A/N: GAH. I'm SO SORRY for the late update. School's been super hectic. I'm trying to get into an update schedule of every other week or so, but it's probably remaining erratic for the time being.

I'm totally teasing you all with this, by the way. SINCE THIS HAS A PLOT (le gasp) I'm writing it out slow cuz' I'm in this for the long haul, dude. \o/ -*speaks American* Anyway, before anyone mentions it, Russia's tsar during the American Civil War was indeed named Aleksander (alt. Alexander). In fact, he was Tsar Aleksander II. He was amazingly boss. XD

Also, there's lot's of yaoi references this chapter for my amazing friend (who gives me belief in my Russia rp-ing power) Lawlipop Ryuzaki!

(There's gonna be yaoi references every chapter since this is a Russia/America yaoi...but this chapter's for her.)

Anywhore, fucking way-too-long authors note, enjoy!

Ivan lay silently in bed, Alfred's warm breath tickling the scars on Ivan's neck. He sighed deeply, nuzzling Alfred's hair a little as he held the American close.

It is funny, he thought, how less than 75 years ago, I wouldn't let Fredka within thirty thousand miles of me and here I am holding him close after waking him from night terrors. The Russian smirked. And to top it all off, we're naked.

He kissed Alfred's forehead, eyelids fluttering in a futile attempt to avoid sleep.

March 1861

"So then, you have recieved a reply from Russia?"

"Yessir," said Alfred. He wore Union blue, carried a rifle with an attached bayonet, and blinked dull blue eyes that refused to sparkle. "I waited to open it until you arrived."

Abraham Lincoln gestured to Alfred to sit. Alfred opened the letter, unfolding it hastily.

My dear Amerika, it read, I am most disheartened by your news of this strange adversary known as Avery. I hope you have healed well, for I hear that you are holding your own against him. It must have hurt to have Britain and France refuse to aid you in your fight. Though I understand your caution, I am curious as to why you sent a letter when a telegram would have reached me faster, but I assure you that this caused me no inconvenience. Since I return things in the form they were recieved, by the time you read this my ships will be blockading San Francisco Bay unless the ship captains can prove to my men that the ship supports the Union. I am at present on my way from Saint Petersburg to you in Washington DC. I should arrive approximately three days after this letter arrives.

My lord Tsar Aleksander has given me full control in this matter, and should you need my aid, we will crush this Avery with the might of the United States of Amerika and the Russian Empire.

прощальный, Russia.

A signature under the formal closing read "Ivan Braginsky". The Russian's handwriting had the impossible precision of someone unused to writing in English. The Cyrillic lettering of the formal closing was written in a far more flowing script than Alfred knew the language itself sounded. Russian was a harsh language that matched both the landscape and the man who represented it.

Alfred dropped the letter to the desk that Lincoln sat in front of. "That's the scheme of things, sir. Russia will arrive in Washington tomorrow, as it took me two days to travel here from my post in Pennsylvania."

Lincoln's brow furrowed as he took in the nation. Eyes that were once a sparkling sapphire had dulled to a sad grayish blue. Hair that had been a shining golden sun color had lost all luster, now lank and unkempt, the color of dead grass. New frown lines had appeared at the corners of Alfred's mouth and eyes, with a visible furrow in his brow.

Alfred looked as broken as a man could be. Even his voice had lost all its shining clarity, becoming a monotone which never rose in any sort of emotion at all. Lincoln simply replied, "Very good. And you'll get on well?"

He was trying to avoid meeting Alfred's eyes.

"Yes, sir," said Alfred. "We have gotten on nicely in the past, and I hope this shall be no different."

Lincoln closed his eyes. That voice was so...blank. Dead. "I'll set up rooms for him. You know where you will sleep?"

"Yes, sir."

Present Day

Alfred's eyes snapped open again. His nose was buried in the crook of Ivan's neck, his arm was thrown across Ivan's bare chest, and Ivan was...Ivan was...

