A/N: So this chapter…Like all the others I guess, it was really difficult to write. Just the size of it and what dialogue to fill it with took a toll on my brain cells. Character development and plot – sweet, glorious plot! – has started to form. I'm so excited. Now it's not completely random, I have somewhat of an idea to work with. With that, please enjoy Russia's prying interest and America's defensive responses.
Oh, and sorry for the French comment in here. It's all in good fun, people. But if it's insensitive, I'm sorry. I didn't think it was.
It's about time I got the ball rolling. It's as slow as an iceberg, but it's rolling nonetheless.
With his telephone unplugged and e-mail accounts constantly changing (it was his third time within two weeks), Alfred felt himself going stir crazy. It was like being isolated all over again, but this time instead of wanting to willingly shut himself away from the world, Alfred was being forced. And it was all because of that Russian. He frowned and twirled around in his desk chair silently brooding over the fact that Russia was probably having a good laugh at what he'd accomplished.
He could see the headlines now: Embodiment of the United States Goes Insane. Body Found on Highway Strangled by Own Straightjacket. How Dumb Can One Be?
He stopped his spinning by digging his shoes into the hardwood floor. "It's not my fault. Those things are really hard to get out of. What do they expect from me – I'm not Houdini!" Alfred grumbled and wiped a hand over his face to calm himself down. Yeah. Calm down, calm down, deep breaths, that's it, go on, shh shhh…
Alfred relaxed a bit and wiggled his toes restlessly in his sneakers. Alright, there was no real good reason to be acting like a crazy animal. It wasn't like he was visiting Japan and stayed in one of those pod hotels where he practically had a nervous breakdown. This was his huge house in his huge country in the huge world floating like a sailboat in the huge galaxy of stars and blackness. Yes, there was nothing to worry about.
A sudden buzzing in his pocket made Alfred scream in surprise – his heart shooting up into his throat – and fall rather ungracefully out of his chair. He groaned and rubbed at his tailbone, sitting up with a wince and reaching a hand into his pocket. He pulled out his personal cell phone and flipped it open to see a picture of Italy, his face looking rather goofy, eyes closed in mid-blink. Alfred never had given him a warning for the flash that emitted from his cell phone. It didn't really matter – he wasn't going to change the picture no matter how embarrassed Italy was about it.
With hesitance, "Hello?"
That familiar jittery voice that usually spouted about pasta and girls and every kind of stupidity known in the northeastern hemisphere reached his ears. "P-pronto? Yes, hello? Is this America?"
At this Alfred loosened up and felt a bit foolish for his overreaction. He crawled back into his chair and leaned back against it, feet swinging to graze the floor lightly and send him at an easy pace in a circle. "What do you need, Italy?" he asked listlessly. He wasn't in a huge mood to be roped into something the bumbling Italian needed at the moment.
"Ve…I'm sorry. Am I calling at a bad time? You sound busy – I'm sure you're busy. How insensitive of me. I just felt my fingers on my phone and before I knew it you were talking and then I had to start talking and it's really random of me since I'm here at Germany's and all and –"
"What do you need, Italy?" Alfred said, albeit a little strained. He wasn't angry per say, but he could hear in the back of Italy's throat a purpose and that probably meant that he was going to have to get up. Which he totally didn't want to do.
Italy choked back something in a thick Italian accent that Alfred couldn't disassemble to pull words out of. "Okay, okay. Well…I was just sitting in Germany's living room and I remembered those folders you gave me at the last conference."
Alfred pivoted his feet and started spinning in the other direction. "Yeah. What about them?"
There was a distinct pause on Italy's part. "I seem to have…V-ve…Lost – I lost them."
Alfred stopped moving, his chest pulling at him in annoyance. Nooo. Why, Italy, WHY? Do you want me to burn calories and get off my butt to make new copies? I'm not fat – honest! Stop calling me fat, you're not my fitness instructor! "I see," he said numbly and already started to stand up.
Italy sounded apologetic. "I'm sorry. I know that was stupid of me but I – I promise not to lose the new copies that I hope you'll send me since they're due next week."
