Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Hakatori, Irishmaid, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: Flangst with a liberal dose of stupidity
Chapter 32 – What Hurts the Most
Polska's house, Warsaw
Coming from the kitchen was the sound of pots and pans crashing about and cheerful Italian singing: "C'è la luna a mezzu 'u mare!" The singer was, of course, Romano. His cheery clear voice almost over-riding his fumbly efforts to make pasta on Pol's stove. (Polska never cooked, Toris did occasionally on his rare visits.)
He was watched by Svetlana Bollockoff, all pretences of being a stern, icy KGB Major had gone out of the window. Her hair was mussed up, her lipstick very smeared and she wore a dazed smile, "Aaah, Roma..." she murmured happily.
Vienna Hospital
Russia flung open the doors and swept in. Thankfully there wasn't a revolving door that he could get anyone stuck in for all eternity – going around and around until the world ended. He strode up the reception desk, shoving aside various people in the queue, glaring them into quiet when someone protested.
"Raivis Gallante? Has a Raivis Gallante been admitted? Where is she?" he asked the started nurse.
Russia swept a hand through his mussed up blond hair and hoped she was okay, that she was safe...
The nurse looked him up and down, "Are you a next of kin?" she asked.
Russia was horrified, they didn't usually ask for a next of kin, unless someone had died. "She...she's dead?" he asked. He went deathly pale and swayed on his feet.
The nurse was about to answer when two loud individuals came through the reception area.
"I told you they wouldn't sell beer in there. This is a hospital, man!"
Russia snarled and turned at the sound of the familiar voice. "Gilbert!" he roared and slammed after the small Prussian.
Gilbert stopped dead, "Shit!" he yelled and turned and ran – awesomely.
Denmark, rather slower than Gilbert, laughed and was then cut off by Russia's hand on his throat.
"Where is she?" Russia snarled into the Dane's face. Russia's aura pulsated wildly around him, his eyes were a livid purple – streaks of silver flashed through them. Den would not have been surprised had the Russian suddenly sprouted horns.
"She... she... my throat... can't..." Den gurgled.
Russia loosened his grip, but not completely.
"She's on ward 15... Cherry something ward... she's okay... she..." Den collapsed to the floor as Russia let him go and dashed off.
Ivan then skidded to a stop, spun around and went back to the Dane, "Do not leave here. I am going to come back and kill you..." he said in a very low baritone growl.
As soon as Russia had took himself up the stairs, running up three at a time, Den jumped up, yelling madly, "Shit, shit shit..." and ran for his best 'bud', Gilbert.
Vienna
It would be like an episode of one of those many television hospital dramas, Hungary thought, except it wasn't... this was no dream, no actors, no fake blood. The ambulance sirens wailed as they sped through the city. She clasped Austria's hand in hers, fearing to let go and prayed to God, to many Gods. The paramedics had restarted his heart, but the blood was still flowing quickly, despite the emergency dressing and his blood pressure was dropping quickly. The paramedic at the side of Austria had put a morphine drip in, and had put him on an emergency ventilator that at least got him breathing, but his eyes were closed and his cheeks deathly pale.
The ambulance crew had almost given up and almost pronounced him dead in the bank. The other Nations had stood by in shocked silence. Belarus quietly sobbing, leaning on England's shoulder. France had snivelled. Even America had been silenced by Hungary's soft sobs.
They skidded into the hospital, Hungary running in after the hospital gurney and then some ridiculously young nurse took hold of her and told her to wait in the 'family room'.
Hungary kicked off, proper kicked off, as if she were back in the War of the Austrian Succession. "I'm going in with him... I will go everywhere with him... we were married for over 50 years... longer than you've been on this earth, honey..." she yelled.
The nurse considered calling the psychiatrics department (an opinion that would be held by many hospital professionals that day), but instead led Hungary quite forcefully, in the way a uniformed nurse can, into a bland room with awful uncomfortable chairs, a coffee machine and women's magazines.
