Not much to say about this chapter. My professors have decided that everything will be due Monday, which sucks. This also means that the next chapter may be coming out a little late, because school. And finals. And why? T_T (Sorry for the abrupt formatting change--this website is trying to be difficult again.)

Russia grinned, striding up other to the other nation, hand outstretched. "Guten Tag, mein Kamerad! Wie geht es Ihnen?"

If Germany was surprised by the language he didn't show it, shaking the offered hand firmly. "Danke, gut. Und Sie?" he responded automatically, hanging his own cap next to the rest, unconsciously running a hand through his hair to flatten any strays.

"Sehr gut, danke!" Russia laughed. "And now I am afraid I have expended my knowledge of German," he confessed, switching to English. "Do you mind?"

That's a blatant lie, Liet thought. Russia's last tsarina was German; he was fluent in the language. And if Lithuania knew this, then so did Germany.

"Not at all," the strict country replied evenly, also shifting into English.

A power play, Liet realized suddenly. The greeting was a sign of friendliness, but Russia refused to speak in German because it suggested that Germany was in control; and while Germany should speak Russian on Russian soil, he also wanted to avoid the connotation of inferior strength. So they used a (relatively) neutral language instead…

Germany's blue eyes flicked over to Liet and his brothers, measuring them each in turn. There was something in the man's gaze—expectation? p-possession? sympathy?—that made the brunette nervous. Germany glanced back at Russia and asked, "Where is Poland?"

Lithuania stiffened; Poland still had another three months before he had to go back.

"Oh, Polshka was not feeling very well this morning; I let him stay home," Russia said, another lie. "Would not want to work him to death, da?"

Germany didn't react to the jab. "Hopefully he will feel better soon."

The arctic nation nodded in agreement. "Well, please take a seat, Germany," he invited, gesturing to the table. "I see that your excitable ally did not accompany you," he added, motioning for Latvia to remove the extra chair.

Caution and distrust flickered across Germany's face for an instant. "Ja, I thought it best for him to continue training with his men," he replied indifferently, sitting to face the door. Russia sat down to Germany's left; Lithuania realized that if they followed their usual seating pattern, Latvia would wind up next to Russia, and he'd be next to Germany.

"A pity," the huge nation remarked, then lapsed back into Russian, "Litva, chai puzhalista?"

Liet blinked, what? But then he realized and went to the table decked with snacks, ferrying various treats back, pastries, rolls and jam, candied orange peels, a small cake, honey, lemon slices—where the hell did Russia get lemon slices at the beginning of spring?— before he moved to the samovar that stood on its own little side table, filling cups of tea and setting them before each person as Russia mildly harassed Germany to eat something and discovered that not everyone had his sweet tooth. As Liet placed a cup of tea in front of Russia, he caught sight of the approving little smirk and quickly turned away before the huge nation could see his own reaction.

Serving tea to Germany! He served tea often enough at home—Russia's home! he correctly angrily—but in front of Germany! Once everyone had their drinks, Liet took his seat next to the disciplined nation, struggling to fight down a blush. Really, he should have known the show wasn't over yet. They were the last exhibit, he and his brothers, Russia's last boasting point for the day. He refused to meet Russia's eyes as the country made polite conversation, asking after Austria and Prussia's health; Liet could just imagine the thoughts floating through the arctic nation's head: Look, my little Baltics listen so well! They wear my uniform and salute my officers, follow commands and dare not refuse; my good little servant-soldiers. He kept his head down as the conversation shifted to commerce, trying to drown his shame in tea.

"Da, da, there has been no problem with getting shipments out," Russia said, dismissing Germany's concern, referring to the steady supply of food and militarily significant materials being sent to the tenuously allied country.

"I heard there were food shortages among some of your people," Germany mentioned off-handedly.

He looked ridiculous with that delicate tea cup, Liet decided sullenly.

Russia popped a sugar cube in his mouth and washed it down. "Ah, I am sorry such lies reached your ears. Some are envious of the lives my people have here; they seek to spoil our happiness."

"I'm glad things are going so well for you then," Germany replied diplomatically.

They don't believe a word the other is saying…

"Thank you. So please, take the equipment, is no trouble. I feel you need it more than I."

Germany's brow knitted faintly in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, tone light.

