A/N: GAHHHHHHHH -shot- I know I said I'd update every other week, but this chapter seriously didn't want to be written T.T But it's finished now, so huzzah. I don't really think it's that good - I had a hell of a time with this thing, especially on the end part.
But I digress. This is the angsty-est chapter yet, mkay? And it's definitely not the last angsty chapter -beams- MUAHAHAHA SPOILERZ :0
Ahem.
Disclaimer - I disclaim. =P
Truthfully, Elizaveta couldn't get the dance out of her head. She knew Roderich knew that she could take care of herself, so why did he even save her from Francis? She was probably reading too far into this, since it was probably just his gentlemanly side that forced him to do it. It was the side of him that was actually human that enjoyed it.
But she still waltzed around empty rooms with her frying pan when she was supposed to be cleaning. Of course, she always danced the guy's part. So what if she hadn't developed certain parts of the male anatomy? Gilbert could just go die.
How in hell, she wondered, had one dance caused her to act like a lovesick schoolgirl, when she was neither lovesick nor a schoolgirl? She just wanted to dance, so long as it was Roderich she was dancing with. And that was because he wasn't going to molest her. Obviously. That was her reason. Nothing else.
She looked out the window at the snowy, mid-December weather. Sighing, she grabbed her bucket of dirty water. Great. She actually had to go outside to dump this out.
Still grumbling to herself, she pushed open the kitchen door and walked a few steps out into the courtyard. The overcast sky was still pouring forth snow. She gave an involuntary shiver as she deposited the water onto one of the lifeless flowerbeds.
"Why, look what we 'ave 'ere, John!"
Elizaveta rolled her eyes. The two guards John and Edward had been stalking her for the past few weeks. They constantly made suggestive remarks to her and got near-fatal injuries in return. Edward, the one who'd approached her, had a bandage over half his face. His partner, John, was still limping.
"Ah 'ope she's not so feisty today," John said.
Why was her "feistiness" so attractive to random perverts?
"Lookie 'ere! She don't 'ave 'er pan!"
"My, my, Lizzy, ya shouldn't walk about unarmed. Mas'er wouldn't like it." John clucked his tongue in a scolding manner.
"Don't bring Roderich into this!" she snapped.
"Ooh, the missie's gettin' defensive," Edward smirked.
"But 'e's so boring, Lizzy. 'ave some fun with us now."
Wow. Talk about crappy pick-up lines.
Then John's – or was it Edward's – sweaty hands were up her skirt and the other guy had a firm grip on her shoulders from behind. Her brain went into "Oh shit!" mode almost instantly.
"'old 'er fer a minnit, John." Okay, so the one that had been feeling her up was Edward, who was currently yanking his pants down, a feral grin on his face. Elizaveta, enterprising girl that she was, took the opportunity to twist her arms enough to smack John on the cheek and break free. Without a second's hesitation, Elizaveta ran for the door to the house. She had a bit of a head start, since the guards were slightly startled. Once inside, she didn't stop. She needed to find A) her frying pan and/or B) other people. She couldn't fend off the guards forever. Eventually, they'd catch her and make sure she couldn't run unless she immobilized them first. She also knew, from weeks of experience, that they wouldn't strike around other people.
She managed to locate her frying pan, but no other people. So she ran to the one place where she figured there would certainly be someone: the piano room. But, of course, it was empty. She was tired of running, and, frankly, scared out of her mind. It was pathetic. She, Elizaveta Hédeváry, the nation of Hungary, who could face and demolish armies fearlessly, who had been a boy during childhood, was terrified of two uneducated, mortal rapists.
She was better than this. Better than the tears that were – oh, God, she was crying. This was preposterous! Elizaveta Hédeváry didn't cry! At least Roderich wasn't-
"Elizaveta?"
Shit.
"Elizaveta? What is wrong?" His voice was suddenly closer, and then she saw why. Roderich was kneeling beside her while she was lying sprawled on the floor. He can't see me like this, she thought, turning her head away.
That only made him put a hand on her shoulder. "Elizaveta, look at me!"
