The sun was bright, despite the chill breeze. The cold and light seemed to have an effect on the atmosphere, leaving the air sharp and clear. Ivan took a deep breath, reveling in the way his throat tingled as the cold air passed through it. He smiled. Compared to his usual situation, this was a very pleasant temperature. What better weather for finally taking back America?

The thought had no sooner flitted through his mind than he heard a door creak open. The Russian ducked behind his own trailer and pulled out a small periscope he had torn off a submarine back in his home.

The door that had opened was the only one, to him. No other Major Nation mattered in his eyes. Ivan grinned as he saw the nation was not the insignificant brother, but the one he wanted. His heart started to beat faster in his chest.

Alfred paused once out of the trailer; he looked around, as though sensing something. Ivan flattened himself against the back of his trailer, silently urging him to go on. A few seconds later, he got his wish, and he heard the footsteps of the other superpower moving on to the nearby coffee shop. Ivan breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want spectators, if Alfred chose to deny him…

The coffee America bought was relievingly hot, and it warmed Alfred's inside the way only a good warm beverage did on a cold day. In his opinion, it was too chilly to go outside—but he had no choice. Matthew had got a sudden fever, and Alfred's best efforts could not get his temperature down. To preserve the health of his brother, he had chosen to brave the cold Canadian wind to get coffee for them.

As he left the coffee shop, beverages in hand, a sudden chill ran down his spine. An eerie sense of anticipation was rushing through his soul—but what did he have to anticipate? Alfred cautiously walked to a bench and set his coffee down. He then turned a full circle, scanning the area. As he revolved a full three hundred and sixty degrees, his eyes fell on a single figure, blocking the path back to the campsite.

It was Russia.

Alfred gulped, and staggered backward. Emotions were rushing through him, clashing and throwing his mind into pure turmoil. The sky above seemed to darken, and his legs weakened. As he struggled to keep conscious, he heard something that riveted his brain and fixed his attention firmly in the world of the waking. He stood upright, gasping slightly, but otherwise recovered, and stared at Ivan.

"You bastard," he snarled. "Why the hell are you laughing at me?"

Ivan smiled innocently.

"D'you think it's funny that you're making me fucking faint?"

Ivan thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "I do find it amusing that you are overwhelmed by my emotions, but I truly did not mean to scare you."

Alfred stared at him in confusion for a moment, then sighed. "What the hell do you want, then?"

Ivan raised a pale eyebrow. With a few steps, he was standing right before Alfred. The American could feel his breath on his nose.

"Is it not obvious, my dear? Did you not get my message?"

Alfred lowered his eyes. "You... you want me back," he murmured. Ivan's proximity was having its usual effect on him, and the combination of fear and love was almost crushing his heart.

Ivan reached up to brush aside a loose strand of blond hair from his former lover's forehead. "So, what is your answer?" he whispered.

Alfred could not give one for a few moments. He knew how much Ivan loved him, and he knew the way that love was expressed. The emotions warred within him, and the intensity of their struggle silenced his tongue. Ivan's hand slipped down from his hair and rested lightly on his shoulder. The touch served to remind Alfred of the bruises covering the torso. He was struck by how his reaction had changed… A week ago, the feel of Ivan's fingers on him would have aroused feelings in him that he never dreamed he would be ashamed of.

Now, all it brought was a memory of pain.

Alfred looked up, and saw the bright glow in Ivan's eyes. He couldn't spot his pipe anywhere, but he knew how quickly the Russian could pull it out. The purple light was illuminating Ivan's face, throwing his protruding nose and finely angled brows into sharp relief.

Swallowing, Alfred nodded—a slight bobbing of his head. Ivan grinned, and pulled him close, burying his face in his scarf.

Alfred didn't protest. He knew what would happen if he did.