Next chapter! Updates might come a touch slower now that the semester's started back up again, but I will do my best. Goodness knows I'd rather write this than papers; perfect procrastination fodder.
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Warmth ghosted over his neck. He shuddered slightly, squirming deeper into the warm, soft space.
Then memory slammed into him and Lithuania snapped awake.
He was still in Russia's bed, fully clothed and untouched. Said country was sleeping peacefully behind him, curled protectively around the smaller nation, an arm draped loosely over Liet's side, his face buried in Liet's hair, and every soft exhale sent shivers down the terrified country's spine.
Lithuania forced his breathing to remain even as he considered his situation, worried that the slightest change would alert Russia to the waking world. But as the minutes crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace, Liet realized that waiting for Russia to wake up on his own was an even worse idea. Mind made up, he move slightly, cautiously, away from the other man; Russia didn't respond. As quickly and as carefully as he could, Liet slipped off of the bed, gently lowering Russia's arm to the mattress and, praying that he wasn't just feigning sleep, left him slumbering there and crept out of the room.
He went to his room and changed into fresh clothing, dragging a comb through his hair in an effort to make himself look presentable. There was nothing he could do about the dark circles under his eyes though. Estonia and Latvia were already downstairs preparing breakfast; they stopped what they were doing when he entered, staring at him with a mixture of worry and fear and please-dear-god-let-my-suspicions-be-incorrect, the force of their gaze bringing Liet to a halt just inside the doorway.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, reassuringly.
Estonia studied him a moment longer before nodding once, and Latvia put down the pitcher of cream to hug him tightly around the middle, wordlessly willing those words to be true. Liet realized that his statement didn't really confirm or deny anything, and yet they unconditionally offered their understanding and concern anyways.
Touched, he hugged Latvia back.
"Let's get breakfast ready, okay?"
Shortly after Russia came downstairs, bleary-eyed and frowning, wincing in the bright sunlight. He went straight for the cabinet and poured himself a shallow glass of vodka, downing it immediately.
"Good morning, Russia Zimavich," Estonia greeted cautiously. "How are you?"
"Headache," he replied shortly, pouring himself another glass.
Hangover, Lithuania corrected mentally.
Russia drained the second glass.
--
And winter dragged on, though not a fiercely as before. Snow drifts melted a little during the day, refreezing into sheets of ice during the night, making walking treacherous—Latvia routinely fell, and even Russia slipped once or twice, though he never hit the ground. And every day, the sunlight lingered just a few minutes longer than before.
February seemed to be a month of parties, as people truly got sick of the winter and were willing to brave the weather for a chance at revelry among friends. Russia vanished several nights a week, returning happily liquored up in the early morning hours, singing. He hosted a few parties himself; those days were marked by frantic cooking and baking in the kitchen to ensure enough food and drink (and there was always drink). They would always seem to just finish setting up the table when the first guests would arrive; Estonia and Latvia would be banished upstairs, while Lithuania was instructed to change into 'something nice—not your uniform' and forced to attend.
Those were dangerous nights, when he drifted among the Russian elite, high-ranking officers and Party members, actors and writers, the prima ballerina of the Moscow ballet. Russia introduced him as a friend and assistant, and Liet found that this got him treated with a distant politeness, a light friendship that increased as people consumed more vodka. He was a curiosity to them, a born-and-bred Lithuanian living in Moscow, with apparently enough influence to be Ivan Bragniski's personal assistant. Who was he, they wanted to know. What brought him to Moscow? How did he meet Ivan? (Or 'Vanya', as one general affectionately called him.) What did he think of Germany's advancement into Europe? The Fall of France? The 'acquisition' of Poland and the Baltics joining the Motherland? He answered their questions carefully and politely, interjecting into his responses just enough Communist propaganda to turn aside any further questions concerning loyalty, making certain that nothing negative crept into his words, which was especially difficult when talking about Poland, or Russia's take-over of the Baltics.
"It is good for them, I think," remarked the wife of a prominent Party member, referring to the country's expansion. "We can bring them so much; class divisions are leveled, and everyone is equal."
