Ehhem, Ehhem. What they are going to watch, is still beyond me. I'll find something out… Preferably something to do with Iggy. Oh well, I'll find it out anyway… So, we join our characters where we left them. Kinda.

Disclaimer: No such luck.

12

How did it come to this? One minute she was asking if he fancied a movie, and he accepted. Elizaveta then began to scan her DVD collection to find something worthy, and stuck with The English Patient, thinking it would be familiar to both of them. She had been right, in a way: they both understood everything about it, their memories from WWII being still (or too) vivid. That meant they both enjoyed the movie thoroughly, along with another helping of brandy. As the plot unraveled (not that they didn't know it, mind you), she felt the urge of filling and re-filling her glass again more and more pressing as melancholy slowly wiped all other emotions away. Hungary knew she had to snap out of this if she didn't want to drink herself numb (which wasn't an option, not with Arthur in her house), something she didn't resort to do ever since WWII. It was the conclusion of her feeling wretched and depressed, desperate and helpless, at times even suicidal- feelings she as a country suppressed most of the time. Why did she do it? Because she didn't want to be taken advantage of while drunk, least of all back while Russia "popped up" once in a while to check on his satellite state.
Yet here she sat, with him by her side and a full glass in hand. The third one, at least so she remembered, although she didn't pay much attention.
'H-hey, careful there… you're going to feel awful in the morning…' he spoke suddenly in an awkward voice.
'I don't care… And it's not as if I drank a liter of it, it's only three or four glasses.'

Oh, did she sound pathetic. Absorbed in self-pity and memories, she ran to booze and pretended it was all right. She loathed herself now. Why couldn't she just simply… forget, without drinking? Keeping record of everything and especially past failures was sure useful (for example, you could always learn from mistakes) but it felt at times like this as if all her wounds were raw and fresh, not healed properly. Or as if she thought too much.
She definitely had to pick that movie, didn't she? The one she watched only once and realized it got too much to her. The one she sometimes forgot about, then found again when she was cleaning and hid at another place? She should know better, she didn't only have experience but kept them afresh. Why was it that she succumbed so easily, then?
She began to hum a (Hungarian pop) song under her breath, a disappointed and bitter one about alcohol and how it kept on returning to her, who couldn't believe it… or him, for alcohol was personified here.
Arthur stood up, took the glasses and the bottle away back to the kitchen then returned with a weird look on his face.

'Why did you do that?' she asked, not in an "I demand my booze back right now" tone, but rather in a serious and truly wondering one. She was glad to keep her mind occupied with that problem and his face- she didn't need to think of other issues like memories and self-pity and stuff like that.
'I think we drank just enough. We didn't want to drink until we can't think, did we?'
'It wasn't part of the plan.' she admitted, although a part of her did long for the burning in her throat and wanted to tell him her plans changed and she did intend to do just that- drown herself and her mind in the brown liquid.
'Good. Let's keep it that way.' Arthur nodded and sat down. After a while, he broke the silence yet again.
'You know… it costs more than what it's worth. I mean… a couple of hours in oblivion, then you feel much worse in the morning than you did before the first glass, with no memories of the night.'
'You sure talk like you did it quite often.' she remarked, hopefully without an edge.
'I did, yes. And that's why I only tried to stop you because I'm here in person- I know it wouldn't have worked over the phone.' He took a hand of hers in one of his, the two pair of green eyes locking; one clear and one slightly hazed over. Elizaveta lowered hers quickly in shame.
'Sorry… I'm your hostess and I ruin it all… being the killjoy I am…'
She didn't really understand herself, to be frank: she saw other movies about that time, but they didn't affect her this way. Maybe it was the connection, or the romantic bit? Or both? All in all: she wept about Schindler's list, but didn't get depressed. Same goes for Pearl Harbor, or other ones. This was the only one that always managed to make her feel hopeless, weak, tired… emotions she felt sometimes anyway, but that movie seemed to amplify them, make them unbearable without drink…
… or without someone there.

