Holy shit, you guys. Holy SHIT. It's been what, two years? I think it's been two years. Now then, due to an overwhelming amount of continued likes and follows of this story along with one very kind and much appreciated message, I've decided to finish this story. This chapter and the following one will be the last and then it will be done! Given how little there is to write of it still, I decided I can suck it up and kick myself in the ass and finish it! I've got some free time now, so that's exactly what I'm gonna do. Ladies and gentlemen, heeere we go again!

May, 1978

Good God, he would do just about anything to get America's panties in a twist now, wouldn't he? Afghanistan? Really? Berlin had scarcely believed it when she'd heard but sure it enough there it was, right in the daily newspaper for her to read for herself and read it she did again and again and again. Russia must have really been reaching for a new way to irk his opponent in the seemingly never ending Cold War. Berlin didn't even know how many years it had been now. She'd stopped counting after 1955, the redhead just hadn't had the strength to keep on numbering each year that had continued her long stint of being trapped in what was beginning to feel like a make shift asylum. After all, it was driving her completely insane.

American would have to do something about it. Russia was involved; he would need to put his foot down somewhere. Berlin could only hope that he would at least make an attempt to be sneaky about it. Vietnam had taken a huge toll on the blonde. It had been a long dark road, one of few letters between the two of them. The ones she had received worried her greatly. She doesn't her best, writing back as quickly as she could put pen to paper and expressing her utmost sympathy for the lives lost and the continuing difficulty of it all. She knew how the song and dance of a controversial war went. She'd seen and fought through many. Still, this was America. She knew he could handle it given time.

The only good thing that was coming from Afghanistan was that Russia was, for the most part, completely fixated on it. This meant that the house was quiet, and it also meant that Berlin had more than enough time to sneak out and scheme. Meeting with Prussia was dangerous, but it had to be done. Seated side by side, the siblings were ever alert. Berlin couldn't sit still, continuously clasping her hands in her lap only to shove them into her pockets. It eventually got her an elbow to the side,

"What was that for?"

"Quit your squirming, you look more suspicious than a penguin with a sunburn."

"But penguins don't get sunburns."

"Exactly."

Berlin huffed and pouted, leaning back in her seat,

"I can't help it. I know he's busier than ever now, but that doesn't mean he doesn't still terrorize us at every turn. Toris had a dislocated shoulder last week. All he did was look at him wrong."

"So the usual then?"

"Don't be mean, it's not his fault."

"Then who's is it?"

For that, the redhead had no answer.

July, 1980

America was boycotting the Summer Olympics. Berlin had to run that thought through her head twice. America was boycotting the Summer Olympics. It didn't make sense to her. She hadn't thought his pride and seemingly endless need to win and be the very best there ever was at everything would have allowed him to do such a thing. Clearly she'd misjudged him, and she was tearing him a new one for it,

"Are you really going to be so childish?"

"It's in protest to Afghanistan. You can't honestly tell me you're surprised, what was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to suck it up and march into Moscow with your head held high! Isn't that what a real hero would do?"

She regretted that the moment the words had tumbled from her lips. There was dead silence over the line for several minutes. Then,

"Keep in mind I'm not the only one doing this. There are many other countries who will not be attending or will be sending competitors under the Olympic flag only."

"Alfred I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I bet you are."

The line went dead and a sigh left the city. Somewhere downstairs she could hear that scarf wearing, vodka guzzling bastard humming to himself, no doubt pleased with his antics.

Well, she'd certainly fucked it up this time.

May, 1981

Money, money, money. America and Russia seemed to be made of it. The two were spending who knows how much on their militaries. Berlin watched from afar, keeping herself distant. Most of her antics to fuck up Russia's life had died down. She was, once again, tired. Moreover, America seemed to get on his nerves just fine without her help. The two hadn't talked much, Berlin's own sarcasm and habit of taking out her anger on those around her having landed her in deep water. He'd started writing to her again, though, the previous month. She supposed that had to mean something. To see his untidy scrawl written across two pages of nothing but encouragement did wonders for her. She hadn't realized how much she missed it until she'd held the paper in her own hands.

Of course, Russia in particular wasn't made of money. That much was obvious in the average way of life of those living with the Soviet Union. Lines formed within lines each morning for supplies. Those who didn't move fast enough got nothing. It didn't matter people were talking, it didn't matter things were appearing to brighten up. Berlin was still stuck, and until she was free things seemed to be going nowhere, time slowing to a snail's crawl as she sat cooped up in the house day in and day out. She left when she could, mostly when he was distracted with yet another stockpile of nuclear weapons. The thought of any one country having that much power made the redhead shiver. The same went for America. Nuclear war was something she was ashamed to say was on her mind. It may not have been as threatening as it had been in the 50's, but she still thought about it, and even the slightest possible chance that there may be a mushroom cloud somewhere in the distance soon terrified her.

With this in mind, she kept her head down, trying to provoke neither of them. If she did provoke Russia, she made to keep his attentions on her. If she could keep him from striking Poland or Lithuania again, then she would do so. Russia certainly seemed more than willing to cooperate. Recently any frustrations had been taken out on her. He knew it upset America. Berlin reasoned that this was why he paid special attention to her. More often than not, she found his hand around her throat as she was hoisted into the air. Today was one such day, her eyes shutting as she felt herself being thrown.

Pain bloomed through both shoulders as she landed hard against the wall. Sliding limply to the floor, she just barely managed to get to her feet again before Russia had her back within his grasp. His fingers dug into her chin so hard there were sure to be bruises later. His gaze made her freeze, but she continued to glare back out of nothing more than a lackluster need to continue her defiant streak. She couldn't let him have his way. Not so easily. He pressed against her, a wince leaving her as her head was craned back into the wall at an awkward angle. He spoke softly to her, almost as though she were a child,

"Tell me, my dear Anya, what does he have that I do not? What makes him so special that you would continue to associate with such filth? You know it hurts me so."

She didn't bother censoring herself anymore. It was boring. Looking up at him, she managed to twist her pained expression into one of sweet, feigned innocence,

"Oh let's see here: compassion, warmth, empathy, sanity, a heart, need I go on?"

The hand on her chin flew to her throat and squeezed tightly. Pressure built up in her head and forced her eyes shut, a strangled cough leaving her. Squinting her eyes open, she barely made out the smirk upon Russia's face,

"I'll be having none of your sass today, dorogoy. I haven't the time for it."

Berlin managed a sneer of her own, closed though her eyes were,

"So hurry up and get it over with, then."

"Don't think I'd let you off that easy just because I am in a hurry."

Berlin would not find her voice again for several days.