And it's easier to drag everyone down than raise them up, so we know what the standard will be. But he held his tongue and smiled, allowing the others to dominant the conversation.
"Not to mention that everyone will have food under our system. Bread for 73 kopeks! Even a poor German could afford that!" the Party member added.
My people weren't starving until you came along!
"Da, we will bring wonderful things to Lithuania; we will free him from the meschanstvo!" Liet stiffened instinctually as Russia threw an arm over his shoulder and continued cheerily, "He and all the rest are one with Russia, and we will take them to great heights!"
The surrounding company cheered slightly at the more-than-tipsy man's declaration. Abruptly, Russia spun Liet around and wrapped an arm around his waist, catching his free hand and—"Come on, Toris!"— dragging the protesting country around in a waltz that was too fast to be a waltz, singing as he went:
At a short stop-over, after a long march
The accordion beings to play a gay polka
Despite the fatigue no one can resist the invitation
Of the lively tune, and pretty soon, the long army
Coats are whirling in the dance. Heavy boots are
Beating out the rhythm on the dusty road,
And the faces are algow with smiles--
The onlookers clapped in time, laughing as the short quick half-steps threw Liet's balance badly enough that he clung to Russia for dear life; the huge nation got through the whole song before releasing Lithuania, the smaller country spinning away and nearly stumbling into a couch; the others, sensing the end, called for dance and began pushing furniture aside.
Liet made his way to a wall, catching his breath as his heart thudded in his ears. He watched people pair off and dance to lively old songs that betrayed their roots, everyone too drunk to care. He saw Russia, a head taller than most of them, laughing happily as he flew through the energetic steps, drifting among partners as people cut in and out. When he returned someone's pretty wife with a bow, Lithuania was struck with the sudden memories of elaborate balls at the Winter Palace, of floor-length gowns and crisp decorated uniforms. He wondered if Russia was thinking of a dance with a smiling little girl, her eyes bright and mischievous, diadem slightly crooked despite the artfully concealed hair pins.
From the distant look in Russia's eye, he thought so.
--
As the end of February neared, Russia gained an anxious air, a sense of excitement that put the Baltics on edge even as Russia acted more and more cheerful—when Latvia tripped and spilt a bottle of vodka on the floor, the huge country only lightly whacked him upside the head, with no real force behind it. The growing anticipation finally cumulated one morning when Russia woke up before everyone else and stole into the kitchen.
Lithuania approached said room with curiosity and wariness. The only reason to start dinner prep this early, and one of the few reasons that got Russia into the kitchen, was another god-forsaken party. Peeking in, he saw Russia at the counter, the sleeves of his embroidered peasant shirt rolled up, kneading dough into round little loaves. Another batch of bread was rising over the stove, on which a sauce of some sort was simmering. He was about to sneak away when Russia turned and noticed him.
"Dobroye utro, Litva!" he greeted, dusting his hands off on his shirt (thankfully it was cream-colored). "Come here and make kupecheskaya for breakfast; I need to keep cooking," he instructed, popping the risen bread into the oven and leaving the newly formed bread to rise.
"Should I wake Estonia and Latvia?" he asked, knowing that all three of them would be needed for party preparation.
"Eh, not yet; let them sleep. We will be up late tonight I suspect."
"The usual guests?" Liet queried absently, tying his hair back as he went to the pantry for buckwheat and mushrooms.
"Chto? Oh—nyet, is not a party; big sister Yukraina and little sister Belarus are visiting."
Lithuania nearly dropped the bag of buckwheat, catching it just before it spilled. "Belarus is coming?" he blurted in disbelief, sticking his head out of the pantry.
"And Yukraina, da," Russia answered. "They should be arriving sometime in the afternoon; that is why I want to get most of the cooking done now. We need more tea cookies," he added, frowning as he peered into a jar.
Lithuania finished gathering ingredients and started making breakfast, lost in thought. Belarus was coming! And thanks to Russia's parties the week before, most of his nicer clothes were in the laundry. Even if he washed them this instant, they wouldn't be dry in time. Damn it. There goes that chance for making a good impression.