"For your pilots," Russia answered, as if this were obvious. "I keep getting reports, German planes in Russian airspace. I am thinking, you and I, we have nonaggression treaty. Why would German planes fly into Russian airspace?" The huge nation shrugged. "So, either your pilots are poorly trained, or the instruments in your planes are broken."

A ringing silence. The sudden tension was palpable; Estonia had froze with a tea cup at his lips, while the piece of cake Latvia had half-way to his mouth fell off the fork from the force of his trembling. Liet shifted uncomfortably, sneaking a glance at the stiff country next to him—his expression was guarded, eyes wary. He knows about the flights, maybe even ordered them.

"Ja, I will have to look into this. It's certainly not acceptable," he said neutrally, putting the tea cup down.

"Thank you, I would appreciate this." Russia stood, smiling. "I have probably kept you from your attaché for too long—"

Germany murmured something to the same effect as he stood; the Baltics followed suit a moment later, remaining by the table as the arctic nation walked Germany to the door.

"I wish you luck with England," Russia offered, waiting as Germany put on his cap.

"I doubt it will come down to luck," he said bluntly.

Russia laughed as they shook hands again. "Da, probably. And France is doing well?"

Germany nodded shortly. "Ja, well." A pause. "His German is terrible."

"I am not surprised," Russia said, opening the door and admitting Germany into the hall. "France and England… Good luck with them in the same house."

"Tch," the man scoffed, evidentially displeased at the idea. "Good bye, Russia."

"Good bye, Germany," the huge nation smiled.

The other country left, and Russia shut the door with a small sigh, then turned back to the Baltics.

"That was good, da?" he said to no one in particular. He looked exhausted suddenly.

Liet stayed silent, recalling the huge nation's words so many nights ago: War with Germany is inevitable, I think…

Lithuania feared he was right.

Russia came down off his people's high hard. When they got home he went straight for vodka, fetching some from the liquor cabinet before going to the living room; he turned the radio to the news and let it play as he lay on the sofa, drinking straight from the bottle. With the living room thus occupied, the Baltics double checked the kitchen to make sure everything was clean, then went upstairs to Liet's room.

"That was really scary," Latvia confided, shoulders hunched up by his ears.

"I think that was the point," Estonia remarked dryly, pulling out the desk chair and sitting.

Liet took a seat on his bed. "That and show off to Germany," he added darkly. Latvia clambered up next to him as he leaned over and flicked on his own radio, an old beaten up thing he had found on the side of the street and managed to fix up. He found a classical music station and left it there, hoping the noise would be enough to drown out their conversation. "Russia was right: he and Germany are definitely going to go to war."

Estonia paled. "You think so?"

"You heard their conversation. Flyovers? Germany's scouting…"

"B- But Russia's sending him military supplies," Latvia squeaked. "Wh- why would he send him guns if he thinks Germany will invade?"

"Probably for the same reason England and France let him get away with having Austria move in…" Estonia mused quietly.

"T- to buy time?" The tallest Baltic nodded.

"Apparently Germany's planning to invade England next," Liet told them, tossing out the bit of relevant information.

His brothers looked surprised. "How do you know?"

"… Russia told me. I know!" he exclaimed at the look Estonia gave him. "But, Russia was, drunk, and I—" He broke off, remembering, He wanted me that night. He almost—

"Russia's always drunk."

"More drunk than usual. But, I think he was serious."

"Russia could probably say the grass was purple with a straight face."

Liet scowled. "Fine. But why would he lie about Germany invading England?"

"Why does Russia lie about anything?"

"T- to scare us. To make us feel bad…" Latvia murmured, hugging a pillow to his chest.

"No, I mean—" Lithuania broke off, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It wouldn't have accomplished any of his usual objectives. Maybe to confuse; I couldn't figure out why he'd tell me. But it was more like he was talking to himself."

"And how did Russia know?"

Liet blinked. "I… don't know. He seemed pretty sure of it although, he thinks Germany won't break their treaty so soon after signing it."

"So you think Germany's planning to invade Russia?" Estonia stated.

"Definitely. But…" Lithuania chewed the inside of his lip, contemplative. "I don't know if he'll do it before or after England."

"W- will England lose?" Latvia asked, worry and sadness dominating his features.

