A/N: I'm not really happy with this one though. ;A; Also, I'm sure what couple to do next - suggestions please? Any couple at all. 3 I might do Lithuania and Poland next unless a more preferable request comes up. .3.

Reviews are much love and appreciated. :'D

Beauty

Seeking

Ivan Braginski sought beauty.

Alfred F. Jones wasn't exactly what he was looking for.

In fact, what Ivan had his eye on was someone completely opposite of the aforementioned nation. Toris Lorinaitis had a tender beauty, with mild green eyes – much different from Komrade England's, whose eyes were a forest on fire – and light brown hair that brushed his shoulders like a whisper. But what Ivan loved about Toris' beauty was his wonderfully expressive face. He could never hide anything from Ivan, not his thoughts nor his emotion, and the sheer terror that sculpted itself on to his features was deliciously beautiful. Yet it was Alfred F. Jones who managed to dig deep like a thorn and latch himself onto the heart that not even Ivan knew was there.

It happened on a day where the sky was painted blue and white and where the sun sat smugly. It was the day that Alfred saw Ivan and the day Ivan found Alfred.

The Russian had managed to escape the meeting, and when he finally did, one did not need to read minds to tell that the man was not happy. If truth be told Ivan Braginsky was ready to strangle the nations foolish enough to obstruct him while on his way to pursue the Lithuanian. He had ended up losing sight of the other nation and now Ivan was standing just in front of the looming conference building that seemed to mock him by throwing a dark shadow over the dark nation. He was alone.

Again.

Ivan laughed bitterly and was surprised to hear an echo – until he heard a choke that was more a sob. He turned slowly; curiously. So he wasn't alone. He saw the dirty gold first; a field of swaying wheat. Then the sky. For some reason, Ivan couldn't breathe. Alfred was dragging footsteps from the bathroom and muttering profanities under a sordid breath.

"Ah – Komrade America," Ivan gave a small smile; the air slowly began to grow thick with the unexplainable phenomenon of a literal death aura. Alfred did not notice.

"Oh look; commie."

"Are you drunk?"

Alfred looked at him sharply. "No. I'm not, actually." Then: "I will be later."

Ivan's smile grew in one corner and tilted his head, questioning. Alfred just let out a harsh bark that was supposed to be a laugh and began to trudge away. Ivan watched him for a moment before finally falling into step with the other man. Alfred didn't even look at him.

"Something is wrong. You are never down," Ivan stated matter-of-factly. Alfred did not turn to look at him, but Ivan could see the shine in his eyes that could only be one thing. "Are you crying?"

"You don't know anything," Alfred snapped. He reached under his glasses and touched the wetness, staring at his fingers as if disbelievingly. "And no, I'm not crying. It was...It was the meeting room. It was just so stuffy and full of dust. Can't find anyone to clean anything anymore." This time, Alfred turned to Ivan and grinned. Ivan smiled back, just as forced and just as painful. It hurt them both; Ivan could feel, to smile when you are out of practice.

"Besides," Alfred added after a prolonged silence. "Heroes never cry."

"Of course not," Ivan agreed, still smiling amiably. "It had absolutely nothing to do with Komrade England."

"I-" There. Ivan let his smile slide into a triumphant smirk as Alfred shook his head vigorously. He grumbled again, shooting an icy look at the Russian man who shrugged innocently. "Why am I even talking to you? Everyone knows Commies are trying to brainwash me...Can't you just leave me alone?"

"Alone?" Hollow laughter filled the air. "You and I – we're always alone. I am right, da?"

"What's it to you then?" Alfred asked, exasperated.

Ivan snorted, earning himself another glare that he dismissed with a giant hand. "My curiosity is curiosity. It does not have to mean anything to me."

"You wouldn't understand anyway Ivan," Alfred ran a hand through his hair and suddenly, he looked so very much older; like the man he was not quite. Ivan stared. Suddenly, he looked so very beautiful and Ivan saw the sun that he loved in the one person he hated; he saw what he sought.

"How could I not understand? Have you any idea how many centuries I have on my ha-...You called me Ivan."

A pause, then an awkward laugh. "Yeah I did, didn't I?"

"You've never called me Ivan," the older man declared. "I didn't think you even knew my name."

"Bull. We're allies," Alfred replied drily and stopped abruptly, leaning heavily against a brick wall and Ivan stopped in front of him.

"Komrade France and I are allies; I am willing to bet that he does not know my name," Ivan countered and folded his arms over his chest, pouting. Alfred stared then shrugged.

"Well, I dunno about France," Alfred straightened, looking the Russian in the eye and Ivan wondered if it was a challenge. Neither blinked. "But we've been through some tough times together-"

"Tough for you," Ivan interjected with an innocent sneer. Alfred ignored the jibe.

"– and besides, what kind of hero would I be if I didn't know my allies' names?" He folded his arms firmly over his chest as if to settle the case. The two stood across from each other stubbornly.

"A hero," Ivan nodded wisely. "Komrade England looked upset about something when he left today, da? Why don't you be hero and check up on him?"

Alfred winced. "He can take care of himself."

"I suppose," the man shrugged and tightened the scarf around his neck nonchalantly. "Komrade France went after him anyway."

"...Oh."

He sounded like a child to Ivan then, a child who missed out on something he had waited so long for. He sounded broken and Ivan suddenly wanted to fix him. He wanted to see the beauty that had been shattered. When Ivan awoke with warmth on his chest and a breath on his neck, he knew that he did not have to look any further for the beauty that he had been seeking all along.