If anyone ever has any questions, please ask. I'm sorry if this fic gets confusing with all the politics and history…
I apologize for the wait. I've held onto half of this for a few days and decided to finish it tonight…but I get distracted easily. At least this chapter is kinda long.
Songs-
'Who Is It- by Björk
'New Low' by Middle Class Rut
'Studying Politics' by Emery
Ivan just stared at the Nordic that had randomly intruded on his reading. "Добрый день, льдов," he said, smiling and being friendly.
"Hm?" Emil grunted, straightening out his tie and pulling his gloves off. "Oh…um… Дa, Рад Вас видеть."
Ivan just giggled a little. Iceland was so cute. He'd learned some Russian. The Nordics were always very good with languages.
Russia's relations to the little volcanic island- and NATO member- had increased greatly over the last few years.
Iceland's economy had collapsed when three of his major banks were suddenly three times larger than before from large, rich investors placing all their money in them. The banks used the money, printing it into Icelandic marks. But, the investors withdrew their money, and the banks couldn't repay what they had borrowed…and they went into bankruptcy.
It didn't help that the Prime Minister stepped down at about the same time when he fell ill with cancer. The government was failing and the economy was plummeting.
Emil became deathly sick and almost had to sell himself to the EU for support… That was the last thing he wanted after only just gaining independence from Denmark seventy years ago.
But, Russia knocked on his door one morning. Norge answered it for him. Emil's brother was taking care of him personally- not financially. But, Ivan offered his financial support with that perfect, creepy smile in place. He gave Iceland the European equivalent of just over two-hundred-million dollars aid.
And, to Europe's dismay, Emil accepted hesitantly.
It wasn't just beneficial to Iceland to be bailed out by the Russian Federation. It also meant that Russia was trampling over the exclusive ties that America held with the NATO member and creating a friendship with him. (And it wasn't like Russia's economy couldn't spare a few hundred-million)
Emil understood Russia's ulterior motives, but he chose to accept the kindness anyway. He was too sick to be any more than weary of the Russians. Being bailed out by a former enemy was better than having your independence sold out to the EU.
"Why are you here, Ice?" Ivan asked, speaking Russian.
Emil stepped in and shut the door behind himself. He sat in the leather desk chair that Gorbachev had just inhabited. He folded his hands together and tried to come up with a way to word what he had to say. With things like this, it was usually best to be blunt.
"I want you to bail out America," he said finally.
Ivan just quirked an eyebrow and wore an amused grin. "I can't do that…you know this. Did you forget that he owes me money as well?"
Emil's hands clenched tightly. Alfred and Ivan always stiffed each other, gave cold shoulders, lied to each others' faces, and avoided certain conversations. He was tired of having two of his closest friends bickering around him so often.
Iceland never got involved in anything. But…this. This was just out of hand. Even if his country would sit back placidly, Emil wanted to do something.
"I know…" he said carefully. He wasn't sure what he wanted from Ivan…or how he would convince him to help. "I…um…"
The Russian gave a knowing smirk. "You have been spending too much time with Alfred if you just ran out her so rashly…did you actually have something to say to me?"
Emil glared at him. He hated being smirked at as if he was some ignorant child. Denmark did that all the time. And Norway never treated him like an adult. He was a thousand years old as a country! He was technically older than even Ivan!
"Of course I've got something to say!" he snapped. "I wouldn't just fly over here and run three miles to find you if I didn't have a reason! I want you to help America!"
Ivan exhaled slowly, folding his hands and nestling his chin on the support. "I cannot loan him money that he already owes me."
"Then don't give him money!"
"How else am I supposed to help him?"
A hand slammed down on the table. "Tell him what you want from him!"
Ivan just sat back in his chair. He'd forgotten how explosive Emil was. He was usually so cold and quiet that one could easily forget that his country was almost one giant volcano waiting to erupt.
But, what exactly was he asking for? "And by this you mean that I should make a deal with him…? Like how? Have him sell me weapons to make money or something?"
The pale teen rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He was physically shaking from running so far. "Fjandinn, ÉG þörf a cola…" he muttered to himself. He was in no mood for Ivan's 'innocence'. "No, I don't think it's a good idea for you two to keep on with these weapons…" he said, switching back to Russian.