"Germany has pretty much all of Western Europe. Russia won't come to England's defense, and America's diplomatic stance means turning a deaf ear to Europe's troubles," Estonia affirmed, quickly summarizing the interconnected facts.

"Yeah, America's diplomacy," Latvia scoffed. The young Baltic made a show of covering his ears and closing his eyes. "La la la, I can't hear you, not my problem," he sing-songed in broken English.

His brothers gave half-hearted smiles. "So yes, England will probably fall," Estonia continued sadly, then paused, pushing his glass up. "It would make more sense to close the western front before attacking Russia though…"

"Two fronts got him in trouble last time," Lithuania agreed.

They were silent a moment, considering the last war, when Russia had his revolutions and left, the treaty eventually got them all independence again. Maybe if they were lucky, they'd have their freedom again with this war. Of course, that meant getting through it first…

Estonia stood. "Well, I'm going to go back to my room. There's a book I want to finish." He went to the door, opening it. "We'll talk later."

Latvia slid off the bed. "I'll go too. Bye, Lithuania," he offered with a tiny smile.

"Bye." Liet waited until they had both left, then five minutes more, before fishing out a bent paperclip. A minute later he softly opened the door to Poland's room and found it empty of said country.

He took a step in, disbelieving. No, Poland didn't have to go back for another three months, why was he gone? He could've have run, right? He listened, heard nothing.

"Poland?" he whispered, slowly walking into the room, the dying sunlight leaving the floor a bloody red. "Polska?"

"Liet?" the closet door cracked open just enough to reveal Poland crouching on the floor. "Like, I thought you guys were at Russia's stupid festival?"

He didn't miss the disapproving note in his words. "We were. What are—"

"What the hell are you wearing?" Poland demanded, scowling.

Lithuania glanced down; he was still wearing the new uniform. "Russia wanted us to wear them," he mumbled, cheeks coloring. "What are you doing in there?"

Poland pursed his lips in displeasure before beckoned him over. "Working," he whispered, admitting Liet into the cramped closet space. The Baltic squeezed in, pushing a hangers of clothes out of the way to kneel on the floor, hunched over across from the blond. Poland shut the door, dropping them into complete darkness; there was a scrap and a hiss, the smell of sulphur as he lit a match, then a small candle. Light flickered and grew.

"What do you mean, working?" Liet asked, watching as his friend rummaged through the pockets of some shirts, pulling out a pen and an old bottle cork. From a split seam on a jacket's lining, he extracted papers, some blank, some written out in Polish.

"Unlike you, I still have a country to run," Poland said, selecting an empty sheet. As he started writing, Lithuania reached next to him for the other papers, mindful of the candle flame. Some of it just seemed to be gibberish, but others had long strings of numbers, weapon abbreviations, lists of locations, supplies, safehouses…

"My god…" Lithuania whispered, amazed. "You're directing your rebel forces from here?"

"Absolutely."

"But how?"

"Extensive use of code, short-hand, like what we use only different," Poland answered without looking up. "There's ways to get shit out of this fucking hell hole without Russia finding out."

"But half the time you're locking in your ro—"

"You honestly think I can't, like, climb out a second-storey window?" he said flatly, giving him a look. "Way to like, totally have faith in me."

"No, I mean…" Lihuania shook his head, momentarily speechless. "It's amazing, Polska."

"Yeah well, that's because I'm just that totally awesome, you know?" He put the pen down and took hold of the candle, tilting it so wax dripped onto the bottom of the page. He pressed the end of the cork into the cooling puddle; when he lifted it, a roughly carved Polish eagle stared back at them. Poland set that letter aside and rifled through some other papers, scanning them. "So, how was Russia's 'happy commies' day' parade?" he asked casually.

"Terrifying," Liet admitted, then, "Germany was there."

A letter slipped from Poland's grasp into the candle flame, a corner igniting instantly. Liet jerked back as the fire fluttered towards his feet, upsetting the candle; Poland swore, quickly putting out the flame as Liet stomped the paper out. Once more in darkness, he heard Poland fumbling for the matches, "Damn it, where are they?" A flare of light and Poland became visible, face thrown into sharp relief by the flame.

"Germany's here?" he demanded, match held in front of him like a shield.

"No, not here; at the parade," Liet explained.

