Authors note:

Oh my gosh, guys, I'm so sorry this took me so long to finish. Truth be told, I had a three page draft of this last chapter sitting on my laptop for months, but I couldn't think of a satisfactory way of ending it. I finally just scrapped the whole thing and banged this one out in a night. Overall, I'm alright with it. It's not my best work, but I'm happy to have finally completed this thing. Well, read and enjoy, and thanks for sticking with me for so long!

The car ride proved uneventful, filled with awkward silence. Ivan refused to break contact, staring at Alfred throughout the entire trip, despite the younger man's constant shifting and occasional glares. Alfred could have leapt for joy when he saw the familiar pizza joint come into view, turning in to the nearest parking spot and unlocking the car doors.

His arm was grabbed as he unbuckled, one hand already attempting to push the car door open. He felt himself get pulled back into the car, the door clicking shut as turned to face the violet-eyed nation with hesitance. The two men merely stared at each other, Ivan's grip strong, holding the other in place. Alfred felt his mouth go dry as he parted his lips. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, but by God he was going to say something. He couldn't have Russia knowing how uncomfortable he was right now, how even though he had a boyfriend and even though they were both happy (and they were happy, they couldn't not be happy, not after everyone telling them that they would make the perfect couple) the mere touch of Ivan's skin against him made his skin burn. Burn like he had wanted, when he and Arthur had first gotten together. Burn, the same way it had each meeting he and Ivan had had in the past, although then he had passed it off as the temperature difference between the two, or the pain of the blows they often exchanged finally getting to him. He couldn't let the Russian know anything about the very un-heroic thoughts Alfred was growing increasingly fond of.

Ivan's hand slipped off his wrist, and Alfred clung to the thought that this was just some sort of weird Russian custom. He knew it wasn't, though. His country had Russian-Americans, and he knew nothing of this sort of ritual. Still, the faint blush on the older man's face and the faltering of his usual child-like smirk comforted Alfred. Perhaps he had simply not been thinking clearly, he hadn't realized that what he was doing was weird and could only lead to weird things and-

Alfred's minds rambling was cut off and short circuited, and at first he wondered if he had been speaking the entire time and Ivan had just gotten tired of it and decided to shut him up, and maybe this was just a weird Russian ritual. If it was, Ivan must practice a lot, because god-damn his tongue was brushing against all the right places, having easily gained entrance considering Alfred could barely control his body.

This wasn't what a hero was supposed to do. His mind came back at an alarming rate; reflexes making his head shoot back and hit the driver's side window. Oh god oh god oh god, his mind was racing and his heart was pounding and he was fairly certain Ivan could hear it, he had to hear it, it was so loud and the car was so small and empty and everything echoed.

Ivan's hand brushed against his cheek, softer than ever before. Alfred hadn't even known the man could be so gentle, let alone towards him. He let his eyes wander only to find himself face to face with the man, his hand having moved to cup his face and force them into eye contact. Ivan's eyes were hazy and diluted, some form of awareness hidden deep within them. He was inching closer, and Alfred wanted to let him just come, it wasn't cheating if he didn't start it, if he didn't encourage it, and he wasn't encouraging it he just..wasn't stopping it.

A shrill buzzing set off; making use of the car's echoing quality. For a moment Alfred just blinked, certain that this was all just some sort of dream he had gotten from eating Arthur's cooking last night, and now his alarm clock was sounding. But then…why wasn't he waking up, and why was Ivan looking so startled at him and why was he moving away, oh god, please don't move away. Alfred's hand shot out to encircle the other's wrist, keeping him in place while his other hand reached into his jacket pocket, fishing out a phone he still hadn't fully realized was ringing yet.

The caller I.D. read 'Artie 3' and his once-racing heart stopped. He hadn't done anything wrong, he reassured himself, picking up the phone. His eyes never once strayed from Russia, who seemed more focused on the fingers capturing his wrist.

"Yo, Britain, what's wrong?" He was amazed at how calm his voice sounded, even and boisterous.

"Bloody hell, Alfred, how long does it take you to get a pizza – did you just call me Britain?" Arthur's voice was far less calm; Alfred could practically picture the vein on his forehead bulging out, his face getting red with unmasked anger. His fingers tightened around Ivan's wrist subconsciously, his head turning down and staring at the contact he had initiated. Did friends do that? He was touchy-feely, did that make it okay?

"Make what okay, Alfred?" Oh god, that wasn't meant to be said aloud, and now England sounded angry and perplexed, and he was certainly realizing that something was going on, that Alfred was cheat-the phone was grabbed out of his hand, ripped away from his ear and placed against the face of the Russian beside him.

