The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine.
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me.

And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,
And hands which offer early flowers,
Walk smiling o'er this paradise:
Above, the frequent feudal towers
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray;
And many a rock which steeply lowers,
And noble arch in proud decay,
Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;
But one thing want these banks of Rhine, --
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!

Excerpt from Longing, ~ George Gordon, Lord Byron


"All right, you have three minutes to pack. Go!" Russia said, smiling. America threw the car door open and dashed into his temporary apartment. Russia laughed; he had only been joking, but the American had seemed to take it seriously. He had warned his friend that Russia could be extremely cold, so he should pack warm clothing. Russia wondered if America had heard him; he had been happily staring out the window for most of the last day of the World Conference. It didn't seem to matter when England hit him warningly in the shoulder, trying to tell him to, 'pay attention, you bloody git'.

When America didn't emerge from his apartment after almost five minutes, Russia decided to go after him. Shoving the car keys into his pocket, he walked up the stairs to America's apartment on the fourth floor.

"America?" he asked, knocking on the door. When he touched it, the door swung open. Looking around, Russia smirked when he spotted America. He was trying to sit on his suitcase and zip it up at the same time. It wasn't working so well.

"Want some help?" Russia offered. America smiled gratefully.

"That'd be awesome, thanks," he said, getting off the overflowing suitcase. Without the weight holding it closed, the lid popped open, and America sighed.

"Here," Russia said, slapping the top closed and holding it down. "Try it now." With Russia's help, they were able to finally shut the suitcase. America flopped down on his bed, pretending to be worn out.

"Hmm," Russia observed. "If you are too tired to walk down to the car, perhaps you are too tired to come to the airport too...?" At that, America sprung up, smiling and grabbing the suitcase by the top handle. It extended, and America was able to drag it around by the wheels on the bottom.

"No way! Let's go!" he exulted, racing for the hallway. Russia followed, smiling fondly, and had to laugh when America tried to roll the suitcase down the stairs. As anyone could predict, it did not end well.

"The suitcase has a mind of it's own, da?" Russia commented teasingly. The suitcase had picked up too much momentum, and had gone faster than America could. It had then slammed into the back of America's leg, making his knee give out. Russia had had the opportunity to see his friend topple down the rest of the short flight of stairs, landing in an undignified heap on the landing.

"You would say that, while I'm down here in pain," America complained in a whining voice while Russia reached him. Kneeling down, Russia smiled at the man.

"I'm sorry," he said, extending his hand to help America up. "Are you all right?"

"I just raced my suitcase down the stairs with my head," America said, accepting Russia's offer of help. "How do you think I feel?"

"Judging from your complaints, you're fine," Russia determined. "But, for the sake of the thing, I will take the suitcase down the rest of the stairs." Russia pushed the handle back in and instead opted to use the non-extending handle on the side, so the suitcase was horizontal instead of dragging on the floor. "This way is much easier, da?" America grinned and nodded.

Their experience at the airport was not much of an improvement. When they went up the escalator to get to the check-in, America's shoelace got sucked under when he tried to get off. Unable to move forward, America hit the ground, one foot awkwardly twisted, toe of his boot pressed to the escalator top.

"Any help?" he requested, trying to sit up. Russia flipped open the little clear box that was next to the escalator. Upon pushing the large red button, the moving stairs stopped. Sitting on the ground next to America, Russia tried to get the shoelace out, but it was tangled horribly. A man offered to call Airport Police to help. All the while, America was sitting in a slightly painful manner, one leg splayed out beside him.

"You are a magnet for trouble, da?" Russia asked teasingly once the Police had come and freed America's foot. It had taken about five minutes, most of which had been them laughing about how the hell America's shoelace got so damn stuck. Now, they were walking to the check-in area again, America's shoes tied tightly.

"I suppose so," America said, grinning. "That's never happened before." That was what the Police had told them after getting America's shoelace out of the escalator, too. Russia and America had had to convince them for almost three whole minutes that he was fine; they seemed to feel bad about it.