Ivan just waited for him to elaborate.
"Alfred's had a nightmare every night since he left that hotel room. He's not afraid of you, but in every dream, you shot him in the head and a riot killed his political leaders. If he's going to fix his economy, he needs to stop focusing on what you and China are doing over here. You need to tell him that you don't want to kill him…"
Ivan stared past the Nordic, at the wall, darkly. "And what if I do…want to kill him…?"
"You don't."
"Hm?" Ivan hummed, curiously.
"You can't let the past go. You want things to go back to how they were before the revolution. I don't know about your people, but I know that you do."
Ivan just looked away. "Have I ever told you that I hate when you visit?" he spoke in Russian, giving a creepy smile.
Emil quickly reminded himself that he was a grown up, and he didn't want to run home and hide under Norge's bed for a week… "Whatever you do, I've made my view clear. America, China, and the Russian Federation need to work closely as the world's most powerful nations. There should be no exclusive government alliances and there should definitely be an understanding between you and Alfred. Get on it."
The Icelander rose to his feet and slipped his gloves back on. He'd had enough socialization for a few months by now. He had every intentions of leaving until Ivan spoke again behind him.
"Where is Alfred now? Who is watching over him?"
"Ah…" Emil completely forgot to call someone to come in his stead. He'd left Alfred with his crazy confederate counterpart…
..
…
"Really? Fried chicken and corn?" Alfred teased lightly. "You're so southern." He sat at the table nonetheless, adjusting the shoulder bag he'd carried in with him.
Will sent him a glare. "What did you expect from me?" he said shortly.
Alfred stabbed his fork into his corn cob and rolled some butter onto it. He ate loudly, but Will was no better. Alfred was starting to feel a bit better, so his economy must be on another rise. He was getting tired of all the yo-yoing lately.
"Do you have Old Bay?" he asked, cutting into his chicken.
Will closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "No, Alfred. We don't eat Old Bay down here. I've got Season All if you want some spice or something."
Alfred just pouted. "Season All is like the Old Bay for wussies…" he whined.
Will ground his knife down into the plate, digging it into the delicate painted porcelain. "Don't…don't go there, Alfred. I'll pull the soda card."
"What? How all the good sodas were invented down here? I thought I already credited you for that? I'm just saying Old Bay is manlier. It's got fucking mace in it."
Will closed his eyes, "Yes, because eating mace makes perfect sense."
"Hey, I've seen a cop do it in D.C. It was the most badass thing I ever saw. He whipped his pepper-spray out and sprayed it in his mashed potatoes and started eating it."
Will fought back the urge to agree. He hated being just as American as Alfred. "That can't be healthy," he said instead.
"Mhmm…I'm sure it's not," Alfred agreed. "But, as I was asking before…do you have any advice. I need to get our country out of debt…"
"Why would I help you?" Will said coldly. "I'll help by assuring you I'll take over if you die."
Alfred's smile fell, "I don't want to die, Will!"
"Shut up. You have to fix your own ways. Start supporting yourself before you rush out and help everyone else. Understand? That's all I'll say to help you."
Alfred nodded, and they both ate in silence for awhile until someone rang at the doorbell. Alfred continued eating as if he hadn't noticed, so Will got up to answer it.
"Goddamnit, you fucking Yankee! Why the hell are you bringing all your crooked-ass British friends over? I thought we got rid of him two hundred years ago?" he shouted, loading a new rifle. "It's bad enough putting up with you!"
"Nononono! Don't kill Iggy! He's cool!" Alfred cried, slamming his chair back and running to wrestle the gun out of Will's hand.
The Brit just stepped inside calmly and closed the door behind himself. "Hm…still fighting with yourself?" he mused, watching Alfred trying to bend his double's gun.
"Don't fucking break another rifle!" Will shouted, slamming his forehead into Alfred's.
The northerner saw stars for a moment. He shook his head to clear his vision, to find himself staring down the barrel of the rifle he'd just been fighting over. Will kicked a door open to the basement.
"Aww…you got a puppy~!" Alfred said, bending over to pet the hound dog that came running up the stairs.
