I always have this feeling that my inbox is hiding review messages from me… That, or I'm really not as popular as I think I am. Yeah…that's probably it.

I'm sad now.

I hope this chapter doesn't reflect that too bad.

No history this time guyz. I'm sorreh.

Songs

'Dotted Lines' by Sweet Talk Radio

'Dance so Good' by Wakey!Wakey!

'Substitution' by Silversun Pickups

The president was pinching the bridge of his nose as Alfred tried to explain what had just happened while pressing a wet compress to his wounded cheek. Obama had excused his family, telling them that he would take care of it all. Ivan put a heavy hand on the American's shoulder to cease his explanation.

"It vas my sister," the Russian apologized. "She must have found out that I vas staying vith Amerika and she came looking for me. I am sorry about the vindow. I vill pay to have it repaired…"

"Thank you, Mr. Russia," the president said cordially. "But, something still bothers me… The windows are all reinforced…" Obama muttered. "And there are cameras everywhere and guards…how the hell did she get in?" he wondered.

Ivan shivered. "She has her ways…but…is she alright?"

Kiku returned to the destroyed bathroom wearing a mentally scared expression. "Gomennasai, Ivan-san!" he said, bowing quickly. "I-I had no idea that your sister-" he cut himself off before he could say something the Russian would take offensively. "Gomennasai!" he repeated, bowing deeper.

Ivan just lifted a curious eyebrow.

The Asian man made to bite his nails. "Oh…I feel so sorry for those guards…"

"Wait…what happened Japan?" Obama demanded, his foot crunching in broken glass.

The Japanese man looked back and forth between Alfred and Ivan for a minute. "I-" he hesitated. "I had to knock her out…she woke up and started climbing back up the wall…"

"Epic, man!" Alfred said excitedly. "I bet you went all ninja!"

Obama sent America a quick warning glare, glancing over at the Russian for signs of unintended offense.

To everyone's shock, Ivan just let out a sigh of relief. "You did vell…" he said, reaching out to pat the Asian's head. "Though…she will vake up soon…and she'll come back…"

"Ah, actually," Kiku began again. "The guards are going to return her to Belarus to be watched over by her boss."

There was very little comfort in that for the Russian. If his sister could escape her boss once, she'd do it again. There was only one way to avoid her, and that was to get out of the capital. But, he had a feeling that Alfred couldn't do that. He'd avoided his responsibilities for too long.

Ivan's sister had become even clingier since the Soviet Union dissolved. She'd felt that Ivan was trying to distance himself from her, which wasn't really the case- it was just a perk.

There was a 'tsk tsk' sound from off to the side. The president was leaning against the sink where he'd brushed the shards of glass clean. "She'll get away again…" he said calmly. "Alfred's told me stories about her. And, I've met her and her boss before. She's too strong-willed and persistent to be held back that easily. Alfred."

Alfred wasn't exactly listening to the conversation, but he turned when his boss addressed him. "Yeah?"

"I want you to escort Ivan to a secluded location where she won't find him. We need to give it some time to die down and for her to get calm. Then, we'll return him to his country."

"Who? Mary?" Alfred said innocently.

Ivan closed his eyes. "No…my sister, Belarus. She is the one that broke through the window…"

Alfred stared at him blankly for a moment. "So…Bloody Mary's not real then…?"

"No, Alfred."

"And…you've gotta stay because it's your sister?"

"Apparently."

"Oh."

Kiku looked over at the two of them. Neither one seemed that upset to hear that they'd be stuck together for an extended period. They were obviously friends again.

But what worried Kiku was how long they would settle for that. There was always too much tension between those two. It was usually so thick it could be felt from across the room and became distracting. They seemed to be distancing themselves from those feelings, but it was only a matter of time. And when they finally gave in, Japan wanted to be around to get photos. Elizabeta would like that.

But for now, Kiku had business to deal with at home. They were still trying to shut down the nuclear plant that had been hit by the tsunami. The Japanese man looked over at the other two nations. They were discussing where they should go that would be out of the way.

"Okay! Let's head north," Alfred said happily. "Hopefully it won't be as hot there. You wanna come Kiku?"

Kiku jumped at the sudden attention. "Ah, no…no thank you. I've got things to do at home…I'm flying back later today."

"Oh…"Alfred said, a little disappointed.

"In fact, I should be heading to the airport now…"

Alfred frowned. "You gotta leave so soon?"