"Oh yeah? That's good to hear. I wish I heard this promise a couple weeks ago," Alfred laughed into the phone. Italy paused for a moment, trying to assess if that was a good laugh or a bad laugh, but no matter what he assessed, he let loose a tiny, awkward little laughlet.
"I will pay for the expenses of the shipping," Italy assured as Alfred started locking his front door. He gave a shiver when his boots brushed against some snow on his concrete steps and pulled his jacket closer. Darn the winter. Darn it to heck.
"How nice of you," Alfred said absentmindedly before turning around and slipping, falling on his already bruised tailbone. He muffled a pained yelp into his glove before worming his way on the ground, wanting nothing more than to have that blasted bone ripped from his body.
"A-America? You sound angry…"
Alfred pounded his fist against the snow in an effort to relieve some of the pain in his ass. MOTHER FUCKER.
"…Are you angry?"
"N-no. No. I'm fine, Italy. Just a little tired. I'll get those bad boys shipped out today, okay? So don't you worry your teeny, tiny brain over anything, alright?" Alfred said with a smile between gritted teeth. He sat up and gently rubbed his bruised coccyx before standing up, clumps of snow falling off him in droves.
"Ve…Well–"
Click.
Alfred hung up and slowly started his walk to get a copy of those folders again. There was a building just seven blocks away – a big, ugly, brown building that looked like a square of rotting tofu – that was a government issued building. Alfred had always thought they'd had it built so close to his house for his convenience. His bosses could be so nice when they wanted to.
When he stepped outside he patted the small grey statue of a boy and his father holding hands. It had become a ritual for some reason ever since England had gotten it for him when he moved in all those years ago. It was supposed to make his yard look better but the thing just stood out more than usual. Either way, he decided to keep it and kept it right up by his door and out of harms way.
On his way there, Italy had called again. He told Alfred to actually make more pages since the font from the first one was too squished and small for him to read. Alfred cheerily agreed before hanging up again. He mentally ran that over in his head to remember. When he'd entered the building and started flipping through the filing cabinet, Italy called again, this time asking for them to be stapled since he mixed all the pages out of order on the last one.
Okay…Bigger font and stapled pages, bigger font and stapled pages. Alfred was at the copier and typing in the folder's labeled number to edit the document when Italy called again. This time he said to make a spare copy just in case he lost it again. That was Germany's idea, much to Alfred's chagrin. Bigger font, stapled pages, extra copy. Alfred was starting to get annoyed. This wasn't supposed to take as long as he'd been there. He was halfway through the second copy when his phone buzzed again. Alfred clenched his fingers and roughly dug around in his pocket for the device.
Flipping it open with one hand he all but screamed, "What! What, Italy, what? What could you possibly want on it now? Do you want it on paper with your flag's colors? Or maybe you want the font to resemble old Italian scrolls. Whatever it is just tell me now because I'm not going to pick up this phone again."
Alfred was huffing and puffing, face pink from the cold and possibly a smidge of annoyance from being closed off from everyone for weeks and then – and then! – the first nation he talks to sends him on a goose hunt for the perfect document. The only thing that could bother him more was that the Italian nation was silent from the other end. Alfred counted to five and suddenly felt a little guilty for yelling at the goofball.
He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as the copier hummed in front of him. "L-look, I'm sorry, Italy. I didn't mean to, you know, yell at you and stuff. I'll finish up the way you want it. What did you need?" There was more silence. Alfred shifted his feet. "I'll do it, but I don't have all day to stand around making copies. What do you need, Italy?" Still nothing. He frowned. "Look, I just said I didn't mean to yell at you. I've been stressed about a lot of things lately and you're the first person I've talked to in a while, and then you start making that panicky voice and telling me to–"
"Just because you are stressed, America, does not give you the right to take it out on others. Especially idiots like Italy, da?"