"Not a house pet," Will warned, as the dog growled, lips curling up over his sharp teeth.
"Shit!" Arthur cursed, running for the back door.
Alfred just forced a laugh and followed the Brit's example, high-tailing for the exit. He passed England quickly, flailing his arms wildly. He just had to run faster than Arthur, and he'd be safe.
"Wanker!" the Brit shouted as Alfred passed him. The dog jumped up over his head and touched down behind Alfred. "What the fuck?" Arthur cried as the dog sailed over him.
It latched onto Alfred's leg, bringing the American down quickly. Alfred was screaming and flailing. How had the dog caught him? And why was it targeting him?
Will's stoic expression remained in place as he stood on the doorstep to his fenced-in backyard. How had this idiot won the Civil War? Will had trained his favorite hunting hound to bite anything with Alfred's scent on it. He was glad he had now. This was amusing.
"GEDDITOFFGEDOFF!" Alfred screamed, kicking at the dog. It just growled.
Arthur dashed forward, reaching at his belt, "Stop squirming!" he shouted at the American and Alfred paused for a second. Arthur brought out his taser.
…
"How is it that, every time I see you, something utterly retarded and overly climatic happens?" Arthur demanded, holding a damp towel to Alfred's bleeding thigh.
The American laughed weakly. "I wonder that every day. At least you don't have to live with me."
"Hm…" Arthur grunted. "Seriously…what kind of dogs can fly?"
"The southern kind."
The Brit grunted again and dipped the towel back into the bucket of hose water. Will had locked them in the back yard after retrieving his unconscious dog. Arthur had stolen a towel off the dryer line in the back yard where the confederate was drying his laundry.
At least it was cooling off as the sun went down. They'd been out here a few hours, trying to get Alfred's leg to stop bleeding.
Arthur had tried to escape the fence to get his car running once, but the hound was awake again, and it always came after him. He couldn't run fast enough. Will owned other dogs too…
"I didn't know you carried a taser, Iggy?" Alfred said after a few minutes of silence, grinning as if he had some incriminating information.
Arthur just scoffed. "It's for Francis."
Alfred's grin faded. That wasn't very much fun. Iggy always knew how to give the most boring answers. He was such a fun-killer. "Oh, just fuck him already," Alfred joked. "He'd probably leave you alone once he realized you suck in bed."
Arthur just smacked the American across the forehead with the wet towel. He didn't need to know anything about his relationship with Francis. Or about how the Frenchman wouldn't leave him alone now that they had an underwater tunnel connecting their countries…
"Francis is beside the point, Alfred. I came here to ask how you've been," the Brit said seriously. He'd been concerned for Alfred's recent health- but he'd never admit it. He still cared a lot for America- even if it wasn't really reciprocated anymore.
The American just shrugged, leaning back against the fence. "I've been better. My economy keeps yo-yoing and sometimes I'll feel like shit and other times I'm perfectly fine."
"You've…lost a lot of weight," Arthur noted. The American's face had lost its fullness and he looked thinner than necessary.
Alfred just hummed. "I can't hold much down right now. Food doesn't agree with me. It's really depressing. I'm dying for some fries…"
"Well, you do deserve this, you know?" Arthur said stiffly. "You've been overspending on things you don't need; wasting money, energy, and resources; overeating; and borrowing money that you shouldn't be using in the first place. It was going to come back at you eventually."
"Way to be sympathetic, Artie…" Alfred moaned. The last thing he wanted was his best friend telling him that he had it coming.
Arthur looked up at the American. They had a lot of history together. A lot of good history recently, but there was a lot of anger and hatred buried in the past. Arthur was doing his best to mend his relations to Alfred, but the American made it so difficult.
"And Iraq? Are you almost done there? I don't want another terrorist trying to use me as a launch pad to attack you. Do you know how stressful you are?"
Alfred rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "Um…thanks for that. But, in my defense, I kept trying to convince you to just go and arrest them. You wouldn't do it until Pakistan had arrested their leader…then you had no choice…so…"
Arthur glared, smacking the American with the towel again. "I was gathering evidence!"
"Yeah…okay. You already had enough to put them in prison for life," Alfred countered.
It was growing dark already. Will lived in the countryside, secluded on his own farm. So, the stars were already visible with no light pollution.
