A/N: sorry, guys. Really sorry. I've been working on this...but I didn't really know where the chapter was going, soooo...I should do more planning. Oh well. Also, the chapter titles finally make sense and have a theme. I'll explain it in the last chapter...which is the next one, probably.

In this installment of Solidarnosc: a false accusation, an absolutely correct but unfortunate accusation, and some esterhazy goodness.

"Every energy transfer or transformation increases the disorder (entrophy) of the universe."

-Campbell and Reece, 8th AP Edition

"Would Mr. Poleski like to fight-ski?"

-France, English dub.

There were sounds from the other room. Someone was here – someone who had no qualms about barging into the Pole's bedroom to apprehend his visitor…and to Feliks's frantically racing mind, that meant only one person. One insensitive, violent, vodka-drinking bastard.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind Feliks. He proclaimed at the top of his lungs, "HALT, INTRUDER!"

A wide-eyed Feliciano stared back at him.

Feliks blushed bright pink. Oooh, he did like pink! Like, soooo much. But not so much when it was on his face – that usually meant he had done something exceptionally stupid. "Erm…I mean…like, hi, Feliciano. I, uh, totally didn't know y-you were…like…here?"

"Oh, hello, Feliks! I guess you two made up, ve~?" The Italian grinned, but Feliks's embarrassment was unaltered, his blush still painfully prominent.

The Pole turned his head slightly, tossing a few annoying strands of golden hair out of his face, to beg Liet for help in this awkward situation. It was a good thing the Lithuanian was always there to rescue him…but Toris didn't look too rescue-y right now. He had apparently, from the state of the room, scrambled from where he'd been lying in hair-washing bliss to sit bolt-upright on the beanbag chair.

Feliciano continued talking, trying to break the awkward silence. "That's good, that's good. I mean, it's nice to be nice to people, right~? But not too nice, ve~? Or you get beat up. Ludwig is always yelling at me about…"

Feliks was puzzled. Toris hated the beanbag chair. But, of course, it was the only chair in the room. Hm. Still, why would he sit in it? How odd. And for some reason, Toris totally had a strategically placed pillow in his lap. And he had that keeping-shit-under-wraps expression again…ohhhhhhh…

Feliciano's gaze traveled between the rather flustered Toris and the rather embarrassed Feliks, and made a rather adept judgment call.

"I…I guess I'll leave, ve~? Caught you two at, um, a bad time?"

Toris and Feliks simultaneously leapt to their combined defense. Unfortunately, the cacophony seemed only to worsen their case, owing to Feliks's particular…er…way with words. The Italian's grin merely broadened.

"Oh, no, not at all…" The Lithuanian protested.

"…we were, like, just a little busy, but…"

"…not exactly busy, Feliciano. I mean…"

"…I was just, like, taking care of, like, a little problem Liet had…" Feliks added, causing his childhood friend to turn beet red and clutch his safety pillow tighter.

"…oh, no! He was just fixing my hair!"

"Yeah! Liet was totally enjoying it, too!"

"Feliks. Just. Shut. Up."

Feliks assumed a mock-hurt expression whilst the Lithuanian merely glared at him.

"I'm…just…going to go now…" Feliciano said quietly, customary grin still in place, edging towards the door.

"NO!" Both of the others shouted simultaneously.

"You can stay for dinner," Toris offered, even though it was not his house. At least, not officially.

"Like, totally," Feliks added.

Food-based hospitality shall always win in the end.

"You want chlodnik?" Toris asked, busily tying his hair back in an absolutely adorable manner. Objectively. Anyone would have thought it was adorable…not that Feliks was watching closely, or thinking (slightly proprietarily) that those silky locks were the product of his own love and care…course not.

"Um, ya. I, like, love that stuff." But totes not because I missed you and it, like, reminds me of when we used to, like, hang out together when we were little tykes. Nope...not at all. "I mean, c'mon! It's totally bright pink soup! Awesome much?"

"Ve~!" Feliciano said, always happy to receive good food.

SuperKucyk [7:13]:

Dude, I like totes need your help right now.

SomloiGaluska69 [7:13]:

Dude, I like totes don't care.

SuperKucyk [7:14]

It's about a boy.

SomloiGaluska69 [7:15]

Well then. First step: accidental hand brush, preferably in a class you have a lot of projects in. Second step: ask him to work on the project with you! You can't do it until…6:00ish, so he'll have to stay for dinner.

SuperKucyk [7:17]

That's like kinda a lost cause…he's downstairs in the kitchen right now. Feliciano's like keeping him company.

SomloiGaluska69 [7:18]

OMG. You know how flirty those Italians are.

SomloiGaluska69 [7:18]

Third step: bring your camera…

SuperKycuk [7:18]

Jesus Christ, Elizaveta…

SomloiGaluska69 [7:19]

Oooh, Lord's name in vain? You're serious.

