. It was a completely autopilot action, so he shocked even himself.

There were two couches in this room, both rather small but at least large enough to fit three people. They faced each other, perfect for holding conversations with too many people to sit in chairs in the dining room. This setup also made it possible to not fall onto the floor when your partial friend unexpectedly knocks you over.

They landed sideways on the couch, still in a general sitting position but on their sides. Russia hit his shin on a table leg and nearly crushed China at first, but immediately rolled off and began apologizing, though his arms did not leave from their tightly wrapped position around Yao's middle.

China stared at him, looking both worried and tentatively amused.

Russia kept apologizing, but his face became more and more buried in China's hair with each sentence and his arms got tighter and tighter around his waist. The surprising thing was that China didn't protest, and instead turned his head so that his face was buried in Russia's scarf. Eventually Russia's words died, but their hug didn't stop. Instead of letting each other go, giving into such pride that would deny them the much needed affection, the two nations held each other in silence.

China's voice was a little hard to understand when he spoke again, and Russia could tell that he had finally started to give into him emotions, since his voice was even more muffled than it would have been if it was only obscured by a scarf. "So… I take it you won't tell anyone aru?"

Russia supposed that the hug was an obvious enough clue that he felt real regret for his actions.

Russia's voice was also muffled when he answered the question, and his accent much thicker due to the emotions that were finally taking over his mind, "Never,"

And it wasn't a lie,

China's head moved backwards and tilted upwards in an attempt to stare into Ivan's yes. Russia also moved back, looking down at the other nation. The silence that held them was comfortable, but felt so lonely. Then, they both seemed to have the same thought. It was a fairytale-like thought, a wish that probably wouldn't come true. But despite that, neither seemed to care.

Stretching upwards and placing a hand on Russia's cheek, China placed a short kiss on the other's lips.

Maybe all wasn't lost.

A/N. *stretches* mAN that was a LONG chapter! I wrote this one kinda backwards in order to capture the same general mood as the rest of the chapter because it was so long and so easy to get out of hand. So basically I wrote the last could hundred words last last, but the part before that (around 500 words? idk) was actually written first. And after that the start (for the first about 2500 to nearly 3000 words) was written next. And then the middle section was worked on when I felt like it.

It was a pretty tough chapter but with that technique I was able to work out what I wanted to do pretty reasonably. :)

Also, surprisingly enough this was actually written in less than one week, I used the first week as a break for inspiration grabbing and homework doing. Tschüss! A/N over.