Okay! So, more history this chapter…and a bit of insanity.

I should really be more introverted at this age. No high-schooler should watch the news for fun…

warnings- language. But...by now, you're totally used to that

-and some touchy-feely timez~

Songs-

'War Sweater' by Wakey!Wakey! –again.

'Hang Me Up to Dry' by Cold War Kids

'Rain' Piano version by SID

'Do You Recall' by Royal Wood

November, 1854

A Russian soldier was lying in the snow, face down, bleeding profusely from gunshot wounds. He could tell that there were several, but he doubted he could pinpoint where they were on his body. The snow was making it too numb to tell. His black uniform was soaked with ice and blood.

The sound of battle still echoed over the rooftops of the deserted town on the side of the only road between Balaklava and Sevastopol.

The soldier watched the grey smoke clouds lighting up orange with explosions. He was jerked up suddenly and flipped onto his back. "Chto za huy?"

He just earned a grin from the American medic. "That's got 'fuck' in it somewhere, don't it?" he said, straddling the injured Russian.

"A-…Amerika?"

Alfred just grinned and undid the belt and holsters on the Russian's uniform before unbuttoning the shirt. "Not exactly the warmest place to do this, but got no choice right now. They're still fighting just up the hill."

"Damn Brits…since vhen does England side vith France?" Ivan choked.

Alfred patted his cheek roughly and glided a hand down Ivan's side. "I know," he said gently, understanding. "Trust me, I know." His fingers lightly felt for the gunshot wounds. The blood was covering all visibility. "Usually," he continued conversationally, trying to distract the Russian from whatever pain he might be causing, "if you need help fighting off England, you can call France. But…they're working together? You're kinda screwed."

"b'lyad, tam!" Ivan yelped as the American's hand found the wound and pushed too hard on the tender flesh.

Alfred just grinned. He reached in the pouch that was strapped across his shoulder and took out some gloves and a pair of pliers. "This is gonna hurt, vanya. Sit still."

"Ch-" Ivan grit his teeth and pushed his head deeper into the snow while Alfred carefully leaned over his stomach and held the wound open.

It was bleeding a lot, so it was hard to see what he was doing, but his new glasses helped a bit and he managed to get the musket out. "Kay," he said, sitting up on his knees, back against Ivan's waist. The Russian winced at the pressure in such an uncomfortable area…

Alfred rummaged in his first aid kit and took out some bulky wrappings. He leaned over and slid an arm under the Russian's back and lifted up gently to tie the gauze across his waist to secure it. He sat up, "That's one down. Any others?" he said rhetorically.

Ivan's breath was getting shallow, so Alfred rolled him over and checked his ribs for bullet-holes. They could be interfering with his lung-function. If that was the case, he'd have to sew it up or the Russian would have to live forever with a hole in his lungs.

But, the only other bullets were the two in his leg and one in the shoulder. Alfred cleaned them, got the bullets out, and wrapped them, but Ivan's breathing still stayed short. "Are you alright?" the American said, concerned.

Ivan just looked down at where Alfred was sitting. He was making things more and more uncomfortable by not even noticing. "Don't…don't you have other wounded soldiers you can care for?" he demanded impatiently.

Alfred sighed and slid his backpack off, taking out a clean, dry coat. "I've brought other medics to do that. It was just my job to find you." He carefully slid the Russian's arms into the sleeves and sat him up to put the coat on completely. "We should find somewhere dry…" he suggested, putting an arm under the Russian's knees and his arm.

"Vhat are you doing?" Ivan demanded.

"I'm carryin' you," Alfred said simply. The Russian just laughed. Alfred quirked an eyebrow, "You think I can't?"

He lifted the taller man bridal-style, just to make a point. But, Ivan started struggling, so he had to put him down before he hurt himself further. "I never asked for aid. Vhy are you here?" Ivan wondered grumpily.

The American just hiked his arm up onto his shoulder and helped him stand. "Why wouldn't I be?"

The Russian just shook his head. There was something much different about this one. All these new countries were always the same. They tried to build up their own power and prestige as quickly as possible to prove themselves. America was just…odd.

"You…still hate England then?" Ivan wondered.

They had found an abandoned shed that one of the town's people had left when they all fled. Alfred helped get the Russian comfortable.

"It's complicated," he finally answered cryptically. "We're trading again, but…it's just…complicated." He brushed himself off and wiped his hair back. "Do you think we can start a fire in here? It's freezing…"

"It is probably not safe yet," Ivan replied calmly.