Arthur chose not to retort this time. Alfred's gaze had already drifted up to the sky sadly. "The shuttle is touching down today…" he mumbled.
Arthur felt no sympathy. He wasn't much of one for space travel; at least, not to the level that the American was. He wasn't very good at saying what was on his mind, so he just stood there quietly and let Alfred talk to himself.
"I guess it's alright…Ivan will still send my astronauts up there if I need it… I still hate this though. I had plans, you know?" he said, dipping his head back down to look at the Brit. "Do you know what it's like to have so much laid out for you and have so much planned, and just having it ripped out from under you?"
Arthur just sighed.
Alfred's blue gaze drifted back down, toward Will's house. There was a light on upstairs.
So much had changed over the last two hundred years. They'd gone from shooting muskets and doing laundry in a wooden tub by the river, to bombing terrorists with unmanned drones and having automatic hand-towel dispensers. Things had become simpler and so much more complex.
"But…" Alfred said, contemplating what he wanted to say. "I…I think things will get better. They always get better. After all, I've done this before. I pulled through the great depression and returned the balance of power to Europe again, and I can do it again. No problem…"
…
...
Ivan walked in quick strides; his shoes digging into the gravel drive way. A pack of dogs came barking and growling up the driveway as the two nations approached the house. Ivan just kicked one out of the way and the rest scampered off, whimpering.
Emil was almost jogging to keep up. The Icelander just wanted to go home at this point, but the Russian was giving off a murderous aura with that creepy grin across his face. (And the Nordic didn't feel like being kicked like that dog)
Ivan knocked curtly on the front door of the white country-house. He rocked back on his heels impatiently as he waited for the door to open.
Inside, a dog growled and barked until its master moved it to open the door. Will wore a blank expression; the only sign of agitation was a slight twitch of eyebrow. "What do you want?" he demanded.
"I'd like to see America," Ivan said, smiling politely- creepily.
Will hardly noticed the Russian's dark aura. He just pushed his dog aside and let them in. There wasn't much he could do to get these damn countries to go away at this point. Besides, if he remembered correctly, Alfred hated this guy. "He's out back making out with his little boyfriend," the confederate said cockily, jabbing a thumb to point the 'guests' in the proper direction.
Ivan's eyes narrowed in a skin-splitting grin. He wouldn't let anyone see if that had hurt him or not. He only needed one guess as to who was in the backyard with his American. And, he planned on strangling that skinny neck.
He opened the back door, stepping outside with a smile. Originally, he'd had every intention of coming here just to retrieve Alfred and make sure he was safe. But now...he sort of wanted to kill something.
Emil stood back, looking on anxiously with a calm façade. This wouldn't end well. It didn't take a genius to realize that.
Ivan walked through the well-manicured lawn to the end of the gate. On the other side, miles of farmland stretched out in the dark. The porch light was kicked on, illuminating the yard well enough to see two figures lying on the grass. Ivan just leaned over the relaxing American, smiling darkly. "Добрый вечер."
Alfred's eyes shot open. His head was propped up on his arms up over his shoulders. He scrambled up. "Ivan!" He smiled. He'd been hoping that the Russian would visit!
Arthur sat up as well, groaning. "Why the hell are you here?" he demanded sourly. He'd been expecting more shit. He was in the presence of Alfred after all. But, seeing Ivan again was the last thing he'd wanted- especially when he was finally getting to spend time one-on-one with the American.
Ivan gave the Brit a sweet smile. "I'll be borrowing Alfred now." He grabbed the American's wrist and pulled him up roughly.
"What the fuck?" Alfred snapped, trying to tug his wrist away. He didn't like that. It wasn't in his nature to allow himself to be man-handled.
Ivan just gripped it tighter so the circulation numbed. Alfred dug the nails on his other hand into the Russian's fist. Ivan grabbed that hand and tried to tug it off. They both glared daggers.
Arthur stood, trying to rip the Russian off Alfred.
"Stay out of it Artie," Alfred drawled, eyes linked to Ivan's in a cruel trance, mouth twisted up into an amused smirk. "Go start the car…" he demanded.