"It's about the nuclear plant."

The American sank down, "Oh…yeah…of course, sorry."

Alfred always backed down if it was about recovering from some disaster, even if that was long in the past. Kiku allowed himself to be hugged goodbye and he turned for the door. He chanced one last look back at the American and the Russian before turning around.

He still didn't like Ivan and he still felt a little protective of Alfred over this, but the Russian had given him no reason for Kiku to hate him so far. And, meeting his sister, it was becoming obvious why the Russian was so reserved and creepy.

And…he and Alfred were getting alone beautifully. So, Kiku wouldn't get in the way this time.

They could make it work now. Alfred might make the same mistake over and over, but Ivan would learn from the past. And, in their sane minds, they were good for each other. They balanced each other out and calmed each other down.

But…if one of them slipped again and threatened the world order, all hell could break loose. It was a delicate balance.

Kiku made his way through the White House, looking at the scenery and thinking. He would keep a careful eye on those two- for Alfred's protection.

"Well," Obama was saying, standing up from the sink and looking at the glass shards on the floor. "I'll have to keep the press away from this one…"

Alfred nodded. "The American people have got enough on their minds without thinking that the White House is unsafe."

The President just nodded grimly. "You two go clean each other up, I've got to call a staff meeting." With that, the president left the two alone.

Alfred frowned and sat on the edge of the tub. "Ah…my face hurts…"

Ivan just chuckled and sat next to the American. "Vell, it is killing me."

Alfred just rolled his eyes and leaned to the side against the wall. He had several cuts on his bare arms and legs as well. But, the glass shards had already worked themselves out, so he just had to stop the bleeding. He pressed the wet towel to his leg to wash it up, but he felt the cut on his face dripping again, so he had to just forget it for now.

"Here…"

Alfred turned. Ivan was holding his hand out gently. His face looked concerned and impatient. He took the towel from Alfred's fingers and ripped it in two. "H-hey!" the American protested, but Ivan just ignored him and pressed one half to Alfred's cheek and wiped the blood up with the other.

Alfred just sent him a bitter look. "Good at cleaning up blood, aren't we? Had practice?"

Ivan laughed, "Don't be sour. I am only helping."

Alfred didn't like how the Russian was looking at him so gently. He snatched back the rag. "I can handle it myself! And…besides…you didn't have to tear up the towel…"

"You needed two pieces, da?" the Russian reasoned calmly.

"Then ya should've got another towel…" Alfred snapped. "You…your scarf…"

Ivan looked down. His neck was bleeding where Natalia had held the knife to it. It was getting blood all over his scarf. "Chyort voz'mi!" he cried frantically. He tore the scarf off and ran to the tap, trying to soak out the stain. Meanwhile, the cut was bleeding freely onto his shirt- rather, Alfred's shirt that he'd let him borrow.

"Calm down!" Alfred said, putting a hand on the Russian's shoulder, "I can get it out…lemme see it…" he held out his hand.

Ivan just gripped the scarf tighter protectively. "No! You'd only make it vorse…it vill be torn up in de wash!" He was almost in tears. He always wore the scarf. Katyusha had give it to him for control of the black sea, and it had saved his life from the cold several years. It hid the scars and it was warm and had sentimental value. He wouldn't stop wearing it just because of some stains, but nobody would believe where they came from. If the stains never came out…

"No! Of course not...it's way too old to machine wash…I'll do it by hand, lemme see…" Alfred offered.

Ivan gave him a suspicious look. The American just went into the cabinet and took out a new towel and wrapped it around the Russian's neck. He gently patted it down around the cut and held his hand out for the scarf.

Ivan looked down at his precious gift. It had kept him sane many nights, reminding him that he had belonged somewhere. He loved this scarf more than he loved vodka. "If you fray even one corner…"

Alfred just gave him a million-dollar smile and took the cloth from his hand. "I won't, swear!"

Ivan paced sharp little lines back and forth, watching over Alfred's shoulder as the American gently rubbed dish soap into the white cloth and dunked it into peroxide. "This is made of cotton, right?" he clarified.

"Da…"

Alfred took a sigh of relief. "Thank God…" he muttered. If it were wool, he'd be leaving water stains all over it. But, when Ivan had dunked it in the water earlier, he sort of figured it couldn't be something dry-clean only.

After he'd gently blotted out the stain, he hung the cloth up. "Pack up your things," he ordered. "We should get moving."