Snoring lightly with his mouth open. Alfred sat up and smiled. His Russian was so cute when he slept. If it weren't for his sheer size, (as well as his numerous scars) Ivan would almost look innocent. Alfred glanced at the clock. 6:00. Wow, this had to be the latest Ivan had ever slept. Usually, the Russian was gone and his side of the bed cold by the time Alfred woke.

Despite stereotypes, the American generally woke up by 7:00, except on weekends. Then he could sleep pretty much all day-or at least he could before Ivan. Now, he'd be forcibly awakened by nine. Thankfully it was usually with a cup of coffee, unless Ivan was feeling particularly uncharitable.

"Mmmm..Fredka?" yawned Ivan. His eyes flickered open. "Vhat time is it?" The man's accent was ridiculously obvious when he was half-awake. At least this time he was actually speaking English. Alfred chuckled a bit when he thought of how Ivan would often speak in Russian when he was extremely tired. He temporarily forgot all the English he'd ever learned by about a quarter to midnight every day. He always remembered the right words to use when he had to, but sometimes he just couldn't stand not speaking his native language. Alfred hated the days when Ivan spoke nothing but Russian. The blonde could only ever understand about a third of what Ivan said.

Luckily for Alfred, (or unluckily, from his perspective) this wasn't a 100% Russian-language day.

"Alfred, time?" Ivan grumbled, blinking blearily and fumbling on the bedside table for a clock he couldn't see. Alfred hurriedly slipped Texas back onto his face.

"It's six in the mornin'. You slept in way longer than usual."

"Damn."

"Psh, what's that s'posed to mean? You should do this more often."

Ivan ran a hand through his hair. "Nyet, I have too much work to do."

Alfred kept silent, hoping his Vanya didn't remember the nightmares.

"Since we are both awake now, you will tell me about your nightmares, da?"

Mind-reading commie. "I don't want to."

Ivan frowned. "You are the one who told me bad things go away better if you talk about them to someone you love."

Alfred mentally facepalmed. He hadn't said anything close to that...okay maybe he'd said something similar...but in a much more heroic way. Yeah. A shitload more heroic than that. "Fuck. Just fuck."

"Not right now, Fredka. I'm focusing on your mind this morning, not your body."

"Not what I fuckin' meant!"

"Oh, I know." Ivan smiled. Alfred huffed and got out of bed, opening his dresser and digging around for his favorite pair of boxers. They had Krabby Patty pictures all over them.

Ivan's grin widened as the American turned, his eyes locked on Alfred's round, tan ass. He wasn't being a perv. He was allowed to look at his own lover's ass.

"Stop staring at my butt, Ivan. Put some pants on."

"Do you have eyes in the back of your head that I never knew about?"

"Psh, no. I can tell when you're staring at me. Especially when it's my ass that's being stared at."

Ivan threw back the bedcovers and grabbed a pair of his plain black boxers, pulling them on hastily before taking his scarf from its hook and wrapping it securely about his neck.

"I tell you, Alfred, I can't try to understand what's going on if I do not know what your problem is. It relates to Avery, da?"

"I told you I don't wanna talk about it! Fuck!"

"But Fredka-" Alfred cut Ivan off with a negating swipe of his hand.

"I'm not gonna talk about it right now! Can't you just have one day- a single fucking day- where you can relax with me without one of us talking about issues? One day where we can just hang out? I mean, fuck! I can't do that with you! You're always stressed about something, or working!"

Ivan blinked incredulously. "I do just relax with you! I put off my work all the time for you!"

Alfred was in a rage, a complete turnaround from his regular morning self. "You don't stop! I try to tell you I don't wanna talk about something, I ask to relax with you, and you fucking start talking about work! I'm done with this shit, Ivan! I do well enough with work and you're so much more stressed than me! You're a fucking dick, you know that?"

Ivan felt his eyes involuntarily fill with tears. "Fredka-"

"NO!" Alfred screamed, his watering eyes threatening to spill over. "Just no! I'm fucking sick and tired of you and your 'we need to talk about this' shit! I didn't fuckin' bother you for months! Even when you would look out every window-every single fucking window- and swear under your breath! When you banged around the house like a bear and shot your fucking guns off every day! I didn't bother you until you were ready! You can't fucking tell me when I'm ready to talk!"