SomloiGaluska69 [7:20]

Holy fricking esterházy. It's Liet, isn't it?

SomloiGaluska69 [7:22]

Feliks? Are you there?

SomloiGaluska69 [7:25]

Goddammit! I wanted to talk to you…

SomloiGaluska69 [7:27]

Okay. Since you're not here I can say whatever I want. First, you really suck at football. I'm not even kidding. Second, your outfit last week-end looked like something out of a Land's End catalogue, and not in a good way. Third, everybody and their dog knows how you

SomloiGaluska69 [7:29]

Never mind. I'll stay out of this. 3 you forever ~ Elizaveta

Feliciano picked up a spoon and dipped it unhesitatingly into the (bright pink) soup, always a polite guest who never questioned the color of his host's food as long as it tasted good. "Better than wurst!"

"Really?" Toris smiled, blushing a little.

"Yes! The food at Ludwig's house is not very good! But I really don't mind that much – I mean, I'd cook if he'd let me use the kitchen…but he does love his cleanliness, ha."

Toris shot Feliks a bewildered look before returning in confusion to his soup. Ummm, no. I'm not going to, like, explain hook-ups to you, Liet. You ask. Feliks kicked his friend under the table to encourage and model assertive behavior, and the Lithuanian spluttered. Finally, he recovered with the "assistance" of Feliks pounding on his back, while Feliciano looked on in good-natured confusion.

Finally, with a glare from Feliks, Toris asked awkwardly, "So, um…you and Ludwig. You're, er, together now?"

"Sì! But please don't mention it to anyone. He wants to, um, keep it under wraps."

"Oh, of course! I wouldn't dream of making it public," Toris said, if only to mask his confusion. Wasn't Ludwig one of his little Feliks's main tormentors? Then what was Feliciano's partner doing, going all homophobic on the poor Pole? "But, uh, you two are happy?"

"Sì!" Feliciano said, at the same time as Feliks said…

"Like, totally! And I've got the pictures to prove it!"

He was met by two identically shocked stares.

"What the hell were you doing playing voyeur?" Toris near-shouted. They had returned to Feliks's bedroom to play a board game with Feliciano, until the latter had left, proclaiming a need to get back to his pasticceria dolce, Toris nudging the Pole in the ribs when he mimed gagging at the Italian's use of pet names. "That's really disrespectful."

"Well, excuuuuse me," Feliks replied, putting one hand on his stuck-out hip and noting Toris's swallow as he did so. The Pole turned to perch on the edge of his fluffy pink bed, crossing his legs as he did so. Intentionally. "I was just, like, helping out a cousin."

"Wow, Feliks. That's a really good reason -"

"Hey, okay, no need to go all sarcastic." The blond reached up a hand to pull Toris down next to him. Disregarding his friend's deep blush, Feliks began to work his hands over the Lithuanian's shoulders and neck, massaging out the knots. "You're, like, suuuper stressed out."

"Hmph."

"To be honest…when I took those pictures…I was really mad at Feliciano. Usually even I am a little more respectful than that."

"Why…why were you mad?"

"Cavorting with the enemy, you know. Ludwig sure does like beating me up."

Ohhh. And that was enough to make his lovely little Liet painfully guilty, no doubt remembering all the torment Feliks had faced that was within his power to stop. Or attempt to stop, considering the breadth of Ivan's shoulders and the rumored AK-47 he kept under that billowing coat. Toris buried his face in his friend's shoulder, murmuring his never-ending apologies.

"Yeah?" Feliks's tone was uncharacteristically cold.

"Feliks…" Toris looked up, eyes brimming with tears, and clutched at the Pole's unresponding hands. "I…I…"

"You what?" Feliks asked, voice calcite-hard. It seemed the joyful reunion of the afternoon was over, brought to an end with the transient daylight. Toris was biting his own lip again, locked in the struggle once more: to tell or not to tell.

Toris cast a furtive glance around, as though there would repercussions if he let this sentence slip, and clutched tighter at the blond boy's arm and shoulder. His green eyes bore into the other's, as though to plead his innocence and swear him to secrecy. "He…he's not normal, Feliks. You haven't seen the worst of him, and I don't want you to. You understand?"

Feliks's eyes were wide with surprise, any trace of anger replaced by incredulity. "I…I don't…"

"Look. If he thinks you're…I don't know…stealing me away..." despite the gravity of his situation, the Lithuanian blushed at the thought. "…there'd be hell to pay. Even if it was me…"

Feliks tilted his head questioningly as his friend trailed off.

"Even if it was me, uh, coming on to you…that's not how he'd see it. And I…I wouldn't have him after you, not for the world I wouldn't."