Alfred froze to the floor, and this time ice had nothing to do with it. His palm holding the phone filled with sweat instantly as he tore it from his face. He looked down at his phone and didn't see Italy's number or picture. Where was that picture? That half-blinking, dumbfounded picture? Time seemed to pass in clumps; very thick and confusing clumps that swirled around Alfred until he finally pulled the phone back up to his face, eyes narrowing and voice solid.
"Where the hell did you get this number?" Alfred demanded. His response was a joyous giggle that obviously sounded amused.
"Oh, America. You are very much as paranoid as you were during your 'Red Scare'. You must learn to, how you say, 'lighten up'." Russia smiled into his phone at yet another American influenced saying coming from his lips. This was exciting.
"I never gave you this number. I never even let you in the vicinity of this phone. How can you possibly have this number and call me paranoid when it's totally okay to be that?" Alfred asked, a slight hysterical twinge coating lightly over his voice, almost unnoticeable. He dug his fingers sharply into his hair and stared at the clicking and whirring of the copier in front of him.
"Yes. Now that you mention it, I am quite upset that someone of your caliber would have Italy in your cellular device yet none of my comrades, save for Lithuania of course," Russia commented airily making Alfred want to bash his head into the photocopier. So a crappy day could get crappier? Well if this wasn't the shit cherry on top of his diarrhea cake. "Is it because you can relate to Italy for you are both on the lower end of the IQ scale?"
Alfred didn't even bother commenting on how serious Russia was when discussing his intelligence, but rather focused his attention on another disturbing detail. "How do you know who's in my phone?" he muttered weakly. He could even hear the smile in Russia's voice as he answered.
"Secrets, secrets."
Oh. Well if it was a secret.
"Well if it's alright with you I think I'm just going to hang up now," Alfred mumbled, much too tired to deal with this on his bored, tired, and possibly suicidal day. Before he could pull away, Russia beat him to the punch.
"Wait a moment if you would, dear America. I have something I wish to discuss with you before–"
Alfred pulled his lips in a thin, tight line; a phony makeshift smile tugging at his face. Wonderful. What could Russia possibly have to discuss with him right now…on his personal cell phone…on his day off?
"Make it quick."
Russia paused for a moment, only managing to get half a sound out of his throat before –
Click.
Alfred shoved his phone in his pocket, fingers tense when pulling the warm papers from the copier in front of him. He proceeded to staple them and slide them into neat manila folders before putting the original files back in the filing cabinet. When he started to leave the building, traveling through the musty hallways, his phone started vibrating once again. It was Russia, he didn't even have to check. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Russia (or Italy). It didn't really matter one way or the other; he didn't want to talk with either of them at the moment.
The buzzing stopped after a minute, a small bell emitting from his phone. Curious now, Alfred absentmindedly reached in his pocket to see that he had a voicemail. With a grunt he pulled it up to his ear, ignoring the chill of the air when he walked outside. That annoying, irritable voice tickled his eardrums once more.
"My, that was very rude of you. Do you often hang up when someone is trying to talk about important matters to you? I suppose that should not surprise me considering the awful American manners you possess, but I find myself a tad bothered. Please try to be more considerate when it comes to your colleagues and fellow telephone users."
Alfred rolled his eyes and started double checking the folders in front of him. He heard the shift in Russia's tone – going from a more irritated to a pleasant one.
"Now that you understand the difference between rudeness and politeness, I will tell you to look up within the next three seconds."
Alfred blinked, his hands fumbling with the files in front of him. "Wha – oomph!" He stumbled when his face collided with something large and broad – the bland colors of grey dancing across his vision for a moment. Sputtering and looking up, Alfred gaped to see Russia standing in front of him, smiling like someone who wasn't aware that this totally wasn't normal. He shot back, confused, glaring and shaking at the nation that was not supposed to be standing on one of his streets like he was.
What the hell? Russia wasn't even supposed to be here. Was he? N-no he wasn't. Alfred would know if Russia was supposed to be here…right?
"You do not follow orders very well," Russia commented with his carefree smile, hands strung behind his back. His American companion could care less with whatever Russia was spurting and was focusing more on stopping his heart from exploding in his chest. That much friction from it pumping so fast couldn't be good for him.