Hungary flung herself down and prepared to wait. She fingered her skirt where the blood had started to dry... Austria's blood. He'd always been there for her. They hadn't really got on as children, in fact when she'd dressed as a boy she used to beat him up. Then her country had been merged into the Empire and for a long time she'd been a servant in his house. She smiled at the memories.
As a young girl, she'd been apprehensive to say the least – suddenly finding herself under the dominion of a powerful male Nation. But Austria had always been polite and courteous to her. No matter that she was essentially a maid for many years, he'd always treated her as a lady. In fact he also treated Feliciano like a lady for a while... here, she laughed a little.
But then she stopped, what would she do if the unthinkable happened? She tried not to think ... but if he died. He'd always been a constant. They hadn't always got on, seen eye to eye, but he was always an ally to her, even under Communist rule, during the uprising, he'd made sure as many of her people had gotten across the border to safety as he could.
Sure, he was annoying, mean with money, petty, short-tempered, had a terrible sense of direction – he'd once got lost in his own mansion. But she loved him, she loved the way he sang when he was in a good mood (or had found some money), his sarcastic sense of humour, the way he didn't back down if he thought he was right, his passive-aggressiveness. The fact was that although she'd been with many men over the years she always went back to him. She sighed, wiped away a tear and picked up a 'Womens Weekly'.
She didn't get further than the horoscopes when the door opened and a nurse walked in.
"Erm are you with the gentleman with the bullet wound?"
Hungary nodded, her heart in her mouth, 'Please be alright... please be alright...'
"I need to take down some details..." the nurse said, a sympathetic smile on her face.
"Is he... is he okay?" Hungary whispered. Her hand strayed to her stomach. If he died, he would never know... she brushed the thought away.
"He's still in surgery. I need to take down some details. Name, age..."
"Roderich Edelstein..." Hungary left out all the stupid Count and von bits.
"Age..." here Hungary hesitated like Estonia earlier. "... erm..." she calculated, she couldn't say one thousand years old, could she, how old did he look? Some days he looked his age, some days he looked like a middle-aged bachelor, other days he looked... "30 years old," she settled on. He would like that, she thought.
Ward 15, Russia found, with some bewilderment, was the Antenatal Care Ward. He stopped with a skid and read the notice again – which was in German – although his German wasn't brilliant he checked again and then frowned. Idiot Denmark had probably sent him to the wrong ward on purpose.
He padded down the ward, peering as inconspicuously as he could at each of the beds – all containing women in varying stages of pregnancy – many of them looking annoyed, many looking as though they would happily rip a man's testicles off.
Finally, he got to the end bed where he found Estonia sat in a chair at the side of Latvia. Her face was very pale, her blond hair – now dried – laid across the white pillow. She had a drip in her arm and her eyes were closed.
"Is she alright? What happened?" Russia asked in barely a whisper.
"She almost drowned. In Austria's swimming pool..."
"Why was she swimming? It's December!" Russia was appalled.
"No, Sir. There was an accident..." Estonia began to explain.
Russia remembered the dustbin lorry lying at the bottom of the pool and then Denmark and Prussia's guilty looks. They would be joining the truck soon, he decided.
"But, she's alright?" Russia asked, his lips trembling. He reached over and gently brushed a stray hair from her eyes and then softly stroked her cheek.
"I think so... she was awake a while ago. She came around. They've put her on a saline drip. They're going to do a scan in a while," Estonia answered.
"A scan? Why?"
Estonia hesitated. Of course, Russia still didn't know, Latvia hadn't told him.
Russia pulled one of the huge monstrosities that were supposed to be chairs across and sat down – claiming for himself more glares from the women in the beds. He picked up the medical notes and perused them and then frowned.
"Why is she in here?" Russia asked, dumbly. His brain felt foggy and he was still trying to compute what was going on. All the medical notes said was something about blood pressure, lots of dots on a graph. It didn't help that the woman in the next bed to Latvia's who obviously had bad water retention, was around 9 months and 10 minutes pregnant and therefore extremely bad-tempered, kept shushing him.
"Because she nearly drowned," Estonia whispered.
"No, I mean why is she on this ward?" Russia asked.