"Do not worry, Britain. Alfred is fine and with me."

"With – he was supposed to be getting pizza! Why on Earth would he be with you, Russia?"

"Well, because he offered me a ride of course."

"Offered you a – now you listen here, Russia! I don't know what your game is, but leave Alfred be. It's time for this stupid little argument of yours to stop," Arthur spat out. A small smirk overcame Russia's features, a knowing smile that Alfred knew from past experience to fear. He reached back for the phone only to have Ivan pull back, his smile growing larger still.

"Oh, believe me, Britain. I intend to do just that," the phone clicked off and landed with a thud on the floor of the backseat.

Alfred didn't get the chance to ask what Britain had said before Ivan was grabbing him, one hand on his neck pulling him forward until their faces met almost painfully, the other undoing his seatbelt and dragging him onto Ivan's lap. Ivan was tugging at his lower lip, tongue greedily demanding entrance, given to him in the form of a moan. Alfred's mind was on fire, darting between need and want and fear and understanding. This was wrong, it was wrong and it was cheating, but if it was so wrong then why did it feel so right and good? He was happily dating Arthur, so why did it hurt so much to think about pushing away from this kiss?

Russia, feeling Alfred grow tense and unresponsive, pulled back. His hands still rested on the younger man's hips, holding their bodies against one another, while his eyes stared, making contacting the moment Alfred opened his own.

"This is wrong." Alfred's voice was weak and hesitant, his statement more of a question. Ivan couldn't help but chuckle, his grip tightening.

"Britain said it is time for us to stop fighting. We are simply making amends. Reestablishing our relationship, yes?"

"That's not all this is, Russia."

"You want more." Russia stated, one hand leaving its perch to trace up Alfred's torso, lazily making its way to his cheek.

"I've wanted more, you know that. But you…you were you, and I've moved on."

"You have not moved on, comrade. If you had, you never would have stopped for me. You would have continued driving, most probably laughing at my misfortune. You would be home with him by now, eating pizza and exchanging meaningless glances and gestures. If you had moved on, you would not have returned my kiss, even for a moment. You would not still be on my lap." The entire time Russia spoke Alfred slowly lowered his head, resting it on the other's shoulder. The hand that previously sat on his cheek moved to his back, rubbing circles around his shoulder blades.

For a short while, silence filled the car.

"This isn't fair to him." Alfred finally responded, whispering quietly into Ivan's shoulder.

"No, but it has not been." Again, silence sat between the two as Alfred turned his head to look into Ivan's eyes, searching for some sort of answer, a clue as to what he was supposed to do.

"I wish to try to make this work, Alfred. However, I understand your doubts. Let us get your pizza and return you home. Forget this has happened." Alfred's eyes widened as he immediately realized what Ivan had taken his silence to mean. Rejection.

"I don't doubt you, Ivan. I just wish we hadn't started something like this on these terms. I might not love Arthur, but I sure as hell don't want to hurt him like this."

"You would be hurting him more by lying, no?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess so…"

"Then I do not see what the problem is.

"Christ, Ivan, it's not that simple –"

"It is simple if you choose to make it so,"

"I can't just break up with him and start dating you, it'll kill him!"

"Then do not tell him. There is no reason not to take this slow, America."

"You don't think he'll be a bit suspicious, me going out to meet you and then coming home and promptly breaking up with him?"

"He will see what he wants to see."

"God, sometimes I wonder how your mind works. And they say I'm the insensitive one…"

"You are the one dating a man you harbor no love for," Ivan pointed out.

"Yeah, alright, point taken." Alfred paused a moment, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. "Alright, look. If we're gonna do this, we're doing it right." He clambered off Ivan's lap, plopping back down in his own seat. "And that means no touching or anything while I'm still with Arthur."

"But-"

"I'll talk to him tonight. For now, we're just two friends picking up pizza. After this is all behind us, if you still want to make this work…"

"I will, Alfred." Ivan promised, his hand reaching out of its own accord to grip his shoulders, tightening comfortingly.

"Well, alright then," Alfred chuckled, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he pulled the car door open, stepping out into the light rain. Ivan was right. His actions might not have been totally heroic, but that didn't mean he couldn't start now. Maybe he could make this work.

Ivan stepped out of the car, leaning against the door frame as he pulled his jacket against his frame. He headed towards the pizza parlor, rushing to get into the warm, dry shop.

"Yo, Ivan!" Alfred called, smirking as the taller man stopped and turned back. "Thanks. For the flowers and everything," and for once, Ivan simply smiled and chuckled.

"You are welcome, Alfred."