" Wh- wha – why are you doing – I mean, what are you doing here with – Wait – You're, you –" Wow. His mouth couldn't even function properly. With an annoyed groan and a rapid shake of the head, Alfred straightened up and stopped his jumbled nerves long enough to form a sentence. Well…Something coherent at least. "You. Here. Why?"
Russia was standing off to the side of some potted flowers, eyes regarding them with interest. His gloved fingers skimmed them giving him an almost tender look in his eyes. With that it was gone, his attention back on the tense American before him. He smiled and brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face. "That you should already be aware of."
Alfred stared.
Russia smiled.
Alfred squinted as if just narrowing his eyes could help him gauge whatever the hell kind of nonsensical garbage Russia was spouting. Russia sighed through his nose, making sure to keep his smile in place, and rustled around in his coat before pulling a few pieces of paper out. He held them forward and waited until Alfred cautiously snatched them away and looked at them incredulously. He cocked his head to the side in confusion before looking back towards Russia. Why was Russia still carrying some papers he had given him at the Starbucks nearly a month ago?
Russia decided to elaborate for him before he could voice his puzzlement. "Four days ago my political leaders were going to put into action the plans conducted by our two friendly nations composed, yet upon further inspection, two signature slots were unsigned. You see the problem? We asked ourselves, 'How can this be? We cannot pass a legal document that has not been completely agreed upon by the second party. Do they think we are imbeciles such as themselves or do they just like giving us more to do at our inconvenience?' And even as we looked deeper into the problem, the signature slots are the ones supposed to be filled in by your President."
Alfred gripped the copied paper in his hands, uncaring if it got crinkled. He felt a nervous sweat gather at the back of his neck. Russia's smile seemed to get a little more sadistic then.
"A realization hit me when I began to recall the meeting we attended right after our enjoyable little chat at the coffee shop. You were supposed to make sure all given empty slots were to be signed by the instructed officials, yet you overlooked two on the seventh page. They were nestled at the bottom where even your horrible eyesight could not even hope to reach. It is truly an embarrassing mistake that could have been avoided."
Alfred's face heated up in humiliation. He knew he should have triple-checked even after handing it over to Russia. And now he had to deal with that grinning face like a cat torturing a mouse hovering right above him. Super. Alfred coughed awkwardly before shoving the paper back at Russia who merely tucked it back in his coat for safekeeping.
"Whoops," he muttered, barely audible. Russia chuckled.
"Whoops indeed."
Shifting his feet in the icy snow, Alfred huffed and tucked Italy's manila folders under his arm. He grumbled, getting his old demeanor back. "W-well, something like this is an easy fix. All you needed to do was fax it back over and the problem would've been solved days ago. There's no need for you to physically be here."
Russia tutted, meaning to correct Alfred as he fell in line with the slow strides of the coated blonde. "I am also aware of that. Please do not insinuate that I am as dense as you. I know when to gauge my surroundings. I was merely bored to tears when I heard about this problem. I was even told not to get involved but I insisted that we take a trip back to fix this. Foreign relations is a hefty topic, do you not agree?"
Alfred felt something coil around his ribcage and siphon off the air that rested there. There was just something very intimidating about the way Russia "insisted" something. He decided not to look over at him when the air seemed to drop temperature.
"…I see. Well that's just awful," Alfred deadpanned. He was too busy thinking of a way to get to his house without Russia following and finding out his personal address. He didn't need something like that weighing around him. Damn, he'd never expected this. Alfred chewed on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. He could walk around for a while and try to politely leave claiming to have other things to do, but Russia would surely impose himself. He always did.
He mentally whined. It was freezing; walking around for a while didn't sound like a fun plan at all.
"–Do you think so?"
Alfred's feet stuttered for a moment before he quickly caught himself. Oh, Russia was still talking. With a frown he looked away at the different snow topped buildings ahead of him. "Uh – yeah. Sure."