"Oh God…he…he really hurt my little Liet…" Feliks looked down, kicking his feet as Toris's words sunk in against his will. Slowly, all the protectiveness of an overprotective brother began to build inside him, turning his stomach to acid and demanding a certain Russian's head on a silver platter. He leapt to his feet, much to Toris's dismay. "I'M GOING TO KILL THAT VODKA-SWILLING BASTARD!"

"Uh, Feliks, no…that was exactly the opposite of my point…"

"I mean it! Mothafucka going down!"

"Feliks…" Toris let out an exasperated sigh, tugging at his hopeless buddy's arm. "Don't go charging off like a madman. Just calm down and sit down, for Christ's sake!"

Feliks finally relented, plopping back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, leaning his head against Liet's shoulder in a show of honest solidarity. "Oh my God! Why the fuckski didn't you tell me he was, like, threatening you? I mean, what was all that angst for? I'd have been a hell of a lot happier if I'd known you didn't hate me."

"Uh, Feliks?" Toris replied, blushing in a way that may or may not have been related to Feliks's hand absentmindedly working out nonexistent tangles in his hair. "I was…um…dealing with some personal problems then, remember?"

"Nope."

"Nope what?"

"Nope, I don't remember. What are you talking about, again?"

Toris sighed. Ah, yes, Feliks's memory span. Nowhere near as long as those ivory legs that stretched miles from the fluttering hem of the Pole's skirt. Oh God. Why did everything have to be about self-control? I suppose I deserve it… "I should leave…"

"What, is your mommy, like, waiting up for you?"

Ah, yes, I'd forgotten what a jerkass he can be when he wants to. "Ugh, Feliks, do you always have to be-"

"So it's, like, a yes? I'm soooo glad! It's been, like, forever since we've had a sleepover!"

Toris just sighed and rolled over onto his stomach so he would not have to face his friend, though he could feel the feather pressure of Feliks's leg against his back. The boy was sitting criss-cross applesauce next to him, hand idly tracing an enchanting pattern across the ridges of his back, ridges both natural and not...

Somehow, in Feliks's room, there was no need to let the tides of worry sweep him away, as they constantly did in his own. Toris did not think, did not clench his fists until they turned white, did not force his tears to remain inside. It was almost like they were children again, footloose and fancy-free.

But of course, this was no child's play-date.

It could have been minutes or hours until Toris came to. He must have been reading a magazine – yes, that was probably it – because at one point the flaxen-haired girl on the glossy pages had become Feliks, the Pole's eyes glittering in front of his, and the air between them crackled with potential energy. The magazine was tossed aside, and Toris felt something suspiciously like hope curl in his stomach.

Suddenly, Feliks was kissing him like there was no tomorrow, kneeling over his friend in a pose that was far too natural to be suggestive, though the positioning of the Pole's knee ought to have suggested otherwise. Toris should have resisted, should have been distraught at the waves rolling through his body in response to his oldest friend's touch…but by now, the Lithuanian's hyperactive mind was long gone.

It was a cotton-candy dream, it was, Feliks's adorable face pressed into the hollow at the base of his neck, lips pressed delicately against his collarbone…he'd never known anything could feel like this, but Toris couldn't stand that – he wanted to see the Pole's face. If he was an art connoisseur, Feliks was the Mona Lisa, for there was love etched in every line and hollow, every eyelash, every strand of sweaty hair.

Feliks's eyes widened in surprise as the Lithuanian tipped his chin upward, and Toris thought he could see himself standing in their dilated depths. A hand reached out, trembling, to caress the Baltic's cheek. It was only then they realized it was wet with tears.

Toris turned his head away, even as he pulled Feliks towards him into a hug that was more soulmate than bedfellow, and whispered, "Do you think you can forgive me?"

"Toris? Toris?" There was no reply. Hm. Perhaps little Toris was playing a game with him? That was good today, he was in a good mood today, games made him giggle today. It had been a good day. There would be games ahead – not the pretty games he played with Toris but hard games, navigating dangerous waters with his words and pipe and his favorite general – but today was hope.

He tried again. "Toris! You will want to know this, please come out! "

There was no response. Ivan's hand tightened on his pipe, the knuckles fading into white, white as snow.

Argh! I've been watching the dub and it's freaking-holy-esterhazy hilarious, but what's with Poland's accent? He's like a gangster or something, "bro-ski". AND THEN I REALIZED. He's Polish ghetto. AHAHAHA...that's so offensive.

Also, the dub is a lot more...well...it brings in some things about WWII I'd rather not be in a comedy. Lithuania: "You'd rather be with Germany than Russia? YOU WOULD PREFER AUSCHWITZ?"

Wait a sec...why is he...is Lithuania...? Crap. That kills the first half of this fic.