"No," she whispered.
"Damn it, Lizzy, don't fight me now! I'm trying to help you!"
She was only aware of three things:
- He had actually used the word "damn"
- He had called her "Lizzy"
- He had taken her into his arms and was now holding her awkwardly against his chest.
Her arms slid out from where they were crushed against him and clasped limply behind his back. And then Elizaveta cried. All he could think to do was keep his arms around her and try to think of her tears instead of how they upset him.
They stayed that way until Elizaveta stopped crying. She then looked up at him, green eyes rimmed with red.
"Elizaveta-" he began, but she shoved him away and ran out of the room.
Roderich was left in the middle of the room that contained his beloved piano with a slightly damp shirt, Elizaveta's frying pan, and the memory of a very improper feeling. Why, oh why, did she do this to him?
Of course it was her fault. He would deal with that later. Right now, he had to get to the bottom of this.
*
First of all, Elizaveta was not crying. She had not run away, and she definitely had not been glad that Roderich had been holding her like that. She obviously hadn't been thinking clearly – nearly getting raped did that to the brain, right?
And she was not curled up on her pathetic excuse for a bed, sulking and in total denial. She wasn't curled up, she was hugging herself for extra warmth. And sulking – no, she was experiencing slight mental trauma. Oh, and she definitely wasn't in denial. She was only preventing herself from over-exaggerating.
Somebody knocked on the door, a fact that she ignored for a few seconds. It was probably Feliciano, anyway. No matter how much she loved the kid, he could wait until her face was less red.
"Come in, Feli," she said at last, giving her reflection in the mirror one last glare. Hopefully the boy wouldn't notice, since he'd probably have a heart attack if he thought she were in danger.
And then Roderich opened the door and Elizaveta nearly had the heart attack.
"Damn," she muttered, looking at the oh-so-interesting floor.
"Language-"
"-Elizaveta, I know." She rolled her eyes as she finished his sentence.
"Are you planning on answering my question now?"
"Which one? You ask too damn many."
"Are you alright?" Elizaveta watched him with dull eyes as he walked over and gingerly sat on the edge of her bed, almost as if the zombie armies were going to come and murder him with poisoned chainsaws, even if chainsaws still needed to be invented.
"Well, let's see. I'm lying in the middle of a room crying my eyes out, actually touching you willingly for once, and running away like a freak. So, yeah, I think I'm perfectly fine."
He said something that sounded suspiciously like, "I know you are," as he awkwardly put an arm around her shoulder (although he had to risk his life to the zombies to do so).
There was only one thing Elizaveta could think about when there was a guy sitting on her bed and touching her, and this thought was what caused her to shove him away and glare at him murderously.
"Elizaveta? What is the meaning of this?"
He looked shocked. Genuinely shocked. "It's nothing," she muttered.
"Are you certain?"
She nodded and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. "I'm fine."
Roderich still didn't look convinced and scooted closer to her. He pressed a hand to her forehead, and she forced herself not to act like Raivis. What, does he think I'm sick or something? she thought, amusing herself in a slightly cynical style.
"You seem fine," he concluded, giving her a concerned stare. "Please, just tell me what is wrong. I promise you I'll do everything in my power to fix this."
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem fine."
"Okay, so maybe I'm not feeling like rainbows and butterflies right now, but I don't need help. I'll be better soon."
"Let me help, Elizaveta, please. I hate seeing you like this."
"Why? Because your stupid house isn't getting cleaned?"
She could actually see the disappointment on his face. "Elizaveta…" That was all he said as he took her into his arms again. His fingers were tangling in her hair and for a second it felt so damn good…
And then her mind snapped back into reality. She had nearly been raped earlier, and this was the second time in less than thirty minutes that Roderich had held her like this. No. Surely he couldn't be just like those idiots!
But why take any chances?
Elizaveta shoved him away again, more violently this time. He landed sprawled across her bed, glasses askew. She stood up rapidly, clutching the ratty blanket to her chest as she stood by the door, prepared to bolt if he made another move on her.