Russia stared down at him with something that resembled mild shock. Alfred ran his tongue over his teeth a little nervously at the expression he received. Did he say something weird? The look was gone a split second after it had appeared, replaced by a placid smile.
"Is that so? I would not have guessed that you would so willingly denounce your allegiance to your Declaration of Independence and country's flag."
Alfred stopped altogether and looked outright appalled. "Are you crazy? I would sooner shoot off all my toes before I did that!"
He was cut off with an amused string of giggles. Russia looked at him through crescent moon eyes, cheeks pushing up and squinting them. "I am joking, joking." He watched as Alfred glared and looked away, pout set on his lips. "My apologies. I could not help myself. You always have such outlandish faces."
Alfred grunted unappreciatively and fiddled with the folders under his arm. Russia let out a small hum and looked up towards the glossy sky above. "To be serious, the real question I asked was if you enjoy having siblings?"
If Alfred was bothered by this question he didn't show it. He shrugged in response, trying to be as noncommittal to the conversation as possible. "You have quite a few, do you not? I cannot recall all of them, but I am at least aware of their presence. You have a closer bond with the other nation that shares your face, I believe."
Alfred wasn't going to make any comment, but the mention of his brother stirred something soft in him past all of the gunk that festered around his chest when Russia was around. "Yeah…Mattie's cool."
Russia flexed his fingers at his sides before running them along the scarf that warmed his neck. Something glinted in his eyes a moment when looking down at the old, worn out cloth. "He is…not much like you, is he?" Russia framed his words like a question, yet both knew the answer even if Alfred didn't reply.
Going along with the conversation in hopes of slipping in a spot to get away, Alfred begrudgingly responded. "No. He's totally opposite."
"You are correct. He seems much more well-mannered than you." Alfred shot him a displeased glower that Russia took in good stride. "He is not more interesting, though."
Alfred felt that uncomfortable squirming back in his belly like thousands of maggots on a dead carcass. He rolled his neck and stuck a hand in his pocket. "Huh."
Somehow sensing Alfred's unease, Russia smiled lightly and twined his fingers together. "Tell me, has your hair always been that unruly?" Alfred kicked at the snowy edges of the grass beside him on the concrete. He kept his eyes down and frowned, not too grateful for the subject change. It wasn't that he didn't want it to change, but Russia even managed to keep it on another stupid subject. What was with him and all these questions anyways?
"Yeah."
Russia let out a slightly interested hum behind his lips and slowed his pace when he noticed Alfred lagging behind – whether it was because of his short or debatably stumpy legs or because he was purposely slowing down was arguable. He smiled to himself at the grouchy look Alfred seemed to always wear around him. He liked that about him, even if he would never voice it. Japan or England or Lithuania may get to see Alfred's happy faces or grins on mirth, but Russia was a very special person. He had that impression; why else would Alfred show him the angry, bitter, spiteful side of himself that he rarely showed to others?
He paused before giggling and receiving a strange look from Alfred. No, that was ridiculous. He didn't wish to take the place of someone very special to Alfred, but he did like see him squirm and writhe around uncomfortably with that delightful scowl in place.
"Even when it rains?" Russia asked, feigning surprise.
"Yes," Alfred bit out.
"How interesting. Do you mind me asking another question?"
"Yes."
"When exactly did you discover this piece?" Russia asked and stopped to point at Alfred's unmanageable cowlick. He flinched and ducked his head away so Russia wouldn't touch him, even if he was wearing gloves. "You call it Nantucket, do you not?"
Alfred swatted his hand away and stepped away, still on the defensive. He frowned, not liking Russia discussing how he kept his hair. Who was he to judge? At least Alfred didn't let his hair…uh…hang over his ears! Yeah, what a hippie. "I don't know. It's just been that way as long as I can remember. And don't touch it."
"Why not?" Russia asked and tilted his head to the side inquisitively.
"Because. Do you need any other reason than that?" Alfred snipped with a wince. Russia smiled and took a step back to quell the bristled nation.