Ivan just stared at his scarf. Alfred had actually done it; he had gotten the stain out completely. When did the American learn domestic things like that? It seemed beyond his mental capability…

Alfred was already on his way out of the door, but Ivan wasn't following so he turned around. "What?" The freak was staring at him with adoration. What the fuck?

"Vhere did you learn dis?" the Russian said in awe.

Alfred just shrugged. "It's not the first time I've had to wash blood out of clothes. And three or four of those times were cause of you anyway, so thank yourself for being an asshole for eighty-percent of the last century."

Ivan just smiled and moved across the room. He stopped standing right over the American so Alfred had his face nearly in the Russian's neck. That was one nasty cut, Alfred noted. …It looked bad, even without glasses on…

Something warm and wet smudged across Alfred's cheek and he jumped. Ivan had licked his thumb and rubbed it into his cut. "What the hell?"

"Saliva heals wounds, da?"

"Ah…fuck off," Alfred muttered. He was too tired to care. Ivan ignored him anyway and thoroughly rubbed the scabbed blood off Alfred's cheek.

"I am sorry that I have caused you trouble," he said politely. "I still think it vould be best for me to go to my home and get out of your hair."

Alfred just grabbed his wrist and removed the Russian's hand from his cheek. "When are you gonna get it through your thick skull that I like having you as company!" he said rashly. He immediately wanted to take it back.

Ivan stepped away. They had drawn a line in the sand, and Alfred had just come seriously close to crossing it. The Berlin wall might've fallen decades ago, but there was still an emotional wall that was more like a comfort buffer than anything.

Alfred sighed and leaned against the wall of the washroom. The entire place had a clean smell like detergent and dryer sheets. "Look," the American began, rubbing his temple, "You're not communist anymore. So…I'm not afraid of you, and you're not afraid of me…and… Well, why can't we just let things come naturally for once in our lives?"

Ivan didn't respond. He just stood back and summed Alfred up. It was too easy to fall for the American just by looks. He wasn't particularly tan, but he wasn't pale either and his hands were long and well worked. He had dirty blonde hair that turned golden in the sun. His eyes were large and bluer than any sky Ivan had ever seen. And, his face had a tapered jaw, curved nose, and small- thin lips. He wore clothing that was baggy enough to hide his figure, but still proved that he had one. He had a certain warmth about his entire being.

But, Ivan knew that he could lose that warmth so easily. If you made one step against him, Alfred became one of the scariest fuckers you'd ever meet. And, he would take the fight into your land too. He wouldn't fight on his own property and sacrifice his own civilians. And, his geographical location allowed him to do that a lot of times.

Ivan was sure if he should hate the American for being a selfish, self-assured, brat, or if he should love him for getting Stalinism out of his country, aiding anyone if they needed it desperately, and trying to protect the world order.

But, he wouldn't deny that Alfred was attractive.

But…what did that have to do with anything?

"Ruski?"

Ivan snapped his gaze back to the American. His eyes had slowly drifted to the floor as he'd thought. Alfred was staring at him expectantly. "Vhat?" Ivan said slowly. He'd forgotten what they were talking about.

"Will you stop being so weird? Like…stop making excuses to leave when we both know that things are going fine in Russia. You used ta love visiting in the summer. Are things different now, or do you really just hate being in my presence that much?"

Ivan's expression darkened. "You actually doubt someone's opinion of you?" he queried. "I always assumed you thought everyone loved you."

Alfred's face flushed. He kept slipping up today. He was letting his mask fall and the Russian kept picking up on it. "Well…they-…that is…" Well, there was no point in it anymore. "Ah, who'm I kiddin? Everyone hates me." His entire posture seemed to shrink a few inches.

What was this? Ivan stepped closer. There had been a time when he would've loved seeing Alfred melt like putty in a microwave, but that time had passed, and now it was just sad.

Alfred felt his eyes starting to prick on the sides and grow wet. No…he was not going to cry. It was this stupid time of night when the lack of sleep starts making you emotional. And it probably didn't help that the American had experienced so many spikes of paranoia tonight.

He was just sick of the world. It always worked this way. When a country became stronger- came out on the top of the stack, all the other peoples began hating them, taunting, and stereotyping them. Alfred would be hated as long as he remained a superpower.

And some of it was deserved. He'd gotten into other people's affairs before; places where his opinion shouldn't matter. But, he always did it to help. He was the superpower, so he was supposed to take care of the others. He'd been told that by every boss he'd had since 45, starting with Truman.