"Yeah, I guess not. The French came to back up England… The fighting probably won't last much longer," the American said bluntly.

Ivan just took a deep breath. "Da, I am losing. There is no need to remind me."

Alfred just smirked softly, "It might've helped if you kept control of your army."

The Russian sent him a tired glare. He would allow little petty insults because they were on good terms. Still, it was a little depressing to be losing, and having one of your only friends rubbing it in your face.

He silently prayed, hoping General Winter came through, wiped out the Allied army, and killed that bothersome limey and his rapist friend.

Alfred glanced over. Why did Ivan look so sad? He scooted closer on the dirt floor. "Hey…" he said gently. "I didn't mean it like- …It's not like Arthur was doing any better… And…everyone's stacked against you. I mean, it's France, England, Turkey, Austria, Piedmont, and Sardinia; everyone's against you…"

"Are you as vell?" Ivan said sarcastically.

Alfred straightened. "If I was, you'd've already lost!" he said proudly.

Ivan just rolled his eyes, smiling. "I have to question that, but…it probably vould be best for us to never go to war."

Alfred patted his head. "Always so political!" he said brightly.

…

But, politics and pleasantries couldn't prevent the Cold War. And warm affections turned to paranoid hatred.

Ivan could remember a time, long ago, when England and Russia had been affable allies. The Soviet Union had worked with the UK during both World Wars, but that never meant much. None of the alliances during those wars meant anything. He and Alfred had proven that easily by starting their Cold War directly after the Pacific war ended.

And, America ruined whatever amity the Soviet Union and England might have had. At least, that's what Ivan would think. But, England hated communism almost as much as America believed he did, and he would've sided with Alfred either way.

And Alfred had taken full advantage of having allies. He rubbed it in Ivan's face along with his wealth.

England still didn't trust Ivan even after the Soviet Union collapsed. Russia had massive reserves of energy sources that he hadn't tapped.

And, then there was the Litvinenko case where one of his FSB officers was poisoned in England. The man who did it was staying in Russia to avoid trial in London. Ivan wouldn't extradite him until England gave over the Russian terrorist that was hiding in London to avoid coming to trial in Moscow.

So, they were at a stalemate, and somehow, the four managed to make it a block without anyone trying to kill anyone, mostly thanks to Alfred's constant complaining. He distracted them easily with his stomach's growling.

"Mattie?" he whined as they walked. His brother didn't respond, so he poked his cheek repeatedly. "Matttieee~ I really don't feel good…" he moaned. "Wait…how'd you get my ice cream?"

"You didn't want it. So, you gave it to me, remember?" the Canuck said calmly.

"Hm…I don't remember that," the American said, actually thinking about it for awhile. He turned to the Brit and the Russian who were bickering about oil and the wiki-leaks incident. "Hey Artie? I feel sick… Like…seriously, I think my stomach is eating itself," he said, getting between them easily.

Arthur was about to scold him for being a fat, self-centered, child, but it seemed that Ivan beat him to it.

"How can you alvays be so hungry?" he demanded. "Do you gorge yourself so often that your stomach has grown to the size of four?"

Alfred's face flushed with anger and he threw a heavy punch to the Russian's shoulder.

Arthur just shrugged. If it meant disagreeing with Ivan, than he could go for something to eat. "There's an Applebee's up ahead," he noted.

So…somehow, four of the world's most powerful countries ended up sitting in a booth at an Applebee's in Canada. Well…three of them were sitting…one was being sat on. But, it didn't seem unusual at all.

Alfred was studying the menu, but the smell of food wasn't helping ease his stomach like it usually did. It still felt like something was clenching around his gut and slowly increasing the pressure. Something was off; it didn't feel like normal hunger pains. But, food couldn't hurt.

So the American ordered a burger, England got a salad, Ivan ordered some soup, and the waitress didn't notice Matthew- Arthur, being a gentleman, offered to share his food with the stranger.

"Well, if you'd let me out of the booth, I'd like to go clean up before our food arrives," the Brit said politely, gently pushing Alfred to let him out.

The American slid out to give him room, but Arthur didn't leave right away.

"You should come too," he insisted. "Wash up…that is."

Alfred just laughed, "My hands aren't dirty or anything…"

The Brit just grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind him, across the restaurant, and into the men's room.

"What is this Iggy?" Alfred said curiously as England shut the door behind them.