"Fair enough." With that the conversation seemed to die for but a moment as the two walked in silence. Alfred cooled down a bit but found his mind reeling once more. His fingers were going numb and his nose was as frozen as ice. Russia let out an airy breath that sounded strangely like a laugh and Alfred raised an eyebrow at him. He mentally cursed him for looking so unaffected by the cold.
"What?"
Russia shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. Alfred stared for a moment before huffing and blowing clouds of white from his lips. But then Russia let out that same sound again making Alfred give him the same skeptical stare. Russia proceeded to wave him off again when Alfred growled. "What's so funny?"
Russia's eyes sparkled with unabashed mirth. "Your hair."
Alfred gaped. "What about my hair?"
Russia twined his fingers behind his back and began to walk smoothly through a patch of salt on the sidewalk. His lips quirked upwards in that smile that Alfred hated with all his being. In a sense it was much worse than the malicious one he wore during the Cold War. The smile he wore when talking to him lately held some sense of secrecy; as if Russia knew something Alfred didn't and didn't plan on sharing it with him. Ever.
"It is unsightly and golden." The tall Russian looked down at Alfred to see the unsettled expression that clearly stated that he didn't understand. "You are America, see? Yet you have golden hair." Alfred blinked. "Golden much like the Spanish grass that flourishes on your hills. You are America yet you are still like Spain. I can see it on your tumbleweed hair, much like your western movies, da?"
Remember that time chunking thing Alfred talked about earlier? It was happening again. Forget the fact that Russia found it hi– fucking –larious that his hair was blonde instead of green like regular grass (which was humongously dim-witted by the way because green wasn't a normal hair color in the Land of Sanity) but he'd also mentioned that he was mildly aware of western movies. That plus the Parent Trap he'd mentioned earlier meant that he watched some American movies despite saying how pedantic and eccentric America was all the time. And by saying this out loud (which couldn't be a coincidence) made Russia, like, his stalker right?
"Why are you so caught up on my hair?" Alfred managed to choke out and keep his legs moving at the same time. Ha! He could multitask too when he wanted.
"Vanity," Russia reminded in a sing-song tone making Alfred clench his fingers in annoyance. He was so tired of hearing him say that. "I am simply supplying a subject that has a possibility that you may contribute to."
"So you choose hair?" he asked skeptically.
Russia smiled at him. "Was that a bad choice?"
Alfred slowly shook his head, unsure whether he was answering Russia's question or just trying to symbolically shake off the whole situation. Either way Russia took that as an okay to continue talking. "I find it humorous to see history on such a goofy looking body." He rightly ignored the glare he received. "I do not notice history that much on others, but it seems to stand out more on you for some strange reason. A lot of it is from your earlier existence, like those spectacles or your hair."
Alfred kept silent and pretended to ignore Russia but was really quietly listening to the words streaming from his mouth. He had never had someone bring up history on his looks before. It was strangely…flattering. Mostly creepy, but a little flattering. Russia chiding him about vanity popped into his head that moment making Alfred grimace.
"You have hair like your northern counterpart and also share his face and have slender hands such as that promiscuous Frenchman." Alfred sneakily glanced towards his hands and inspected them, unaware of Russia's eyes watching him curiously. Was he really that much like other nations just didn't notice it? How many others had started to notice as well? Surely it wasn't just Russia…He'd die if it was just Russia.
"Yet for some reason, I do not see your biggest influence very much in you." Alfred felt his heart twinge for a second, quickly picking back to his regular palpitation tempo. He lightly furrowed his brow in silent concern and watched Russia curiously.
"What do you mean?"
Russia acted like this statement was obvious. "Your language is choppy and awkward, more of a bastard child of the true English language. You do not possess horrid eyebrows much like his Celtic brethren and that tiny spec of a laughable nation who dresses like a sea man. Your eyes are very much like the open sky that is endless, whereas his are like the grass of the land where he is forced to stay." Russia paused to see Alfred's face loosen up with each word, each observation. He inwardly grinned at the fact that Alfred probably even wasn't aware that he wasn't wearing his trademark scowl. Craning his neck to the side, Russia batted pale eyelashes curiously. "You did not notice this?"