He got his answer soon enough when a doctor approached them, whisked the clipboard out of Russia's hand and said in a no nonsense tone, "Are you the father?"
Russia hesitated. He wondered if they were talking about Lily. After all those revelations earlier, he couldn't be sure. He looked to Estonia for help. Estonia nodded. So he nodded, trusting his cleverest Baltic. It was only then that the truth dawned on him as he looked at Latvia's soft, sleeping form, the tube going into her arm and he felt a burst of pure, indescribable joy flood his old heart.
"Da, I am!" he said confidently and then gently took her nearest hand, caressing it softly.
Leningrad, Russia
Major Katyusha Braginskaya, correction, General Katyusha Braginskaya (she had given herself a promotion) was striding through the Government building with little Miss Ivanova at her heels. Dressed in full Red Army General's uniform, her medals clanking, she was just as, if not more, imposing than her little brother. Furthermore, pregnancy hormones raging and the fact that she'd just had to go out and buy a new bra – 44HH – did not mean she was in a good mood.
The top boss himself – Comrade Brezhnev – had flown all the way from Moscow to Leningrad to meet his Nation's stand-in. Probably because he was getting on in years, had been told his Nation – who was troublesome anyway – was 'on holiday' and probably because his wife had been nagging him, Brezhnev was also not in a good mood. (Brezhnev was a wily old fox and had seen the top secret files on what had happened the night one of his predecessors, Stalin, had died and thus treated Russia like a doting grandfather would treat an errant grandson – with a lot of patience, lots of treats and not a little concern.)
Therefore, Miss Ivanova, who followed Katya like a puppy through the winding corridors, carrying the shopping and her handbag, was expecting this particular meeting to be explosive.
Vienna Police Station
"Well, isn't this grand?" England said in his most sarcastic voice. "Haven't we done bloody marvellous?"
Belarus, her face still white, after seeing Hungary getting into the ambulance with the blood-soaked Austria, slumped on the bench next to him.
They – meaning America, England, Belarus and France – were in a police cell. The Austrian official was busy negotiating with the Austrian Police Commissioner that they were not terrorists, bank robbers but just inept Nations. Although, obviously he couldn't tell him this.
"It could have been worse..." America muttered dejectedly. He was fed up. Heroes didn't sit in police cells. He felt very un-heroic. It wasn't his fault Austria had been shot was it? It wasn't his fault that they didn't even get past that receptionist – she did look tough. Now, he just wanted to go home. He considered telephoning his brother, surely he would bail him out?
"Worse... worse!" England was appalled. "How could it possibly be worse? We failed. Austria could be dead now because of your idiotic, stupid plan... You never listen to me. Nobody ever listens to me. What is it going to be next time? A giant robot?"
America looked up, his eyes shining, "That's it! That's why we failed... dude..." and was punched by Belarus.
"Arthur is right, you are an idiot," she said and slumped back down beside England, the latter Nation crossed his arms and turned away.
France was sat on the opposite bench still snivelling, "I have always loved Austria... he has always been there for me..."
"Shut up you stupid frog... You bloody love everybody don't you? Besides, you bloody well fought him, so shut your face," England retorted.
There was silence.
"Now what?" Belarus said quietly.
"Now what, what?" England said, his arms still crossed.
"Well, we have to do something!" she said, "In less than 24 hours, this painting is going to be put in front of the world's media. You are all on it... well, you're not - stupid America..."
America just grunted, deciding he was going to sulk.
"...and then our secret is out. Not just yours but all of us...We have to stop it somehow."
Nobody said anything. England had turned his back on everyone and so was facing the wall, however, he kept stealing glances at Belarus. France snivelled. America sulked.
"Well, I thought I was in the presence of the great Allies... the Allied Powers who defeated Nazism in 1945... who fought on the beaches, who fought in the air... who fought..." Belarus ran out of words, she couldn't remember the rest of Churchill's speech and floundered and then shut up.
France looked up, tear-stained cheeks broke into a kind of smile.
America grunted.