Estonia and Latvia appeared just in time for breakfast and were put on cleaning duty the instant they finished: Estonia was to prepare the guest bedrooms, making sure fresh sheets were laid out, while Latvia was to polish the silver under it shined. Their reactions to Russia's announcement varied: Estonia accepted this new development with a neutral air; Latvia blinked a few times before wondering aloud, "But, I thought you didn't like Belarus."
"Latvia!" Liet and Estonia snapped in unison. Why was he so clueless?!
Russia's good mood spared the boy again. "Belarus is my sister; of course I like her," he said with a patient smile, as if explain something obvious. He ruffled Latvia's hair, who flinched under the man's touch. "I like all my countries."
Russia went to the train station just before two and returned a half an hour later. Lithuania ran for the door and threw it open, admitting a Russia weighed down with two huge suitcases, one on his shoulder and the other tucked under his arm, followed by Ukraine and—Liet's heart skipped a beat as blood rushed to his cheeks—Belarus. He got exactly two seconds to stutter a greeting, gawking stupidly at her—long flowing blond hair, beautifully pale face, soft lips perpetually arranged in a pout—before Russia unceremoniously dropped a suitcase on his foot.
"Oh, sorry Litva!" he exclaimed as Lithuania wrenched his foot out, biting his lip in an effort not to swear.
"Ah, it's fine, just a bruise," Liet managed through gritted teeth, trying to decide if Russia did that on purpose.
At Russia's order he ferried the suitcases upstairs to the guest bedrooms, racing back downstairs to find everyone in the kitchen around a silver samovar, the tea concentrate already brewing as Russia gathered sugar, cream, and jam. Lithuania got mugs from the cabinet, glass cups in elegant silver holders, while Estonia brought in two chairs from the dining room. The kitchen table only sat four, but Liet had learned long ago that Russia never minded a crowd. He found himself across from the huge country, with Estonia and Latvia straddling the corners on either side. (He tried not to be jealous of Latvia, who was seated close enough to Belarus that their elbows occasionally bumped.)
The Baltics sat quietly and sipped their tea as the other set of siblings caught up with each other in rapid-fire Russian, difficult to follow even after all this time. Liet didn't mind. It was kinda fascinating to see this side of Russia, a doting brother trying to look out for the well-being of his sisters. Granted, his boss might not always let him do that—the Holodomor from thirty-two, thirty-three illustrated that clearly enough—but he liked to think that Russia sincerely cared about Ukraine and Belarus.
Said country absently popped a sugar cube into his mouth and held it between his teeth while he drank his tea; Ukraine noticed, giggling, "Bratishka, you look like a merchant!"
Russia blinked, then realized what she meant, crunching the rest of the sugar cube. "Habit, habit," he said, waving off her comment as he blushed slightly. "So, what did you want to do today?"
"Spend time with you," Belarus answered instantly, putting down her cup. Russia didn't seem to hear her.
"Go ice skating," Ukraine pronounced after a moment's thought.
Lithuania groaned internally. When it was this cold out?
"Ice skating?" Russia repeated, surprised.
"Da, of course! It's traditional for M—" the elder sister slowed, her words dying as she caught herself, "—this time of the year," she amended, eyes sliding away in what Liet thought was guilt, and possibly worry.
Russia was silent a moment. The Baltics shifted in their seats, acutely aware of the possible mood change, unsure of what exactly Ukraine almost accidentally mentioned.
"True, it is traditional," Russia agreed slowly, as if considering the implications of his words. "But—"
"I brought my skates with me," Ukraine said quickly. "We both did." Belarus nodded shortly, eyes studying her brother's face carefully.
"Very well then, we shall go ice skating," Russia announced, smiling.
Ukraine beamed, jumping from her seat and running out of the room with a cry of "I'll go get my skates!" Taking this as a cue that tea was finished, Lithuania stood and began clearing plates, unconsciously pausing to watch Belarus drift out of the kitchen in pursuit of her sister.
"Litva!"
He jumped, the glass cups rattling. "Da, Russia Zimavich?"
Russia's expression was pleasant, but his eyes glittered. "You and the others have skates as well, da?"