A single tear rolled off Ivan's face. Alfred didn't notice, instead continuing to rant.

"I mean the fuck is with you sometimes? You're so fucking emotional! I almost preferred when you hid everything from everyone!"

Large hands clenched around Alfred's upper arms. He looked up, shocked, and took in the sight of Ivan. The Russian stood with his eyes narrowed, their color darkened from violet to plum-black. The muscles in his arms were tense, and his chest heaved with his exertion of self-control. He was trying his best to keep his temper in check.

"Enough, Alfred."

"Iva-"

Hands tightened. "I said enough, Alfred." The Russian's voice was soft, for he was attempting to avoid a screaming, swearing fight that undoubtedly would devolve into an all-out brawl. He didn't want to wreck his house.

Alfred searched Ivan's eyes, looking for a hint of the Ivan he'd grown accustomed to, the Ivan who would wake him on a Saturday morning with a steaming cup of coffee and a kiss, the Ivan who regularly arrived home with a bouquet of sunflowers and roses. He saw only the Ivan he'd hated and fought, the Ivan who greeted him with a derisive Russian curse and often aimed guns at his head. The true, deliciously masculine voice which Ivan ususally hid was cold and hard, the voice of a man who had reached his limit and refused to give an inch. As Alfred's sapphire eyes searched Ivan's diamond-sharp, calculating gaze, he tried to stop the tears from falling. He didn't succeed, and as the sparkling drops rolled off his chin, he ignored the tight hands on his arms, leaning into Ivan with a sob.

"I-I can't! Not y-yet! I-I want to talk about it, but I just can't yet!"

Ivan looked down at Alfred. His blond hair tickled Ivan's chest, and the tears that Alfred was crying were warm, like the ocean off the coast of Florida. Ivan took a deep breath and removed his hands from Alfred's arms; they instantly came up to clutch at his scarf like the length of white cloth was a lifeline. Ivan lifted Alfred's face so that blue eyes met purple; his hand rested under the American's chin, holding the tearful gaze steady.

He spoke softly, as one would to a frightened animal. He no longer sounded menacing, merely sad. "Fredka, I know it's a hard thing for you. I have had my share of civil war, but not such as yours." He waited until the American, whose eyes had fallen to rest on one of the more violent scars Ivan bore, looked back up at him. "I understand you now. I did not realize I made my troubles obvious to you, since I was trying to hide them, da. I love you, and I have to respect you. After all, that is what we agreed, da? Fom the beginning of our history to the end of time, I will defend you with all the forces I hold. I will be your full moon in the night, your food in famine, and your love in loneliness."

Alfred smiled a little. "I helped you write that vow, Vanya. In the cold I am your fire, in the night your moon and stars. I fight for you and with you, for better or worse, and our histories will chart a combined course."

Ivan looked at his Alfred, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He remained silent, waiting for Alfred to finish.

"And I've decided. Neither of us are working today. We're gonna eat breakfast, go build snow armies and have a massive snowball fight. Then," and he poked Ivan's nose, "I'll tell you tomorrow. For now, I'll just tell you what I dreamed last night. OK?"

Ivan sighed. "Okay. What was so awful last night?"

Alfred looked down. "I was dreaming about being burned alive." His voice was a whisper. "Burned and ripped apart. Someone burned my flag yesterday. I have dreams like that when my flag is burned."

Ivan narrowed his eyes. "Is it time for us to return to your land?"

Alfred looked up at Ivan. "Only if my boss calls me. I don't want to spend more than six months trying to convince all the representatives of what to do."

"So, as agreed, we spend our remaining winter months here in my lands, and go to yours come January, da?"

"Right." Alfred grinned at Ivan, happy for the first time all day.

"What's for breakfast?"

A/N: FINITO! *O* (does happy dance) lol yep. I've broken the six-chapter mark. THIS IS A PERSONAL BEST. I thank all of you people who made it this far! *worships* Also, the rose-and-sunflowers reference is (obviously) about Russia's love for sunflowers, but also that the rose is America's national flower.

Next chapter: The Eagle in Flames