England jumped to his feet, "By golly, woman, you're right! We are the Allies, we did it before and we can do it again!"
France slowly got to his feet and attempted to smooth his greasy hair down, all thoughts of being unsexy were now gone, "Angleterre, do you have your wand?" he said. And for once, the word 'wand' was not accompanied by a horrid leer.
"No... damn and blast. I left it behind at Roderich's place..." England sat back down dejected.
A clear voice suddenly came to them through the bars of the cell, "You don't have your wand, Arthur, but I do..."
They all looked up... as a familiar face smiled back at them with much amusement and waved England's suitcase at them (the very one Belarus had packed before leaving London). "Nice to catch up with you all... what on earth has been going on?"
Vienna Hospital
"Dude Liz!"
This was not what Hungary wanted to hear. She'd been sat in that awful room for hours, evening had set in and darkness was pressing against the window and she'd heard nothing. She'd asked several times, but was told Austria was still in surgery. 'Touch and go' they said. So she'd sat and read all the rubbishy magazines.
She ignored the two imbeciles who charged in.
"Yo, how's it hanging?" Prussia yelled. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, they'd done an epic rescue, dude chick was alright, Russia hadn't killed them... yet. And best of all, in Prussia's eyes they'd visited Switzerland's bedside. It was always fun to taunt fellow Nations when they were paralyzed. He guessed that he would, soon enough, be paying for all this – probably with blood – but until then he was damned well going to enjoy himself.
"Go away," she said and turned away.
Denmark tried to pull Prussia away.
"Just seen Vash... kesese, hilarious. They've unstiffened him but he still can't talk. They should try throwing money around. He'll get his arse off the bed, then!" Prussia laughed at his own joke.
Hungary shook her head, afraid to speak in case the tears started again.
"Come on, dude, dude Liz doesn't need us here," Den said, trying to pull Prussia away.
"What you doing here, anyway? Did you come in with Lily?" Prussia carried on oblivious.
"Yes, yes, I did..." Hungary whispered.
"Kesese Switzy dude kills me..."
Denmark frowned. There was something wrong. This day was going from bad to badder, he thought in his drunken head.
Before Denmark could shove Prussia out of the door, said door opened and a doctor came in. He raised an eyebrow at the two persons – both still in damp clothes from the swimming pool rescue, one holding a bottle of beer, one with red mischievous eyes and turned to Hungary.
"Miss Herdervary?"
She nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath, "Is he going to be alright?" she whispered and clasped her hands together as if in prayer.
"Yeah mate, did you manage to unbend him? Kesese!" Prussia laughed again but was nudged by Den, who shook his head warningly.
"Erm, I'm not sure what you mean?" the doctor said frowning, "It's about Herr Edelstein..."
"Roderich's in here?" Denmark asked suddenly, remembering to use the Austrian's human name. Suddenly it made sense.
"Kesese! What did he do? Lose his wallet? This is priceless... this day just gets better..."
Denmark disagreed with this when he saw the heart-break evident on Hungary's face.
The doctor ignored Prussia, as so many before have and since and turned back to Hungary, "We managed to extract the bullet. It looks like he's going to pull through, but the next few hours are crucial."
Hungary sagged with relief and Denmark caught her, finding himself for the second time in one day, holding a female Nation in his arms – without any sexual intent. He was quite proud of himself and just wished Norway, Sweden and Finland could be there to see it.
"Specs? Bullet? What?" Prussia frowned, the big grin was gone from his face.
"He was a hero," Hungary said, her face buried in Denmark's chest. Why did he smell of chlorine? "He saved me from a bullet."
This was beyond Prussia's comprehension, "What?" he said again.
"He leapt in front of a bullet that was meant for me..." she said again and then looked up into Denmark's eyes and asked, "Why are you wet and smell of chlorine? Have you been swimming?"
"It's a funny thing..." Den started to say.
Prussia was still trying to compute through his small brain exactly what Hungary had told him, "Kesese, no way! Did they fire money at you?"
Hungary whirled around and punched him, hard.
"Dude!" Prussia held his now broken nose.