No, he didn't want to go ice skating in this weather. It was freezing out! "Da, Russia Zimavich," he answered neutrally.
"Xorasho, you will be coming along as well."
"But dinner—"
"You will cook when we get back," Russia informed him. "Now go get your skates."
-
Lithuania was not particularly happy about ice skating. It wasn't that he couldn't ice skate—he could actually ice skate fairly well, forwards and backwards, had no difficulty stopping or turning—but it truly was freezing out. Even bundled up in multiple layers to fight off the cold, it was still suicide to stand still for any length of time. "Keep moving, my dears," Russia would sing-song whenever someone stopped, and Liet knew he wasn't just saying it for fun: it was entirely possible to get frostbite, or even hypothermia, if one stayed still too long.
So he skated leisurely laps around the frozen pond, watching Belarus openly as she skated smoothly alongside her brother. Russia, he realized with a touch of envy, could skate better than he could. The huge nation glided across the ice with a grace that belied his size, and would, at his sisters' requests, perform tricks usually only achievable by the daintiest of artistic skaters (or least, not someone Russia's size…)—flying camels , lutz jumps, axels, sit spins, spread eagles, spirals… And he never faltered, executing the moves perfectly, effortlessly, as if they were a simple thing, not a skill that took years to learn.
And he skated pairs with Belarus, holding her close by necessity, lifting her into the air, throwing her into a jump, dropping her dangerously close to the ice in a death spiral. Lithuania couldn't help but imagining himself in Russia's place, skating with such a close intimacy next to Belarus, side by side in mirrored jumps…
He didn't notice the rough groove in the ice and before he could react he was sprawled across its unforgiving surface.
"Ow, damn it," he muttered, pushing himself up and checking his hands; scrapped but not bleeding.
Skates ground to a halt in front of him, showering him with a light spray of ice shavings. "Are you okay, Litva?"
"I'm fine. Wasn't watching the ice," Liet muttered, accepting the offered hand as he climbed to his feet. Belarus favored him with a particularly dark glare, hovering behind Russia's shoulder—probably angry that he interrupted her time with her brother. Great…
Ukraine coasted over and heel-stopped, wobbling slightly. "Perhaps it is time we go home?"
Belarus's glare intensified.
"No, no; I'm fine, please don't worry about me," Liet said quickly. Ukraine still looked concerned, but at least Belarus seemed pacified.
"That is my Litva, always pushing forward through hardship," Russia said, clapping Liet on the back—almost sending him to the ground again. "Is a pity I left my hockey stakes at home, da? We could have had a match, the six of us."
Lithuania wasn't able to keep the look of horror off his face, so he ducked his head to hide the terrified expression. Luckily, Russia didn't notice; he gave them one last smile before gliding off towards Latvia and Estonia (the smaller of the two starting badly enough to fall).
Ukraine turned to continue skating as well, losing and regaining her balance in a heartbeat. Scowling, Belarus caught her by the arm and demanded, "Why don't you skate properly? Adjust your turns!"
"What's wrong with her turns?" Lithuania wondered before he stopped himself.
"It's nothing—" the elder sister started, but Belarus cut her off.
"Girls have a center of balance in their stomachs," she said, gesturing to her own waist. "But sestra is too top-heavy; her center of balance is near her diaphragm. Boys like you have your center of balance here," she finished, lightly laying her hand on his chest—Liet wondered if she could feel his heart pounding—for a moment before withdrawing.
Ukraine was a deep shade of scarlet. "I have not skated since last winter; I am out of practice. I am sure I will be fine in a few minutes," she sputtered, gliding away quickly, leaving them alone.
Belarus sniffed, a disbelieving sound, and before Lithuania could say something, anything, to keep her attention, she turned and skated back to Russia. Liet watched her go, palms burning from injury and ice, saw Russia shy away from her, and wondered with a touch of irony why the arctic nation, so intent on gathering countries to him, would deny someone who so desperately wanted to become one with him.
