Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and not me.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited so early on in this story: citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.
Warnings: Violence, BelaxIggy fluff
Chapter 3 - Invincible
London, England
A calm scene of domesticity surrounded No. 69 Trafalgar Gardens. Belarus and England were happily baking together. Every so often they would stop, grin at one another and kiss sloppily. Floury handprints on their clothes bore testament to their unguarded passion, whilst Daisy the Labrador puppy scampered around their feet.
"Ah Bela!" England gathered the Belorussian in his arms and kissed her again.
"Arthur!" she squealed happily.
Certainly, if Russia and the Baltics had seen them they would have imagined that England was possessed by some dark magic. As it was, he wasn't, it was just plain and simple love.
Belarus had barely left his side since leaving Austria's mansion, apart from a quick visit to her brother's house to pick up some of her possessions. She'd finally realised that England was truly the man for her, he wasn't afraid of her and didn't attempt to run off. She didn't even need to use handcuffs or other restraints. She was going to have the big white wedding she'd always dreamt of, and there was no need for subterfuge, hallucinogenic drugs or chains. And the best thing of all was England's penchant for dressing up... She'd been a little confused at first with his habit of shouting "Agincourt" and "Waterloo" at the height of passion, but she was now used to it.
However, now she had something important to tell him. She felt some trepidation. She wasn't entirely sure if she was right, but if she was...
"Wouldn't it be nice to hear the pitter patter of tiny feet?" she said to him while he mixed up some virulent blue icing. Where on earth did he get this food colouring? Indeed, was it food colouring? He'd made a green omelette the other day. She suspected sometimes that Arthur was so magical, that he couldn't control it and it would 'leak out' from his fingertips causing the results of his cooking to come out in weird colours.
"Another puppy?" Arthur asked, "Oh yes, perhaps we could get a golden retriever."
"No, I was thinking of something else. I wasn't thinking of a dog."
"I'm not having a snake or a bloody bear..." England's imagination started to run wild as he imagined what kind of deadly pet his darling Bela would want.
"I wasn't thinking of a pet. Something with two legs..." she smiled at him softly.
"I'm not having your bloody nutcase brother living here," England said, putting his foot down and then seeing her shake her head, "I know he wants to live in a warm place and it's warmer than bloody Leningrad and I love you, sweetheart, but not that much."
"No, idiot. Big brother has huge feet not tiny feet," Belarus said, trying to explain to a confused England, "Katya has little feet though..." she added unhelpfully.
"Well, she's okay, she can visit, but..."
"Stop talking about feet, Arthur."
"You brought it up."
"I mean how would you feel if you had a colony again?"
"I'm not having Peter here. He's a nightmare. He plays truant from school and besides the bloody Vikings will be here all the time. He likes living with Sweden and Finland. He wanted to live with them." England said, partly upset by this fact, but partly relieved.
"I don't mean him..." Belarus sighed, 'how stupid was he,' she thought.
"Seychelles? I heard she's speaking to no-one after Switzerland beat up Iceland and then dragged little Lily home. Apparently they made a right scene at the airport."
"I didn't mean Seychelles, either. Arthur, I meant that I'm..."
"Hey! Dudes! Boring baking?" a very loud voice broke in, closely followed by its owner. America, his voice like a foghorn and totally ignoring the intense atmosphere, slammed open the kitchen door and scooped Daisy up into his arms.
"Alfred, who the bloody hell invited you over?" England asked, very much annoyed. He then turned to Belarus and whispered, "You didn't bloody mean him did you?"
Belarus shook her head and glared at the American. She felt tears prick her eyes, for some reason her moods had been up and down, one minute euphoric, the next depressed. She grabbed Daisy from the American and took herself out of the way.
"Dude, she still here?" Alfred asked, unnecessarily.
"Yes I'm still here and I can hear you..." Belarus shouted from the next room.
"All bloody London can hear you."
"Hell, yeah!" America shouted.
"What do you want?" Arthur said, much annoyed. What was America doing here anyway. There was no meeting scheduled for a week and he hadn't been due to visit.
"Are they muffins?" Alfred asked, extending a hand to pick one of the bizarrely shaped cakes up.
"No, there're buns," Arthur answered.
"They look almost normal," Alfred said, wonderingly.
Belarus had come back in, after wiping her eyes, and mindful of the fact that America had saved her and England's life in the fire and was also Arthur's adoptive child/brother whatever he was (she was unsure about the relationship between them) suppressed the urge to impale Alfred with a cake slicer.
"I brought your Christmas present," Alfred said, still examining the bun as if it were a scientific discovery.
"You're a bit early, it's weeks away," Arthur said.
"Yes I know." As it happened, Alfred had visited England because he wanted his advice – advice regarding Belgium.
"So where is it?" England sighed, with a sense of dread. One year he'd received a one-way ticket to Florida, which he'd promptly thrown in the bin (he hated Disneyland with a passion), another year a 'I heart NY' t-shirt and another year an awful mass-produced souvenir of the Statue of Liberty.
"Here..." America handed him a smartly wrapped up box with a bow on top, "Open it now."
"Why?" England asked, instantly suspicious.
Belarus watched on, despite her initial jealousy, she was intrigued.
"Hey dude, just open the box, already!"
"Oh God..." England sighed as he opened the present... a Big Mac. "Thank you..." he sighed.
"If you don't want it, I'll eat it, woof!" America yelled.
England handed him the Big Mac and watched in fascination as the American Nation wolfed it down in two gulps and then helped himself to the huge 2 litre bottle of cola that England kept in his fridge just for America's visits.
"So why are you really here?"
"I need your advice, man," America answered, almost draining the bottle.
"About?"
"Love, dude," America said.
"Oh dear Lord," England sighed and switched the kettle on for a 'brew'.