A warm hand gently held her chin and moved it upwards, so that her and Arthur's eyes were leveled.
'No you don't and aren't.' He said softly, giving her a strong look that said "Don't even think about these things".
'No, I really…' She wanted to protest, to tell him what a poor opinion she had about herself right now, but couldn't finish it. He didn't seem to want to hear that anymore and wished to console her at the same time, so he occupied her lips with his own. She was taken by surprise, but returned it all the same- the kiss tasted like the brandy they (well all right, it was mostly her this time) just drank and something other, something bittersweet like a good cup of tea with a shot of rum (and without milk, for that matter). All thoughts seemed to fall right out of her head, and she couldn't help but feel glad for that. Sometimes she really only wanted to stop thinking, to put her brain into standby mode, and just be- she gave herself royal headaches with over-thinking things as times.
He broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, and now they looked at each other with cheeks graced by a bright blush.
'Will you… listen to me now?' Arthur broke the silence at last, in a small but convincing voice. 'You can't keep it in forever.'

'I don't, exactly that's the problem here! I know I should just get a hold on myself and go on no matter what, and I try to, but sometimes, it's just unbearable and I don't see any difference despite all my efforts, and I just… stop and pity myself, even though I know it's useless.' her voice nearly completely died away because of shame by the time (and to cope it, she didn't remember when she stood up from the couch) she finished, and Elizaveta just couldn't bear to look him in the eye anymore. To her utter surprise, his reaction wasn't a sharp remark but an embrace- warm, soft, yet strong. As much as acting and being tough (and sometimes self-detest) had been nearly second nature to her, and as much as she preferred knowing she stood on her own feet, not relying on anyone, she found herself instinctively returning the hug and sobbing again, clinging to Arthur as if her life depended on it. After some moments, however, she began to realize what she had done, and she tried to pull back in shame, apologizing- only his arms, still wrapped around her thinner frame, didn't allow it.

'It's all right… no need to feel ashamed…'
Gentle words, supporting, warm. She yearned to believe at east in the first part, that it really is normal, even for them or her, to feel this weak, helpless and glad for having someone to give her strength. Nations weren't supposed to show weakness, or emotions; they merely acted as they were told, puppets in their bosses' hand. A female nation had it even more difficult: they had to gain reputation against their bosses and the fellow male nations, who were more prone to treat them in the old-fashioned guarding and gentle way then humans were. Why, they grew up in that kind of etiquette, and women got equal rights only in the 20. Century, of course they didn't adjust too quickly. This often angered her (she could do just fine without help, thank you very much- at least most of the time, and that was what she told herself), but now, not even a morsel of this feeling was found in her. Maybe because now it was Arthur and because she did need him, no matter how hard it seemed to admit that, having been used to the thought that she was to handle things alone (or with the help and support of only Feliks).
She shouldn't have picked or even kept this movie in the first place, but the damage was done, and now she couldn't help it. The most she could do was stopping it, putting the disk out and doing what she always did: hiding it somewhere where she won't find it for years.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to do that, and she figured it wouldn't be any good either. She would eventually find it and have most probably no-one around at the time, that's for one. For two, it would make Arthur even more curious as to why did she react that way (as if he'd let her go…), but that was a question she couldn't answer. There had to be more to it then the acting, the music, the scenery… for she saw many movies which were just as generously provided with those as The English Patient, and still they didn't hit a soft spot so hard. Sure, they were touching, but she be damned if what she was doing now could be described as merely "being touched" by the movie. No, this was something more, akin to the emotions that swirled inside of her when they talked about that water polo match: she was angry with herself for being so insecure and wanted to stop it, and at the same time she wished she could just… lie there, all alone with her pain- licking her wounds as her inner cynic instantly added.
She suppressed the urge to try and explain, as it would be too difficult and would ruin the moment. Instead, she slightly tightened her embrace burying her head (now with dry eyes) into his body, trying to show gratitude through movements. If she were a trifle better, this situation would've given her thoughts worthy of blushing upon, beginning with the realization of his body's warmth and scent, and the impact these might've had on her.