Poland flicked the match out as fire licked his fingertips, immediately lighting a second one, this time setting the candle back up. "And what did he want?" he asked tersely, gathering up the scattered papers.

"They were just talking," Lithuania sighed. "I think they're going to go to war."

"Well duh," Poland said, rolling his eyes. "His boss said he was going to in that book he wrote, remember?"

"No one took him seriously back then. Things are different now…"

"Well good. Fucking serves Russia right, taste of his own medicine…" the blonde grumbled.

"What?"

"Germany is going to kick Russia's ass," Poland pronounced.

"But Russia—"

"Isn't as strong as Germany," he interrupted. "I don't know how it got into your head that Russia's like, some ridiculously powerful, undefeatable nation. He's totally not. You and I have beaten Russia before. And those Purges his boss keeps doing? No way. The only advantage Russia has is more people than Germany."

"Yeah, but…"

"Liet, you haven't seen Germany fight in like, twenty years," Poland said. "Do you know what he calls his war tactics now?" At the Baltic's silence, he answered, "Blitzkrieg," the German word sounding strange on his tongue. "It means 'lighting war'. He moves fast, Liet; like, really, really fast. My army—" The blonde choked up suddenly, tears springing to his eyes that he quickly fought back. "—my army's not a push-over. We gave it everything we had; Germany kicked my ass in a month…" Poland fell silent, green gaze fixed on the candle flame. "He just storms in, kicks down the door, bombs everything. That's how he does it: bombs first, then tanks, then soldiers." He shook his head, trying to clear the memories. "Trust me; Germany's going to kick Russia's ass," he repeated, starting another letter.

Lithuania was silent. He so desperately wanted Poland to be right. If Germany beat Russia in a war, then maybe he could get his independence back…

"Russia won't go down without a fight," he murmured.

Poland sighed, putting down his pen and looking his friend straight in the eye. "Then Germany will kill him."

The certainty in his words made Liet shiver. Not for Russia—Russia had brought this on himself—but for everyone else. Everyone caught in the cross-fire.

"I'll let you keep working then," he said somewhat awkwardly, maneuvering around the candle. Poland opened the door for him and he stepped out into the room—damn, that closet was stifling hot! He turned back, bit his lip and added, "Be careful, Poland," with a nod toward the letters.

Poland smiled, his face inexpressibly sad. "Hey Liet, promise me that if I die and there's a body, you'll bury me in Polish soil?"

"Poland—"

"Please, Liet." And the smile was gone, just a gaunt young man at his feet, his closest friend, desperation coloring his eyes a shining emerald. Lithuania felt his throat close up.

"I promise," he croaked. "I promise, Poland."

A look of relief passed over him, his shoulders slumping. "Thanks," he breathed, before shutting the closet door. Liet stood there for a moment, knowing there was something he could say, there had to be, and not having the foggiest idea what it was.

From behind the door he heard the muffled sound of crying.

He fled the room quickly, before he started as well.

Liet returned to his room, tried to settle into a book and couldn't—he was restless, he needed to do something. If he didn't, then his thoughts would drift back to Russia and Germany, the war, Poland… Pacing, he glance at the clock and realized that it was nearly five—he hadn't started anything for dinner. But he stopped at the top of the stairs, wondering if there was a point to dinner after all those sweets at tea. Maybe he'd make something small, start preparing things for tomorrow night…

He crept through the living room as quietly as possible, fairly certain Russia was still there and unwilling to attract his attention, and slipped into the kitchen. Open sandwiches would be the easiest, nice and light after tea, but they had sandwiches earlier, so maybe just a bunch of pickled snacks. Actually, pickled herring and onion with sour cream on rye sounded really good. He brought some up to Latvia and Estonia, giving a second plate to latter with the request to bring it to Poland.

Estonia favored him with an unreadable expression over the top of his book. "If you can get into Poland's room, then why ask me to bring him dinner?"

Liet heard the potential for a fight in his words and almost took it—what was Estonia's problem? Russia had given him the key after all—but held back, placing the extra plate on the dresser. "Because I'm going to see if Russia wants anything to eat," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Unless you'd rather trade?"

Estonia ducked back into his book sheepishly.