Ivan stared at the American. He was almost in tears? No…no, no, no…those were the one thing he couldn't stand on Alfred. America was supposed to be the land of his dreams…sunflower fields and warm air as far as one could walk. Alfred was supposed to always be cheerful and happy, living in Ivan's paradise.

And Ivan could be happy for him…because it was Alfred. There was no jealousy when it was Alfred because he would share his happiness, radiating and warming everyone around him. Tears didn't suit him. The owner of his perfect reality shouldn't get to cry…

He didn't deserve to cry.

But, it didn't make the Russian mad. In fact…he felt bad. If Alfred had ever felt hated, it would be because of him.

Ivan had spent fifty years pushing the American off and reminding him daily just how much he hated him. He'd been the one to make the American cry before. And he'd been proud of it.

But, words had to have meaning eventually. And, Alfred was so good at hiding the things that were bothering him. Unfortunately, this lead to an overly-dramatic display when he finally snapped.

And Ivan felt terrible. All those years of fighting and the end result had only really benefitted him. Of course, Alfred didn't have to be paranoid anymore and he'd prevented communist expansion, but at the end…it just felt like America had been doing it for him all along. Because...things got so much better afterwards.

Ivan leaned over and ran his hands into the American's scalp, inspecting his hair.

Alfred stepped back, smudging at his eyes. "What the fuck," he choked.

"I vas checking for gray hair," the Russian said innocently.

Alfred just shut his eyes tight. "I'm only twenty-three."

Ivan just laughed. "Yes…if you put a five at the end of dat." Alfred just ignored him, so he went on. "You should really have somezing to drink every once and avhile. Let off some steam, da?"

…

On the plane- 12 bottles of Jack Daniels later

…

"Vi viglyadita udivitelьnый," the Russian slurred. He doubted his English in this condition. So, he tried to convey his point by snuggling into the American's neck. Fortunately, Alfred seemed too wasted to notice, much less care. And there was that scent again, stronger than ever; a soft masculine mix of fast food, heated blacktop, molten metal, and the autumn harvest.

The two were sitting in the back loft of Air Force One. Alfred was dozing, lounged in a bulky leather couch. His brain was blurring images together and twisting them around in his head like it was a weird dream.

"My economy's a piece-a shit~!" Alfred sang lazily. "And the other countries? They…all haate me…" he mumbled. "Like…everyone…I can maka lisht."

The Russian just grunted.

"Well…for starters…uhm…Iraq. He really hates me right now… Libia, Egypt, Cambodia, Cuba, México, China, Russia-"

"Nyet…" Ivan cut him off. "Я nikooogda…"

The American giggled a bit at the babbling noises the other was making. He shoved his hand into the Russian's face, successfully shoving him out of his neck. "I've gott no fuckin clueh what yer sayin…"

Ivan just licked Alfred's hand, nibbling at a finger. "Soleeenый…" he muttered distastefully.

The American just laughed and pulled his hand away, making a sour face. "We should dance!" he said, giggling.

"Kakoй?" the Russian asked, bewildered. "Nyet!"

Alfred pouted. He felt the need to get up and move, but he was also extremely dizzy. He wanted to dance with the Russian…well, any form of contact would be fine. The neck nuzzling had been good… But, Ivan seemed to be a grumpy drunk. Alfred doubted it would happen again.

The Russian only laid back down on the couch with his head propped in the slight curve of Alfred's waist. The American placed his elbow across Ivan's chest to sit more comfortably. "Я hotetь эtot snova," Ivan admitted. It was a good thing the American couldn't understand him.

…Oh the things alcohol spews from people's mouths.

Translations

Chyort voz'mi!- Damn it! or Oh Shit!

Vi viglyadita udivitelьnый- You look amazing - (or something similar I hope)

Я nikogda- I never

Solenый- Salty

Kakoй- what?

Я hotetь эtot snova- I want this again

Well, that was a lot of Russian that I'm sure I screwed up.

Seriously…how is it that an average of 500 people read this every night, but I only get six reviews…is it that terrible?

I should stop complaining and being such a little brat. At least i'm getting reviews at all, and the ones i get are awesome. You guys are amazing one way or another. And besides! I broke 100!

On a more optimistic, less whiney note- This chapter was so fucking fluffy that I thought it would split at the seams.

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