He must've understood the message: his head was lowered, so that she knew his nose was among the curls of her hair, and by the tiny change of pressure, she could've sworn she felt his lips curling into a hardly visible smile. It seemed so… right and yet confusing, this whole situation with them- as they already stated back when they realized what it exactly meant, it was absurd, nearly unbelievable. After all, it was a doing of countless coincidences: if she didn't go to London already the evening before the meeting, and didn't chose to go walking, she might never have fallen in love with him, and thus would have never found out how he felt. Or is that true? She saw the thread, and remembered what Japan told her about its meaning- according to that, they would've met, no matter what they did.
The movie kept on playing, but what for, when they didn't pay attention, she didn't know. Not that she minded, though.

'Glad that you're better now…' Arthur remarked. Elizaveta didn't even notice when he lifted his head to look at her slightly smiling face, but she lifted her head from him to return his gaze better. Now her eyes were a bit clearer, but her head still felt a little dizzy. Did she drink too much? She was afraid she would stumble and fall if he let go of her.
And yet his arms were loosening. 'You look like you'd need something to eat… I'll go get it.' he said. She was too taken by surprise to protest, but as he turned and stepped away, she tried to follow him…

And that's where the embarrassing thing happened: she stumbled in… she didn't even know what, fell with a yelp and effectively knocked him over as well. The two of them were now lying on the ground, facing, their lips just some millimeters from connecting, since he spun around when he heard her moving, and blushing so hard they didn't even thought it to be possible before. Her heart threatened to break out of her ribcage, and she felt Arthur's case was the same. She didn't dare to move, in fear of falling over again, or making the situation more… Embarrassing? Yes, that would be the word. What else should it be, with her tipsy clumsiness? And her thoughts rampaging freely and filling her head with the products of her imagination (which could do with a lot of censoring, to put it mildly) didn't help either, not one bit. And by the way his eyes were a bit hazy as well, he had similar problems.

AN

And… this is where I end for now. I'll have to get inspiration sometime, and now I just can't seem to find it. I don't want to leave my readers waiting for long, either… so… that's what this has become.

About suicide… ever heard of Gloomy Sunday/Szomorú vasárnap? It's a song, written by a Hungarian musician Seress Rezső in 1933, really melancholic and all- it is said to cause a major suicide wave (so some broadcasters only played the instrumental version, which you can hear in Schindler's List as well, by the way), although the general atmosphere of the time might have helped it. Plus, Hungary had the highest suicide rate in Europe until recently (sometime around 2002-4, I guess) Lithuania "took over", but according to an article (from 10th of December, 2009) that is based on a statistic survey by OECD, we are second worldwide and first in Europe- cookies if you can find out who the first one worldwide is. That aside: now it might be understandable why I made her angsty and... slightly OOC. And if not, think about that: history can always have more than enough grounds for angst and drama, regardless of country.
Oh yes, The English Patient. It's a really great movie, and it's more than understandable that she feels depressed over it, IMO: the plot, the acting, the scenery… It's really worth watching. Plus, it's about a researcher of her, Almásy after all… It was him that came to the consequence (seeing the paintings of a cave the Bedouin knew of but mostly avoided) that there must have been some sort of major water surface in today's Sahara.
That Hungarian pop song is supposed to be Ó, Miszter Alkohol by Koncz Zsuzsa. The rough translation of the first part: Oh Mr Alcohol, so here you are again, although I told you a hundred times that there's nothing between us. Don't you promise me to change- for your sorrow, pretty boy, I know you already well. Cos sometimes it's good with you, I cannot deny that, but you just keep and keep on flattering until I don't know what I do.

So… I hope you enjoyed it, although, now that I think of it… she DOES think too much for her own good… *fail*