"I wanted to talk to you without that damn Russian listening…"

"Why? What's wrong with Ivan?"

Arthur turned on the American, eyes dark and serious. "I haven't spoken to you since that meeting. You disappeared before I could confront you about this."

"What?"

Arthur stepped forward menacingly. "You sold me out. Remember that?"

Alfred gulped, stepping back. The little Brit could be intimidating without even meaning to. "Is this about the-?"

"The serial numbers that you're giving him," Arthur clarified. "You're telling him all about all of the nuclear missiles you're selling me. I thought that some secrets could be honored with you, but apparently you're too much of a dog that will roll over for a chicken bone."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Alfred muttered. "No…look, I was just trying to get him to agree to that 'New START Treaty' that we've got going."

"By selling me out?" the Brit said lividly.

"Hey!" Alfred said, voice rising defensively. "I show him my arsenal regularly. We're trying to use knowledge as protection. You'd think it would be a step forward if we could just stop with all these secrets!"

Arthur just laughed, "Really, Alfred? You're going to scold me about secrets? You're the king of secrets and not keeping them! Take Wiki-leaks for example!"

"Hey, hey! Don't put that on me…my government was keeping secrets." Alfred was trying to figure out how to stand right now. "Even I didn't know half of the stuff that site put out," he admitted. "Believe me, I was just as pissed as everyone else..."

He didn't want to fidget because Iggy tended to pick up on body language. He had the complex sort of brain that pulled things apart in a way that made no sense to Alfred.

"It doesn't change the fact that you sold me out to try and make friends with Russia," Arthur spat, folding his arms over his chest indignantly.

"I wasn't trying to sell you out, Iggy-!"

"Don't call me that."

"Alright, fine…Arthur," the American corrected. "I didn't mean to sell you out. I'm just trying to eliminate some of the threat that I started more than half a century ago. If everyone knows they're being monitored…they're less likely to start nuclear militarization," he reasoned. "Wasn't that the problem with the first World War? You guys all started going crazy, building up your armies? It's the same thing with nukes…"

"Oh…I get it. You just didn't trust me?" Arthur clarified. "So, you sent Russia to watch over me."

Alfred ran a hand over his face, tugging at the skin in frustration. "You're pulling apart my words again and making them something they're not!"

Arthur stepped forward and jabbed a finger into the American's chest as if it were a small knife he could impale him with. "No, listen to me," he scolded. "You've been this way for the past twenty years. Just because you get to be the power leader for once, does not make you the world's watchdog. You can't regulate everyone like they're just pieces in some little game! Trust me, I would know."

Alfred just closed his eyes to calm himself before he got upset over this. Arthur did have experience being the strongest superpower, but he had lost that title, so it sort of made some of his points invalid.

"Why are you here, Iggy?" Alfred muttered. He opened his eyes and met Arthur's fierce green daggers. "Like…really, why?" he said seriously.

Arthur backed down just a notch. "What's going on with you and Ivan?" he countered.

"We're friends," Alfred said simply. "Why?"

"Because…" Arthur began, weighing his next few words. Alfred's childlike expressions made it difficult to put this into words. "I…I forbid you from 'seeing' him."

The American just raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? After the Cold War…don't you think it's a good thing that we're trying to be friends again? Why do you hate him so much?"

Arthur could've beaten his head into the bathroom wall- though the unsanitary conditions of a bathroom forbid such behavior. Could Alfred be any more clueless?

"Alfred," he began carefully, impatience starting to worm into his voice. "Our countries do not hate each other," he clarified. "We have been working very hard to improve our relations through peace talks and negotiations. But…I don't like how close you two are getting again."

"What'd'you mean?"

"From the way that Japan described it… Well, it would lead one to believe that… Goddamnit…" the Brit couldn't figure out how to word this. "Oh, don't look at me all doe-eyed like you've got no clue what I'm talking about!" he said, frustrated.

Alfred just laughed, poking his cheek, "You're going all red in the face…what's up?"

Arthur clenched his fists. "Don't start fucking Russia again!"

"M-maple!"

"WHAT?"

"Ugh…you bloody idiot…"

Canada emerged from a bathroom stall, shaking slightly. Why did he always have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? "What the hell…?" he muttered, looking back and forth between his brother and their previous caretaker. These people were going to mentally scar him forever.

"Yeah…what the hell?" Alfred demanded.

Arthur just bit his lip and curled his hands. He sighed, "I know that the two of you were once very close…but…that was a long time ago, Alfred. I don't like seeing him with you like this. You two are only going to hurt each other again."