When they got to the check-in, America and Russia hefted their bags onto the scale, presenting their boarding passes that Russia produced from his coat pocket. That was one of the few parts of their airport experience that was actually normal, and passed without incident.

Going through security wasn't a whole lot better than the escalator situation, but it did make Russia laugh. America forgot to take off his belt and the metal detectors began blaring when he walked through. When the attendant asked him to remove the belt and try again, America's eyes sparkled as he innocently replied, "But who'll hold the ladies back when my pants drop?"

The attendant wasn't as amused as Russia was; he took America to the side and swept his body with a hand-held metal detector instead. Russia waited for him on a bench, humming to himself and watching as the people went by. America caught his gaze and smiled, the attendant still waving the detector over his arms. When he finally determined that America wasn't a terrorist, but just a smartass, he let him rejoin Russia.

"You enjoy screwing with people, don't you?" Russia asked.

"I really do," America said, smiling. "So, where to now?" America was anxious to get wherever they were going, now that he had just publicly embarrassed himself and annoyed an airport attendant.

"Customs," Russia replied, pointing toward a line of booths, the word 'CUSTOMS' printed on a large sign in bold font. He and America checked in, displaying their passports and assuring them that they had no food or animals with them. The entire process took about forty-five minutes.

America was getting antsy; he was sick of airports. They smelled weird, like that special sawdust stuff the janitors used to clean up vomit back in elementary school mixed with grease. And the people there were kind of creepy; the employees looked like they'd rather be anywhere else, and glared at you if you asked them a question. And the passengers were either busy and plowed right over you, or they were just so slow that they were practically standing still when you were trying to get to your gate.

"What gate are we?" America asked, dodging around a man who was so preoccupied talking on his cell phone that he nearly hit America.

Russia glanced at one of their boarding passes. "B-14," he read off. Looking at the signs above their heads, he pointed down a hallway. "Down there, I think."

Despite their multiple holdups—mostly on America's part—the two had to wait in the terminal for twenty more minutes before they could finally board the plane. By then, it was nine at night, and America was getting tired.

"You can sleep on the plane," Russia promised. "It will be about a six hour flight." That sounded wonderful to America; he was almost falling asleep in his chair.

When they finally were able to board, Russia gave America his boarding pass, and America saw that they were some of the first to get on. Russia led them to a pair of seats, hefting their bags into the overhead compartments. They listened to the pilot's announcements, first in Russian, then in English. America was too tired to pay much attention to either version.

America looked out the window during take-off. He wouldn't admit it –what hero would? —but the high velocity sort of scared him. His hand clutched the armrest as tightly as he dared, watching as the trees rolled by, a dark blur against a slightly lighter background. Russia noticed, and rested his hand comfortingly on America's arm. America glanced at him, then relaxed, releasing the armrest from his death grip.

When they got up in the air, both of them looked out the window, down at the ground below them. It was raven's-feather-dark, with only little sparks of light accenting it, sparks that were really streetlights and headlights of cars. But they looked like orange-and-red stars in the night sky; similar to the white ones they would see if they looked up.

America wanted to stay up to talk to Russia, but he was so tired; he had had to get up early to attend the meeting soon enough to meet Russia before it. He soon fell asleep, sinking into the slightly gaudy fabric of his seat.

He woke only once during the flight. He realized that, while he was sleeping, his head had fallen against Russia's shoulder. Looking up to see if Russia was asleep, he noted that the nation was looking at him.

"How much longer?" America asked.

"Not very long, Alfred," Russia said quietly. "Just go back to sleep." America sighed, resting his head back on Russia's shoulder.

"M'kay, Vanya," he murmured, closing his eyes again. He fell asleep to the soft sounds of the plane and the warmth of Russia's hand on his, a contented smile gracing his lips.


A/N: Yay! New chapter over spring break! Makes me laugh how everyone else in my classes are going out, getting drunk and laid, while I'm at home writing. Well, then I think that I'm the only one of them actually passing my courses, so I laugh again.

Oh, and the shoelace-in-the-escalator thing? Actually happened to me when I was a kid. These things always happen to me...