Chapter 2: In Which There is Russian Intervention

Hey y'all! I decided the story needed just a leetle more, so I made chapter two! Woot! :D No, seriously. Should this go on?

Plus, I think the chapter title just gave it all away...

Warnings: Alfred's fist, implied FrUK, Arthur's dirty mouth.

Disclaimer: In my wildest dreams.

Should I bump up the rating? I'm thinking of adding a little smut in the next chapter...

Location: World Conference, situated in France

"It's true!" Alfred boasted, "He cured me!"

"Did he, да?" Ivan inquired, a small smirk forming on his face. "...maybe he could cure me too, да?"

"You damn Commie! You're not getting anywhere near Mattie!" Alfred yelled in frustration as the tall Russian man laughed.

Alfred stalked down the hallway, muttering things like "Damn Commie...MY Mattie...not getting near him...hamburgers...Kraft macaroni..." he stopped. "...I'm hungry..."

Elizabeta was speechless, staring at Mattew with beautiful, clear brown eyes, now wide in shock. "Did you really do it?"

Matthew groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Ohh...don't remind me..."

"But you took the initiative!" Elizabeta said, excited. "You-" she stopped dead in the middle of her sentence.

Matthew looked up from his hands. What on earth could shut up chatterbox Elizabeta? He learned the reason for her horrified expression as a large hand cloaked in a brown glove came down gently, but firmly on his shoulder. Matt froze. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Comrade Matvey, да?" the man said, smiling. "I have some things to...talk to you about."

Elizabeta, paralyzed in her seat, could do nothing as one Ivan Braginsky dragged off poor, innocent little Matthew to who knows where.

"Where is he? Does anyone know where Mattie went?" Alfred yelled frantically.

"No one knows where your little fuck-buddy is, you bloody git!" Arthur shouted back, annoyed at being interrupted from his afternoon with Francis.

Al responded with a ferocious punch to the Brit's face, sending him flying across the room.

Francis merely laughed at the scene between father and son before him.

"Mon petit lapin, why must you be so difficult?" He murmured to the wounded Englishman. He turned to the desperate American. "I saw him sitting in the cafe with Elizabeta not too long ago."

He smiled as Alfred dashed out of the room. "Ah, young love..." as he walked across the room to help up his own lover.