Alfred was starting to go into the state of shock where he ignored everything that Arthur said. "Well, I think Ruski's gonna get worried and come in here any moment, so we should go back now?"

Arthur could recognize a lost cause, so he just nodded.

…

The Embassy hotel was a high-class place. Alfred always prided himself in being the type of person who could fit in anywhere. He could chug down beers with a bunch of rednecks, play the fiddle, sing show-tunes, or he could count cards, crash weddings, and carry a briefcase. He was a huge hosh-posh of culture anyway.

So, he made it look totally natural to walk into a five-star hotel that overlooked Niagara fall, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a wrinkly 'McLovin' tee shirt.

He stepped up to the front desk, walking with a purpose. Ivan just followed silently. "I'm checking in…" he announced to the woman at the front desk. She was wearing a business suit and her hair was pulled back professionally. She just pursed her lips and asked for a name. "Jones. Our luggage was already picked up, yes?"

She typed something into her computer and her face flushed. She handed up a key with no paperwork involved.

…

-On the thirty-seventh floor-

Alfred plopped onto the first couch he found in the suite. Ivan just made his way across the room to find his luggage. He checked the bag to make sure his coat and pants were still present. They were the only things he was traveling with.

The Russian, fully satisfied with their service, walked back to get the American moving. He tugged his arm up.

"Ugh…bastard, leave me~" Alfred complained. "My feet hurt…I feel sick…" he groaned.

Ivan just smiled sadistically at the pitiful little moans. "You ate too much?"

The American just groaned, "I didn't even finish one burger…Mattie ate more than I did…" he muttered grimly. Something was definitely wrong with him.

Ivan just pulled him up to a sitting position. "Dat is strange," he agreed. "You should go lay down properly."

The American nodded and allowed himself to be pulled up, led into the bedroom, and lied down. "Open the window?" he asked.

Ivan pulled the curtain back and pressed his hand to the window. "Wow…" he breathed. You could see the whole city and both waterfalls from this height.

Alfred smiled fondly, clutching his stomach. "It's pretty…right?" he said calmly.

"Amazing," the Russian agreed.

He pulled up the armchair that was sitting in the corner of the room. He placed it next to Alfred's bed so he could stare out the window. He hated to admit how beautiful America was…

"...Hey Ivan?"

The Russian turned, a bit annoyed that the American would ruin the calm peace. "Vhat?"

"Um…do you hate Iggy?"

Ivan just leaned back in the chair and considered the question. "I…vouldn't say I hate him. Nyet…definitely not. I do hold a grudge or two…but I hold one against the vorld at times, so it is not personal." He nodded to himself once that was explained, satisfied with the answer.

"Oh…" Alfred said quietly, returning his gaze to the massive window. The bed was pushed almost completely against it and the glass made up for the entire wall, so the view was endless.

Ivan just sat quietly for a minute. He enjoyed the silence, but the American seemed too tired anyway, so his conversation wouldn't get far if he sparked one. "Alfred?" he began. "England called you into that bathroom for a reason. Vhat…happened…between you two?"

He would never admit that he'd sat at the table, bending his fork back and forth the entire time they were gone. Because…who knew what could be happening in there?

He didn't understand why it bothered him so badly, but it really had. He hadn't spoken at all for the rest of the dinner. He just watched Alfred pick at his food distastefully and Arthur insulting his manners. He wondered what had taken them so long to get back. His brain tried to connect the ends, but his conculsions always ended unplesantly.

"He wanted to talk about the START treaty we've got," Alfred replied vaguely.

The Russian just 'hmm'ed his response. The American could always be lying, but Ivan liked to believe that he wasn't.

"Um…why did you want that anyway?" Alfred muttered. "I mean…why'd you care how many missiles Iggy's got? Are you paranoid about him or something?"

Ivan just slipped his shoes off and undid his scarf, hanging it up so it could dry out on the inside parts that were still damp. "Nyet, I am not afraid of England, nor do I vant to attack him. I simply believe that everyone should know who has how many missiles, da?"

Alfred just nodded. That's what he figured the Russians had wanted, but he still had the horrible feeling that he'd completely sold out his best friend.

England seemed insulted by it. London and D.C. had the 'special relationship', so Arthur had sort of figured that it would be the two of them against the world again.

But…superpowers couldn't pick favorites.