They went home just before dusk, their shadows stretching out before them over the trampled snow. Russia apologized to his sisters, explaining that he had some paperwork to take care of before dinner, "please, make yourselves comfortable; my home is your home", and Liet couldn't even begin to count the hidden meanings in that statement.
Lithuania and his brothers turned to the kitchen. A glance at the clock showed it to be nearly four; they had two, maybe three hours to put together dinner before annoying Russia with their tardiness. As Liet tied his hair back, wondering what would work as an acceptably impressive dish to serve Russia's family, said sisters wandered into the kitchen.
"What are you making for dinner?" Ukraine queried, Belarus a quiet shadow behind her.
Lithuania dragged his eyes away from the younger sister. "I'm not sure yet."
"Will you make something of yours?" she asked curiously, meaning of course his national cuisine.
"Huh? Ah, Russia might not—"
"I know! Why don't we all make one of our national dishes?" Ukraine chirped happily.
"Ukraine, I'm not sure your brother will—"
"Oh, please, Lithuania; I'm sure it will make bratishka very happy! I will take full responsibility for it," the busty girl pleaded.
The Baltic nation suspected he didn't have a choice. "Sure…" Be it on your head then.
"Wonderful! Everyone, figure out something of your own to make; it will be such a good surprise. Sestra, you should—"
Lithuania just stared at her. Now he knew where Russia got it from…
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Heh, could you imagine that hockey match? On the one side, Russia playing offensive, Belarus playing defense, and Ukraine as goalie; on the other, Lithuania as offense, Estonia as defense, and Latvia as goalie. The Baltics would just die. Russia would jet towards the net and Latvia would just cower. ^^; Not to mention how many bruises Lithuania and Estonia would have by the end...
Vocab- meschanstvo: petty bourgeoisie, with all the disgust only a commie could apply to the term
Dobroye utro: good morning
bratishka: an affectionate form of 'little brother'
sestra: sister (go figure)
Not much vocab, but I alluded to so much in this chapter. Ready?
Russia drinking in response to his hangover is not that surprising; one of my Russian cookbooks, written in the early 80s, lists three different drinks one could make to combat a hangover--all of them are alcoholic. ^^; 73 kopeks is equivalent to roughly 25 cents, back then; the kopek being to the ruble what cents are to the dollar. Da, Vanya really is the nickname for Ivan. The song lyrics are from the Regimental Polka, by the Soviet Army Chorus and Band (da, I do have old albums like that around my house, and da, I do listen to them; they're pretty). Kupecheskaya is a traditional breakfast food made from buckwheat and mushrooms, among other ingredients. The Cyrillic letter used to start 'Ukraine' is usually written in Latin letters as 'yu', thus 'Yukraina'.
Tea is a big deal in Russia; many Russians have a low iron count because tea contains tannins that inhibit iron absorption. Tea is typically brewed very strong in a teapot that sits atop the samovar, in which boils water. The boiling water is used to dilute the tea concentrate, so that everyone can have their tea just as they like it. Sweets of some sort are a must, and Russian tea cups are pretty. Holding a sugar cube between one's teeth while sipping one's tea was a characteristic of the merchant class back in Imperial Russia (hence why Russia's embarrassed to have been caught doing that). It's fairly difficult to do correctly; if you try it, keep a napkin on your lap!
The Holodomor was a man-made (read: Soviet Union-made) famine that took out millions of Ukrainians; numbers range from (on the low side) 3.5 million to (on the high side) ten, twenty million. Many countries throughout the world have denounced the Holodomor as an act of genocide by Stalin; present-day Russia (and also China...) do not recognize it as such (but, to be fair, neither do England and France). It's one of those touchy topics...
Ukraine almost said "Maslenitsa", Butter Week, a holiday that takes place the week before Lent, right before all the harsh Lenten dietary restrictions started. More on this next chapter.
Artistic skaters is the typical term for figure skaters used in Europe. I made sure all the tricks Russia is said to be capable of actually existed in 1941; he's only doing a single axel there, mostly because the first double axel wasn't performed until 1948, by a Canadian. Why is Russia good at artistic skating? Just look at their Olympic record...
Another really long author's note! I'm sorry!!!
Read and review, comrades!