Yeah, that's what I thought…

Downstairs, Lithuania hovered uncertainly by the doorway. He knew that if he didn't offer Russia dinner the results could be disastrous, but at the same time, the idea of bothering the frigid nation when he had been drinking all evening wasn't appealing…

"Russia Zimavich?" he called from the doorway.

No response, just the radio broadcaster reporting various May Day festivities across the country. He hadn't passed out, had he?

"Russia Zimavich?" he tried again, slightly louder.

"Da, Litva?" Russia queried lazily, hidden from view on the sofa.

"Ah, would you um, like anything for dinner?"

"Nyet. I am not hungry."

Liet twisted the edge of his shirt. "Oh, okay… Um, l-let me know if you need anything…"

A bemused sound, a hand appearing over the sofa's back, beckoning, "Come here, Litva."

Damn it… Lithuania came around the sofa, stopping by Russia's feet. The nation looked oddly relaxed: the outer coat of his uniform had been tossed haphazardly to the side, one arm draped over his stomach and the other within easy reach of an open bottle on the floor, two others nearby, already empty. The top three buttons of his undercoat were open and his scarf had been tugged loose around his neck, the sight of Russia's bare throat so odd that Liet's eyes lingered a moment—good god, were those scars? Faint lines criss-crossing otherwise smooth skin and Liet flushed, gaze dropping to the floor, embarrassed to have caught a glimpse of something so personal. Was that the reason for the perpetual scarf? How did he get them?

Russia relinquished his hold on the vodka, gesturing to Liet, "Come here, Litva," he cooed again.

The Baltic hesitated, edging forward; Russia took his wrist the moment he was in range, tugging. "Sit, sit."

"O- On the sofa?" There wasn't room.

"The floor, if you'd like."

Liet start to sit—"Nyet, nyet, the other direction." He swallowed and sat cross-legged, facing away from Russia. Fabric rustled as the arctic nation shifted, and Liet flinched when a hand came to rest on his head, petting his hair. He stared at the swirl pattern on the rug, feeling his cheeks burn. As if servant and slave weren't bad enough, now he was a dog?

"Your hair is very soft," Russia murmured, threading his fingers through the chestnut strands. Lithuania bit his lip, shuddering when icy fingertips brushed along the back of his neck, why was he just sitting there letting him do this?

"So nervous…" A light, mocking tone. "I worry you…"

"I- If you don't need anything, Russia Zimavich, I, ah, need to go do the dishes…" Liet tried feebly, wincing as fingers trailed higher to his cheek, gripped his chin and forced his face to the side. He could see Russia out of the corner of his eye, staring at him; he kept his gaze averted, heart pounding. He shouldn't have said that, oh god…

"Is that so?" the huge nation said quietly, running a thumb along Liet's lower lip.

"Da," he managed faintly.

Russia released him. "Go then," he said wearily, dismissive, sounding very much the old noble he used to be and the Baltic scrambled to his feet and retreated into the kitchen mumbling a thank you, amazed. Was it really that easy? He just had to work up the courage to ask?

He washed up the few utensils from preparing dinner, debating whether or not to ask his brothers to wash their dinner dishes themselves; he didn't want to do this twice. As it was, once he finished, he had to get back through the living room in order to go upstairs…

"Litva."

He squeaked in surprise as Russia stepped up behind him, enveloping the smaller country in a loose embrace; Liet tensed, trapped, as Russia bowed his head, breathing in the scent of his hair. The exhale sent shivers down his spine.

"Like spring," Russia sighed. Liet could smell vodka, vodka and cold and this wasn't safe. "You can grow sunflowers…"

"R- Russia Zimavich—"

"Chto eto, Litva?" he mumbled, bending somewhat to reach, lips grazing the soft skin alongside his neck. A broken sound rose in Liet's throat and he swallowed thickly.

"I- I don't, want this, Russia…" he said weakly, eyes shut as if to block out the sensation.

Russia rocked forward slightly, his weight pressing the Baltic against the counter, pinning him there. "You haven't tried to stop me." A feather-soft kiss at the same spot, followed by a deeper one that made Liet stuck in a startled breath.

"I- I can't—"

"Not true," the huge nation disagreed, "You could say, 'Russia, stop it…'" He slipped a hand under the Baltic's shirt and Liet jerked backwards reflexively, into the huge nation.