Alfred looked away down towards his feet and focused all his might on them. "You say soccer, he says football. You are also very dark skinned and he is pale. You are tall, he is short. There are many other noticeable qualities that stand out that you do not mirror. I am just curious, why is that?"
Alfred blinked and looked back up at Russia with wide eyes. Why…is that? Why didn't he resemble anything from England? From Arthur? He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "No. No – I – I do have some English background. It's just…not super visible. I drink tea and stuff sometimes," Alfred said confidently and kept on walking. Russia watched his back for a few seconds.
"Are you referring to all of the herbal teas from Asia?" It was very hard to keep the amusement from his voice when Alfred went rigid and stopped. Russia wiped his hand quickly over his face, as if the action alone would get rid of his smile, before continuing forward to see the blonde nation staring at a tree across the way with a very peculiar expression. "Does that really count?"
Alfred's eyebrows pulled together in great concentration. He wracked his mind for any possible thing that was relatable to England and quickly grinned, fingers snapping enthusiastically. "We both make fun of the French."
Russia smiled politely. "Everyone makes fun of the French."
Alfred faltered slightly before glaring back up at Russia. He was obviously not liking this conversation that much. "Who cares? Who really fuckin' cares if I don't have anything in common with Engl – Arthur? We get along now so that's all that matters. Besides, I don't have anything from you either but that doesn't mean you were never part of my history."
Russia's smile pulled tighter and Alfred fumed. He turned heel and quickly started storming away. Russia giggled to himself and was truly enjoying this little game of theirs before he caught up. "I will help you out since you seem to have such a problem with this predicament."
"I don't have a problem," Alfred denied bitterly.
Russia ignored that statement. He placed a finger to his chin and feigned thinking. "Hm. What could reconnect you with the British Empire? Maybe your awful taste buds or loud behavior…" He chuckled, eyes swirling a somewhat darker shade of violet – resembling a mud puddle of dark ink. Alfred shivered when Russia tapped lightly to the spot where his heart lay. "Or maybe a scar?"
There it was. There was that thing again. That same thing that happened in the coffee shop and at the fountain. That sickening feeling that made him want to do nothing more than to wretch out all the contents in his stomach and then some. It was a terrible feeling and combined with those twinkling eyes staring down at him, Alfred nearly lost it. He flinched away and growled, his heart beating nervously.
"I don't want nor need your help. Leave it the hell alone." His voice definitely wasn't shaking. Definitely. He stared at Russia for what seemed like forever before his nerves came back to him, jittery and jumbled. He wiped his sleeve under his nose and straightened the folders under his arm. Much calmer now, "I have to go. I still have stuff to do today."
Russia blinked and that inky, thick look was out of his eyes. He smiled and clasped his hands together. "Perhaps you are correct. I do have things I must attend to as well. Such as your embarrassing mistake with the documentation." He smiled wider seeing Alfred falter slightly at the mention of that again. "I enjoyed our brief moment of conversation. I wish to do it again sometime. Please plug your phone and computer back in. I do not wish to come to your country every time we discuss something. That would take a toll on me, truly it would."
Alfred frowned at the mention of his phone. He didn't want to plug it back in. He was too afraid of how many messages would be on it. But since Russia had already gotten his cell number…it seemed pointless to keep avoiding the outside world when every form of communication he had was tainted. "Whatever," he muttered and turned to leave.
Even as he started to walk away he couldn't get that itch from the back of his head. That itch like eyes were watching him the whole way back. "Be safe," Russia announced. And with that, the two parted.
"The inbox was full, Matt. The machine couldn't hold anymore messages. That's freaky stuff right there," Alfred whined into his cell phone whilst flipping through the channels on his television. He could hear the hesitance from his brother even over the phone.
"I think you did something," Canada said quietly. He fiddled with the spatula in his kitchen and waited for the stove to heat up.
"Did not."