In true Roderich fashion, he sat up slowly and fixed his glasses before speaking calmly, although his voice had taken on a foreign, cold undertone. "I would suggest you explain yourself."
She shook her head violently, making her look like she was having convulsions.
"Why not? Is there something that you're not allowed to tell me?"
"Hell no," she said, her voice barely audible.
"Excellent. Because if you were plotting anything against me, I am more than capable of dealing with you."
That sounded horribly like Edward and John… and, besides, she highly doubted that Roderich knew anything about "dealing" with anything other than an out-of-tune piano.
"I'm terrified," she said, recovering a bit more composure after deciding that he was utterly incapable with anything but music… although he was pretty damn good at his stupid music.
"Elizaveta, I am not joking with you."
"I know."
"You do not seem to be taking me seriously."
"I'm not."
"If I am not joking, then why do you not take me seriously?" The exasperation on his face was tangible. His hands were clenched into fists and his normally calm demeanor was obviously cracking – and cracking quickly.
"You can't do anything to me." Her voice wasn't nearly so loud this time, since she was on edge from the day's events and Roderich was slowly standing up. Normally the process of standing didn't freak her out, but the fact that this normally distant, calm man was standing in an epic way and looking slightly pissed was enough to drive her jumpy nerves insane.
Perhaps it was the look of pure, uncensored terror in her eyes that made him stop short, although it was probably only his gentlemanly good manners making him rethink things.
"Why would I ever do anything to you?" he asked, approaching her slowly.
She didn't answer, of course, just looked away. It didn't cross her mind that the constant denial was probably making him suspicious – and, judging by the look on his face – and pissed.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and she flinched. "Elizaveta…please, look at me." He sounded firmer, more insistent, and definitely exasperated.
Of course, she didn't look.
"Look at me!" His hand cupped her chin and jerked her gaze onto him with more force than he intended. The shock and panic flashing across her face was evident. Almost as evident was the horror on Roderich's face due to his own actions as Elizaveta wriggled out of his grasp and took on a fighting stance.
"What're you trying to do?" she cried, giving him a mixture of a pained and fierce expression.
"I am trying to help you, damn it!"
"Language," she said flatly.
"What are you trying to do, Elizaveta? Are you plotting against me? Why can you not tell me?"
"I don't have to tell you if I damn well don't want to!"
"I am your master, Elizaveta! You do have to obey me, you know."
"When did that stop me?"
He was silent, contemplating the girl's seething form. "I have been far too lenient. I really must stop spoiling you."
"Spoiling me? When the hell were you spoiling me?" She gestured angrily to her shabby room. "You call this spoiling? And look at Feli! The only nice thing you did for him was to give him a day off to mend his broken heart! Other than that, he has to deal with shit that kids shouldn't be!"
"What does Feliciano have to do with this?"
"You say you spoil me, but you're just a damned cruel bastard. You're such a fucking hypocrite! All you talk about is being a gentleman and proper, but you treat me and Feli and the other servants like shit! Like total shit! You think that's how a gentleman acts?"
"And you're just a foul-mouthed peasant that is not worthy to be called a country!" The words were out before he really knew what he was saying.
Elizaveta looked at him first in shock, then in an anger only seen when she faced Prussia on the battlefield. "Shut up! Just get your ass out of here! I don't want to talk to a bastard like you! You're the only one unworthy of being a country, you damned pansy!"
Under normal circumstances, Roderich would never have obeyed her demands, but she looked positively murderous and he didn't want to listen to her foul mouth any longer than necessary. And, besides, he was horribly ashamed at what he had said.
In true Roderich style, he regained some sort of composure in order to reply. "Well, fortunately for you, I am going on a trip and will not be returning until Christmas Eve." His words needed some form of proper, eloquent ending, but he just couldn't think of one, so he let them hang in the air. He turned briskly and walked the few paces to the exit.
Then, he remembered what he was going to say. He didn't turn around but simply spoke and hoped that Elizaveta would hear him. "Oh, please watch your language, Miss… Hungary."