"You Git! I'm your ally! I'm not-"
"Go Arthur!" Alfred snapped darkly.
The British man didn't speak. He hated allowing the American to speak to him in that tone. He had much more experience with fighting matters. But, whether or not he deserved it, Alfred had the strongest military, so Arthur had no room to argue. But, he wasn't leaving. He just folded his arms defiantly and stepped back.
Alfred ignored his presence and let a string of curses out at the Russian. "What the hell are you doing? You can't just grab me like a fucking ragdoll and sling me around like you think you're in control!" He shifted his weight to stand on his good leg.
"Vhy are you here?" Ivan demanded. "You vere to be in the hospital in D.C. Go back until your recession ends."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Don't be such a child. Do as I say," Ivan growled.
"What the hell?" the American snarled. "You're not my boss. Even my boss doesn't tell me what to do like that. Leave!"
"Nyet" Ivan said coldly. "Vhat are you doing here? Back to fucking your mother again are you? Your economy so bad that you are whoring yourself out for spare change?"
The sound of Alfred's palm smacking into the Russian's cheek resonated over the fields. Arthur stepped back another space.
The American was trembling with rage now. "Where the fuck do you get off, coming here and being a complete douche-bag! Why the hell are you here?"
Ivan recovered from the slap easily. It was comparatively painless. "I vas concerned for your well-being. But, I come here and you're in the backyard getting back vith your brother again."
"The fuck you talkin about?" Alfred demanded. "England and I are-" he stopped. Ivan was balling his fists. He seemed pissed off. The American could read this much. But, why would he get so upset over such a misconstruction? Was he… "Oh my God…you're fucking jealous…" Alfred muttered, snickering.
His knee suddenly gave out. Ivan kicked it in and tripped the American over. "Take that back," the Russian snarled, fake smile gone now.
Alfred just laughed, picking himself up from the ground. "God, I know I'm hot and all, but damn. You must really like me to get jealous of Iggy~" He fake swooned at the Brit's name. Arthur just stared on in disbelief at what was happening.
"You had better be lying about all of this," Ivan said smartly, weaving his fingers together and cracking his knuckles menacingly.
Alfred laughed, not quite getting the physical threat. "Lying? Why would I lie? As if I want to make you jealous! Just ask Artie!" He glanced over at the Brit. "Arthur!" he shouted. "Hey, you're fucking head-over-heels for me, aren't you?" he teased.
Arthur balled his fists and utilized his vast knowledge of sailor's curses, but his face was flushed deep red. Francis teased him all the time for his 'attachment to his former colony...old emotions die hard. The Britt missed the sixties, but he had Francis for that now...
Alfred grinned and jabbed his thumb to England. "Y'see?"
Ivan threw the first punch, ramming his arm into the American's gut. Alfred coughed and bashed his head into the Russian's. Ivan gripped his hair and jerked his neck backwards until he heard a crack. The American kneed him in the groin with his good leg, grinding his knee. The Russian keeled over and ripped his nails down Alfred's bare arm, drawing blood.
They became a blur of clawing, punching, kicking, and cursing. Arthur and Emil couldn't do much but stand back and try not to get in their way…
"Ёб твой мать!" Ivan shouted furiously, his voice darkening and scratching in his throat.
"Mantenerse fuera de mi vida!"
Translations- there's a lot this time
Добрый день, льдов- Good afternoon, Iceland.
Дa, Рад Вас видеть- Yes, nice to see you.
Fjandinn ÉG þörf a cola- Damn, I need a cola.
Добрый вечер- Good evening.
Ёб твой мать- Go fuck your mother
Mantenerse fuera de mi vida- Stay out of my life
Sorry about the language, but they do fight like adults…and it doesn't take much to set them off, huh?
All you lurkers who subscribe to this story or have it under favorites should review. I'd love to hear what you think.
I'm so grateful for the support everyone's given me on this. I've got people teaching me how to read Cyrillic, giving me blurbs of history, correcting my grammar without even being a beta, and offering help with culture differences. You're all amazing. I wouldn't keep writing if I didn't have such a great response.
I love you people. I wish I could meet you all, that would be so cool.
And don't worry too much. They'll make up. I've got it all planned out~
Review PLEASE~!