Canada sighed. "You're so immature. Why can't you admit when you do something wrong?"
Alfred licked the spoon from his ice cream bowl and muted the TV. "Um, because I didn't do anything this time?"
"You're not always right, you know, Alfred. You probably just said something to him that–"
"Did not."
"Then why are you telling me this?" Canada complained and yelped when his finger touched the warm burner. He stuck it in his mouth. "Don't bother me with your problems if you're going to be too vain to take any blame."
Alfred sat up abruptly in his chair and frowned. "Don't say that," he said firmly. "I am not vain."
Canada blinked, perplexed as to why such a statement would make his brother snap at him. He figured it had something to do with whatever problems he was going through with at the moment. "You are but I guess not all the time…Just most of the time…At least when you're around me."
"Shut up, Mattie," Alfred ordered and fell against his sofa. The last thing he wanted was for Russia to get in his head and mess up his relationships with his brother and…other people. It had been a few days since running into Russia 'coincidentally', and ever since he hadn't been in such a good mood. At least he had made sure Russia was on a plane home a day ago, seeing the large nation off. It had been like a weight being lifted off his shoulders, Russia's presence no longer bothering him in his country.
Still, just the things he said were starting to get to him. They shouldn't, but they were. And here he was expecting some magic advice from his brother which wasn't going to happen and all he could do was quote Russia. Yeah, he wasn't really aware that he was quoting him, but it was still just as bad. If not, worse.
When Canada didn't seem to respond from his end, Alfred adjusted the phone better by his ear. "I didn't mean literally shut up," he sighed.
"Sorry. You just sounded so serious."
Alfred rolled his eyes at his brother's sarcasm. "Look, if you want to be useful to me then just tell me that I'm an awesome guy and that Russia isn't acting different than usual. I must be imagining it all."
Canada poured some batter in a pan and exhaled. "You're awesome, Alfred. And Russia is just swarming around you like a bug to a bug zapper because of it. There. Is that what you wanted?"
"Maybe a plaque for it too."
Canada smiled despite himself. "You would. Can I go now? I can't cook and listen to you complain at the same time. I think I need another ear for that."
Alfred frowned and nestled his head in the armrest of his couch. He sighed overdramatically. "Fine. Don't burn your house down."
"I'm not you."
Alfred snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "See ya, Matt."
"Goodnight, Al."
Alfred hung up his phone and threw it on the coffee table. He shut his eyes and rubbed them, the light of the television bothering them. It danced across his skin like a bunch of fireflies on steroids with the different colors. Alfred yawned and rolled over so he wouldn't have to see them anymore. Thinking about his brother's reassurance, he couldn't help but feel a little better. The words were like a soothing balm to an open wound that was starting to form.
If he didn't dwell on them, it wouldn't have given him the comfort it did. He lay there just like that for he didn't know how long. He just knew that it was disrupted when a loud crash tore through his living room. He quickly fell off his couch ungracefully and popped his head up in confusion.
"What the hell?"
That was a definite sound of something breaking, but the question was where. Getting to his feet, Alfred scrambled towards his window. He peeled back the curtains and looked out into his lit yard but didn't see anybody. Huh. It must've been an animal or something. Just to make sure he grabbed his fire poker and unlocked his front door. He pulled it open and stepped out onto his snowy porch, no movement in sight. It was just a calm, chilly winter night.
Alfred stood there a moment until his skin started to get Goosebumps before deciding to go back inside. Maybe something had broken in the backyard. Before he could even take one step in his house, Alfred's eyes snagged on something out of the ordinary. He slowly scuffled back around and kneeled down to where the good luck statue was. A tight coiling began to wind around his chest uncomfortably when his eyes ran over it. Down the center, where the hands used to be connected with the boy and the man was a rift; an ugly, gnashing crack down the center.
Alfred reached out and ran his hand over the jagged cut and didn't move.
That reassuring balm was gone. It was replaced with an uneasy dread that tickled at the back of his mind.
He needed to call Canada again, pancakes be damned.