Leningrad, Russia
The three KGB officers stood in Russia's kitchen. Normally they would have been too scared to enter the house but for reasons that will become apparent, they were feeling much braver.
"Lieutenant Popemoff, Lieutenant Killemoff and I'm Captain Nijinsky," the most senior officer introduced them.
"Isn't that the name of that ballet dancer?" Ukraine asked.
"Da, it was, Katya."
"Are you a ballet dancer?" Ukraine asked the KGB Officer.
"Da, he is, he has the poise for it," Russia laughed.
The KGB Captain glared at his Nation, something that usually resulted in losing a limb. But with the information he had, he didn't feel as scared as he probably should have.
Also Russia's appearance that day was not indicative of his usual intimidating self. He'd been trying to make an effort lately – along with his diet (to get rid of his 'paunch' - Poland's words) – to appear more approachable. So he'd stopped wearing his uniform unless he was 'on the job' – i.e. being Russia. Instead he was wearing a light blue hand-knitted jumper with sunflowers on it to match his scarf and black combats. He didn't have his army boots on either and there was a hole in his left sock the size of Jupiter.
The KGB exchanged glances, one of the Lieutenants smirked at the sight of the 'Great Russia' with a hole in his socks. It was to be his last.
"There were reports that you were injured," the KGB Captain ventured.
"Wut?" Russia did not like the KGB. They hurt his 'children' – in his head the people of Russia were his children.
"You got injured in a fight?" Captain Nijinsky looked him up and down. Russia did not look very injured. There'd been a lot of excitement at KGB Headquarters when the report had come in from the criminal underground that Ivan Braginski had been 'beaten up' by the Mafia. He'd kicked their arses so many times that the powers-that-be had been like giddy schoolboys when they'd found that their Nation could actually be harmed. Perhaps now, they thought, he can be controlled, or at least they no longer needed to be afraid of him.
Russia frowned and the temperature started to drop. Boris (Russi-cat), always a good barometer of Russia's ever-changing moods, yowled and ran out. 'How did they know he'd been in a fight with Austria?' Russia thought, 'who told them?' He glanced around at his Baltics, who had all starting backing into a corner.
The Captain, his confidence soaring, particularly as Russia wasn't even carrying his faucet pipe, said, "Well, this guy, Big John," here the Captain glanced at his notebook (Estonia and Ukraine exchanged worried looks), "said that they kicked your arse."
Ukraine was about to say something along the lines of 'but I kicked their arses' but Estonia put a warning hand on her arm.
Lithuania edged around the room and tried to unlock the kitchen door, beckoning Latvia to follow him. Latvia had done what she usually did when there was trouble, made herself very very small and crammed herself into a corner, trembling.
There was a dangerous rumble emanating from Russia's chest, "No-one beat me up," he said slowly. "Who spreads these lies?"
The temperature began to drop lower and Latvia started to shiver. Toris was frantic now, and he was trying desperately to unlock the door but the key didn't seem to want to go in the keyhole.
"Well, that's what they said. They kicked your arse," one of the Lieutenants said and very unwisely added a small laugh.
"You think this is funny?" Russia growled.
The KGB did not get chance to comment on their collective sense of humour. Russia grabbed hold of the unfortunate 'giggler' who had had the stupidity to display a humorous side and slammed him into the furthest wall. The body slid down the wall, taking half the plaster with it and then lay inert.
"That was funny, da?" Russia said chirpily, his purple aura blazing, his eyes darkening.
The two remaining officers attempted to defend themselves by adopting self-defence poses. Russia face-palmed one – the man's head snapping back painfully, his nose breaking with an awful crunching sound before Russia followed it up with a punch to the man's stomach.
"That was even funnier," Russia exclaimed, "Why are you not laughing, Comrade Captain?" he asked the remaining KGB Officer who was now panicking and trying to free his gun from its holster.
Toris was also panicking, he'd finally got the key in the keyhole and had turned it but the bloody door would not open.
The Captain finally freed his gun and took aim, which was another mistake. Russia grinned happily, picked up the antique silver coffee pot from the table and brought it down on the man's arm with a sickening thud.
"Tut tut, that was a shame. It was a present from Tsarina Alexandra," Russia said, genuinely sad as he looked down at the now bent coffee pot.
Captain Nijinsky fell to the floor nursing his broken arm, his gun lying uselessly on the floor.
"Here, I will help you up," Russia purred in a feather-soft tone, and picked the man up by his neck with one hand, "It is time you were leaving."
Toris wrenched open the door just as Russia threw the man and, with exquisite timing, the body sailed through the open kitchen door and landed with a horrid thud.
Russia smiled happily and rubbed his hands together, "Perhaps you should make more coffee, Toris?" He sat himself down as if it were a normal everyday occurrence to have two bodies lying on his kitchen floor, took up his newspaper again and ruminated on this 'Big John' person.
Latvia, still shaking with fear, sidled out of the room and then made a dash for the stairs. She only just made it to the bathroom before being violently sick.
Russia sighed, "Did I scare her, do you think?" he asked his sister, genuinely worried.
Ukraine just shook her head as Estonia went to ring for an ambulance or more appropriately, a mortuary van.
Author's Notes:
Buns - an English term for cupcakes or muffins (except that they're smaller than muffins) - for my American readers.
Nijinsky – Vaslav Nijinsky – a very famous Russian ballet dancer.
Tsarina Alexandra – Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova, Nicholas II's spouse and last Empress of Russia.
Next Chapter – a visit to the Mafia, more violence, France. (All this will make sense in a couple of chapters – it's all part of the plot – trust me, I'm a doctor (actually I'm not).)
PS I can imagine Russia beating someone up with a coffee-pot. His choice of weapons will get more diverse and bizarre as the story goes along - I'll see how many I can work in.
Feel free to comment/review.