"He could die!" she yelled and then burst into sobs on Den's chest.
"... we fell into a swimming pool..." Den began his story.
"He ain't gonna die...He's too mean to die... He still has all his savings..." Prussia was saying, and started to stuff tissues up his nostrils. How many times today was he going to be smacked in his awesome face by other Nations?
"...it never used to be there..." Den continued his story.
"...Besides he never goes anywhere without his massive wallet..." Prussia said, starting to sound a tad anxious.
"... Well when I say we fell into the pool, it was more the truck fell into the pool..." Den said lamely.
"...And he'll never die before me cos he knows I'll just get all his precious money and spend it..." Prussia was actually sounding more and more desperate.
"...But we were in the truck..." Den added sadly to this tale.
"...He's like Switzerland, throw some money about and he'll be out of that operating room quicker than Den can drink a beer..." Prussia said, rubbing his eyes. He had something in his right eye, it wasn't a tear and anyone who said it was would get an awesome fist in their un-awesome face.
"...And dude chick Latvia was in the truck..."
Hungary was trying to listen to all this and then finally she snapped, "Shut the bloody hell up, both of you... Prussia, I know you care about him really, so just shut up. Den... is Latvia alright? What about the baby? Does Russia know?"
"Ja! She is... Nein, he doesn't."
"Nah, he's an idiot. If she was 9 months gone he wouldn't know... So they got this bullet out of him, then?" Prussia said, turning the conversation back.
Hungary nodded, "It looks like it," she said with much relief.
"I'm amazed he didn't hang on to it, he's such a tight arse. Specs never gives anyone anything," Prussia said, but the relief was evident on his face.
Leningrad, Russia
"What do you mean I'm no longer Mrs Russia? Are you kidding me?" Katya shrieked.
Mr Brezhnev, with back-up from the Head of the KGB, no less, and also the Soviet Ambassador for Ukraine, sighed. His large beetly black eyebrows shot up (rather like England's – except Arthur's were blond) and he turned to the KGB boss sat next to him.
"Miss Braginskaya, we've located your brother. Ivan will be back soon..."
'Not soon enough', the KGB boss thought. Already several high-ranking government and military officials had threatened to resign unless Katya left, citing bullying, intimidation and being forced to stand in a corner with a dunce's cap on their head – even Russia at his worst was never this bad. Indeed a plate of custard creams and a bottle of vodka would usually calm him.
"Where is he?" Katya said, with her hands on her hips. "I've heard nothing since Warsaw."
"Our agent, Major Bollockoff has been extremely busy in her covert operations..."
Miss Ivanova stood next to Katya nodded, "That's my big sis!" she squeaked.
Katya turned and looked at her, "My God," she exclaimed, "You've sent a little mouse like her off to bring Vanya back?" Katya was rather hoping her little brother wouldn't come back. Much as she loved him, she hoped that he and Latvia would run away together and she could be left in charge. The power had clearly gone to her head.
"Miss Braginskaya, your erm... contribution to the crisis has been very welcome... and your efforts will be rewarded but..."
"Can I keep the title of General?"
The three men looked at each other, Brezhnev nodded - he just wanted to get home.
"Da, you can..."
"Well, I'm here if you need me. You know, I don't think Vanya will just come back with that Major Bollockoff quite so easily," Katya said wisely.
The KGB Head shook his head confidently, "Miss Bollockoff is a very efficient and capable officer who is used to dealing with dangerous individuals. She can take care of herself. Be reassured, Miss Ukraine, that Mr Russia will be returning."
Warsaw, Poland
Svetlana was an efficient and capable woman who was used to dealing with dangerous individuals. However, Romano could not be classed as dangerous in any way shape or form... unless it was in the ways of seduction...
The Italian and the Russian were in Poland's very pink bedroom on Poland's very pink heart-shaped bed doing things that constituted Romano shouting "Colosseum!" at various intervals.
Vienna Hospital
"You are not coming with me..." Latvia argued as the hospital porters wheeled her down to the Obstetrics department.