"You'd hu- hurt me if I s- said that," he stuttered, trying to squirm away but Russia's grip across his mid-chest only tightened.

"I only hurt you when you deserve it," Russia whispered huskily, then nipped Liet's ear.

Lithuania flinched, whimpering, "Please Russia…" tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

"Please what, Litva? I thought I told you to be specific," Russia chided, hold loosening as he explored the contours of Liet's stomach and ribs, tracing bone and muscle with wondering sweeps; his other hand reached up and gently pushed Liet's head forward, his hair aside to expose the back of his neck where the cold nation placed delicate little porcelain kisses. "Please what?"

Tears fell into the sink. "Please stop," Liet sobbed, his whole body trembling, hands curled into fists on the counter's edge. "Please don't do this…"

"I've barely done anything yet…" He toyed with buttons on Liet's shirt, undoing to the bottom two before tracing the skin just above the edge of his pants. Lithuania stared unseeing into the sink, shoulders shaking with silent tears. Russia's hand drifted lower along his side, feeling the curve of his hip and forward over his thigh, Lithuania's breath hitched—

Someone cleared their throat loudly.

Russia stopped, unmoving for an instant before he straightened, freeing Liet as he turned to face the intruder.

"Can I help you, Estonia?" he asked politely.

Liet stayed rooted to the spot, unable to bring himself to look.

Estonia's answer was as shaky as he was. "Ju- just hoping to finish up the dishes, Russia Zimavich. Uh, I hope that's not a- a problem…"

Lithuania could feel the quiet fury rolling off Russia in waves. "Liet was washing the dishes," the man answered sweetly. A heavy pause, then, "I'm sure he'll finish those for you."

"I- I w- wouldn't want to make him d- do all the work—"

"Estonia."

No, go, just go. Liet thought desperately. I don't want you to get caught up in all of this.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Russia Zimavich," the brother stammered. "I'll just- ah, just—"

"Go, Estonia," Russia said quietly.

He bolted. Lithuania's heart sank as footsteps faded.

Neither of the remaining nations moved, Liet still standing at the sink, Russia facing the entrance to the living room.

"You look out for each other," the huge nation remarked nonchalantly.

Liet nodded, realized Russia couldn't see him and added, "Da." He held his breath for a beat, then continued cautiously, "Like you take care of your sisters…"

Silence. Then Russia left the kitchen without another word.

Liet heard his heavy footsteps up the stairs; suddenly his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. Holy god… Russia had almost, he would've— He cried, a low moaning sound twisting its way out of him, his terror, his relief, his shame. Russia had to have the worst luck in the world—first Belarus and now Estonia—and the thought made him cry harder, because luck never lasted and he was so scared…

Gradually he calmed down, the tears abating. He went back to his room and shut the door, wedging the back of the chair under the doorknob. Liet changed into his night clothes and crawled into bed, curling up around his pillow, tucking the blanket up to his neck—Russia had scars, where did they come from?—and he stared into the darkness of his room until he could swear Russia was staring back, violet gaze dark with madness and desire, and he couldn't decide which was worse, having his eyes open or having them shut. Any moment Russia was going to come in, punish him for his defiance with the door and finish what he started and there wasn't anything he could do and he wanted to go home…

He fell asleep crying.

God damn it, Russia, bad things happen when you get drunk! Also, Poland's kind of a badass. ^^

I think the only new vocab for this chapter was German?

Russia's first line: Guten Tag, mein Kamerad! Wie geht es Ihnen?-- Hello (or Good day), my comrade! How are you? (Note that in German, Kamerad does not have the political connotations that usually does; Russia's specifically not using the political version of comrade. Also, most people ask 'how are you' with Wie geht's?, Russia's just being polite.)

Germany's response: Danke, gut. Und Sie?-- Thank you, good. And you? (Again, Germany returns the formality level by using Sie instead of du.)

Russia's answer: Sehr gut, danke!-- Very good, thanks.

What else to say... Yeah, Russia was still sending Germany military supplies a month and twenty-two days before Germany attacked him. German troops are gathering by the borders at the very moment, and German planes (the ones Russia isn't happy about) are surveying the land, to better form battle plans. This can't end well...

Again, thanks to school and life endeavoring to eat me, the next chapter may be a touch late in coming.

Read and review, comrades!