49. A Fistful of Notecards, An Eyeful of Tears

Date Written: April 3, 2019

Date Posted: April 5, 2020

Characters: Ukraine, Veneziano

Summary: As more and more things go wrong in the middle of her presentation, Ukraine focuses on a certain European Nation to be her main source of comfort.

Notes: Woooot! I made it to 50 chapters! I made my goal! For those of you still reading, would you like another 50 to make this a collection of 100 one-shots, or do you want me to end it now? Please let me know before I post again next week. If I receive no word, I'll just post my FINAL chapter that will tie up this series and send my muse, Veneziano, away for a well deserved vacation. Regardless, this was a wild ride and I had so much interacting with you guys and with our favorite Romance Nation. To next week! :D

Ukraine looked upon her fellow Nations, nervousness clogging her throat and disorienting her vision.

The first thing you should know about the Slavic Nation was that she did not like large crowds, overly chatty colleagues, or the judging stares coming from dozens upon dozens of eyes. Instead of seeking the spotlight on the international stage, she liked tending to her agricultural pursuits or looking after her siblings. It was rare for her to act on her own interests without the aid of her boss, which was a stark contrast when she was compared to her siblings. Whereas Belarus relied on blunt statements and sarcasm, Russia with his sly words and towering might, Ukraine was certainly the one who was the most down to earth, and the most secluded of the three.

It was rare for Nations to be… unwilling to speak for themselves or to be too frightened to bring attention to themselves. For those who were verbally challenged, but more than physically endowed with the prowess for war, they waged battles that scarred the earth and had their resounding losses or successes speak for themselves. Others, still, spoke through their magnificent cultures and longstanding histories.

And what did Ukraine have?

Farmland, a handful of index cards written in her loopy hand, and a faulty projector.

Truthfully, it was no one's fault that the projector had suddenly stopped working after Uzbekistan's scheduled time slot. It was no one's fault that Ukraine's scheduled presentation was the last one before their break for lunch. It was no one's fault that Ukraine's voice, while loud if she so chose, had a tendency to fade in and out. It was no one's fault that she, a Nation born from the remains of a people who were hardy and lived through many harsh winters, was so close to breaking down in crying in the middle of what was supposed to be her big speech.

Unlike what most people would think, Nations are human, but not human at all. At least, not entirely.

Nations are made of stronger stuff than the average human. If she was under duress or attack, she would still cry, yes, but… Her tears would fall upon an angered face, they would hinder her eyesight, blind her to horrors of warfare. Tears were such a small thing, but it was an expression of the fragile psyche within. Ukraine had her tears; Russia, his eerie smiles; Belarus, her piercing stare.

Tears were her way of becoming human.

Unfortunately…

Unfortunately, the rest of the world didn't see tears the same way. Tears were a sign of weakness, of emotion bursting from the seams of a mortal coil. What was the term that England couldn't help but use ever so often? Stiff upper lip? For some odd reason, tears were seen as unseemly things. Things meant to be harshly rubbed away with lace handkerchiefs and not be discussed.

Ukraine is a Nation. She should be better than this.

A malfunctioning projector was the least of any Nation's problems, but as she fiddled with the buttons on the remote and Sweden checked the connection of her laptop to whatever was needed to be connected, Ukraine felt like she was going to cry. Not a full blown weeping meltdown—although, it could simply escalate to that height if warranted—but a few trickles of unwanted moisture, if you will.

She never did like the idea of confrontation.

And when someone had suggested that Ukraine just present without the aid of a projector—a pragmatic turn of events due to someone's intervention—the blonde woman found herself being drowned out by the multitude of noise. Noise! Everywhere she looked, there was someone shifting in their seat, a rustle of papers, the telltale click of a closing briefcase. Ukraine was down to five minutes in her allotted fifteen, but everyone was chomping at the bit, all too eager to head to lunch.

It should have been quick. It should have been easy.

There was no need to fiddle with the remote to change slides or having the embarrassing urge to read directly off the visual aid. Ukraine could handle her notecards and the wide sea of dozens of Nations who wanted nothing more than to-to—

Another side effect of having the urge to cry.

Stuttering.

Which brought about nervousness.

Which caused even more stuttering.

Add that just hastened the onslaught of tears—tears that had no business in an international meeting.

Sometimes, Ukraine wished that there was some way she could turn invisible or something.

When she was scarcely through a third of her speech, more than half of the Nations present were no longer paying attention. Those who did, however, looked like they were only a few stutters away from joining the rest of the crowd. With little resolve to her name, Ukraine tried to stop the swelling of tears from obstructing her vision as she continued to refer to her note cards.

For one fleeting second, she raised her tearful gaze just once so she could gauge the room, took note of a young man's earnest gaze, dropped her eyes, and—

Wait.

Her voice slowed and eventually stopped as she looked up from her notes to catch the gaze of the young man once more. It didn't take long for her to realize that the representation of North Italy was the one who seemed to be one of the few to keep listening. It was strange. Out of all the other Nations present, she would have expected that Italy would have been the first to ache for food and lose interest in her presentation. Yet…

She knew that she was probably attracting too much attention for halting in the middle of her talk (a fact that she was acutely aware of), but… As Ukraine kept her eyes locked on the Italian's figure, he gave a broad smile that lightened his eyes, which formed cute little dimples on his cheeks. For some odd reason, it soothed the trembles in her heart. He gave her a thumbs up and mimed speaking, a reminder that she stood tall behind the podium.

Her voice, while not particularly strong in the first place, had managed to maintain a steady rhythm. Her eyes, previously tearful, had managed to blink back the worst of the flood. In the end, while her presentation may not have been the most engaging, she certainly did have a stronger ending. As the polite applause sounded, their host for the meeting declared that their lunch break would finally commence. Relieved and honestly disappointed that such a traumatizing ordeal did not warrant something more to cement such an undertaking, Ukraine made up her mind.

It was a spur of the moment thing. She was a European, yes, but that didn't mean that she interacted with Italy all too often. Despite that knowledge, that didn't stop her from practically falling down the stage steps and towards Italy's spot on the European side of the meeting hall. Unsurprisingly, Ukraine found the sunny Nation being berated by Germany for doodling all over his paperwork.

"Ah, but Germany, I was taking notes and drawing!" The auburn haired young man peered up innocently at his close neighbor and friend. "Shouldn't you be congratulating me for multitasking?"

"For the last time, Italy, I—" For a moment, the blond Nation looked like he was about to cuff Italy on the ear, but found himself pushed back into a corner by the rules of courtesy and etiquette. At the sight of Ukraine approaching, Germany cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Miss Ukraine, did you have-"

"Miss Ukraine!" Italy pushed Germany as far away as possible, effectively shooing Germany to do business elsewhere. "Your presentation was really interesting, but needs a little work on engaging the audience." His eyes, like his hands, held her fixed in place.

"Ah… thank you for the advice… and thank you for your help today." Her eyes were welling again—this time, from tears of gratefulness.

Italy laughed softly before placing a linen handkerchief in her hand. "What are you talking about? I was doing what everyone is supposed to do. Besides, no one should have to cry, not someone as beautiful as you."

And for the first time that day, Ukraine felt all her stress and fears lift away.