Alfred rolled over and curled his legs up. His sides were cramping and he was starting to get nauseous. He never got sick…not like painful sick…

"Ivan?" he said carefully. Talking might distract him a bit. "Do you still have the tylonol?"

The Russian glanced over at him. He was really acting strange. His complaining wasn't like the normal groans and whines. It was more serious…

He reached into his pocket and stood to get the American a glass of water to take the pill with.

"Mm…thanks…" Alfred said pitifully, accepting the little white pill.

"Vas it something dat you ate?" Ivan wondered.

Alfred glared at him pointedly. "Why do you always suspect it's food with me?" he demanded.

"Because you are always eating!" Ivan replied, smiling.

Alfred just rolled over so he wouldn't have to look at the Russian. He hated people commenting about his diet. When would they learn that it was a sensitive subject? He already had to check his BMI every few weeks to make sure he hadn't passed a 22.

The rest of the daylight hours passed in awkward silence. Ivan seemed perfectly content, staring out of the window. Alfred was too busy moping and feeling ill to bother turning on the television.

The falls had been lit up by the state park workers by the time that Ivan noticed Alfred was upset. The American was curled up in a ball in the dark room. The city lights outside lit the room just enough to see properly.

Ivan stood and moved to the side of the bed. "Vhat is wrong?" he wondered, gripping Alfred's shoulder and rolling him over onto his back. "Do you still feel ill?"

The American just closed his eyes.

"Alfred?"

"…"

The Russian brushed his hand over the American's cheek. "Are you mad?"

"…"

"I cannot help if you do not tell me vhat is wrong…"

Alfred mumbled something, but the Russian's ears couldn't pick it up. He leaned in further. "Don't…don't call me fat. I don't like that…" he muttered finally.

Ivan just laughed and put his knee up on the bed. "You stayed silent for hours because of dat? he said, grinning incredulously.

"Everyone calls me fat…all the time," the American said miserably. "I don't like it…"

"You should not let their words bother you, Fredka…"

"Even Arthur…my best friend says I'm a fatass…" he muttered. God he hated being open about things like this. At least Ivan wasn't being an asshole and teasing him about it… "Am I?" he demanded, loathing the vulnerability.

He just needed an honest opinion. He was sick, tired, a little jet-lagged, and now his confidence was draining.

The Russian just smirked. This was an opening to touch with no strings attached. There didn't have to be emotions behind it… "I vill check for you. Let's see…" he offered, moving down to the American's leg.

Alfred tensed. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Flex," Ivan said simply, staring up with bright, childlike eyes.

Alfred was aware of the wave of heat rush up his chest into his neck, but he just followed the instruction and clenched the muscles in his legs. He leaned back against the headboard while the Russian's hands gently pressed into aching legs. It felt sort of nice actually…

Ivan pinched his fingers gently to show the American how little skin was loose. "You see?" he said vindictively. "It is all muscle, da?"

Alfred just sent him a short glare.

"You do not believe me?" Ivan said, smirking. "Vhat is the usual 'problem area'? The stomach…da?"

"W-what! No!" Alfred said, holding his shirt down.

Ivan just smiled and pried his hands up. "I vould not tease, milyy…" he cooed. The American's flushed expression was amusing and inviting at the same time, but it was quite obvious he didn't want to be touched.

Ivan ignored it and wriggled his fingers under the 'McLovin' tee shirt. Alfred yelped slightly and Ivan laughed at him. The Russian's hands were cold.

Ivan's fingertips just explored the flat surface of Alfred's torso, gently rubbing and, squeezing the American's sides so the stomach aches would dissipate.

Alfred just sat against the headboard, wondering what the hell was happening… Is this what Iggy had been talking about in the bathroom stall?

Ivan noted that the American suddenly tensed further. "Nothing…" he assured him. "You are not fat, Fredka…" he muttered. "That does not excuse your diet…" The Russian rocked forward and put a hand under the American's chin. "I vould guess that your hyperactivity burns off your excess eating."

Alfred just stared at him. His brain wasn't computing the situation. Things didn't quite seem serious yet…

Until the Russian started leaning forward- dangerously. At which point, Alfred panicked. A wave of heat made his stomach clench and he did the only logical thing; he shoved the Russian off, with a palm to the face, and ran for the bathroom.

Translations-

Chto za huy?- What the fuck?

B'lyad, tam!- Fuck, there

Milyy- dear

Wow…that was long.

So much politics.

Do I need to change rating?

Please review.