Russia, for that was who she was arguing with, ignored her and loped alongside, holding her hand and grinning stupidly.
"Vanya, sod off. I don't need you here..." since waking up, she had barely stopped telling him off. He had been surprised when she'd told him it was his fault that she'd almost drowned.
"You never listen... you wouldn't let me go... that's why I ran away..."
"Aija..." he'd tried to remonstrate, say something, anything...
"Gil and Den rescued me..."
"I'm going to kill them..."
"For rescuing me?"
"Nyet, for almost drowning you..."
"I wouldn't have been in that truck if it wasn't for you being such an idiot with those handcuffs..."
The porters exchanged glances at this.
Estonia trudged behind them, saying nothing, but listening.
"But... but... I did that because I love you..."
Latvia had no idea what to say to that, she closed her eyes and then finally said, "You don't love me, you just think you can own me. I can't cope with all this. It's too much. Your temper scares me... And the baby... and..." she was cut off as they wheeled her into a room.
The door closed in Russia's face.
"She hates me..." he said and turned and started to walk away slowly.
Estonia shook his head, "Sir, wait!" he said.
Russia stopped with a look of bewilderment on his face. All he knew was that Latvia was pregnant and she didn't love him... she didn't want the baby, how could she? He was not a nice person, an evil monster, Prussia was right, he was a fat commie bastard. Tears sprang to his eyes.
Estonia pointed at him, "Sir, wait there!" and then pushed open the double doors and strode in.
Latvia was laid on an examining table, her hospital gown pulled up and a nurse smearing cold jelly on her mid-section.
"Push off, Ed," she said, "I can't be bothered with all this, not now."
Estonia ignored her and turned to the nurse and said quietly, "Can you give me a minute?"
The nurse, batting her eyelashes at Estonia's stolen sexiness, nodded and left.
"Right young lady, you are going to listen to me, now," he said sternly.
Latvia was taken aback. Estonia was always the quietest one, the one who kept out of trouble, went off to make tea when Russia went into kolkol mode, got out of all the embarrassing escapades that she and Lithuania always seemed to find themselves in.
"Russia adores you, loves you... I've lived with him far longer than you and I know him better than you and I've never seen him like this over someone... even China..." Estonia paused.
"That's not love, that's possession," she said confidently, but her lip trembled.
"He's been blown up, shot at, been thrown in the Baltic Sea – which he swam by the way, thank you for asking - God he still smells of seaweed, poisoned, our car crashed into a tree, been beaten up... although he did a lot of the beating... erm and got crushed by a Murphy bed." Estonia said all this in one long breath. When he thought about it, he wondered how on earth they'd survived and realised with a jolt, that Russia had saved his life many times.
Latvia's eyebrows shot up at this. Who on earth kills someone by Murphy bed?
"And do you know what, all the way through? All the way here? All he talked about?"
Latvia shook her head, tears forming in her eyes.
"You. Getting to you. Making sure you were safe."
Latvia gulped.
"So don't say another word, young lady," Estonia (or Epicstonia) said and turned and left.
Latvia laid on the trolley, tears smearing her cheeks and gulped big breaths of air. The nurse came back in, along with a radiographer.
"We're going to check everything's alright with the baby. It might be too early to tell as you're six weeks but... we should be able to pick up a heartbeat..." the woman was saying.
Latvia put a hand up, "Just a minute," she said shakily and to the women's incredulity, jumped off the trolley, pushed open the door and shouted down the corridor at the retreating backs of Estonia and Russia.
"Vanya! Get in here, now!"
Estonia smiled as Russia spun around and ran back so fast he left skid marks on the tiled floor.
He pulled her into a hug and held her as gently as he could.
"Do you want to see and hear the baby?" she whispered up at him.
Russia just nodded, his purple eyes watering. (He actually was wondering how this would work. Surely the baby was just like a tiny tadpole? Was there a microphone in there, a camera or something? He looked at Latvia's stomach area worriedly.)
He needn't have worried. In fact he was amazed when the first steady but rather fast beats were heard. It sounded like a galloping horse. Russia's eyes widened as he held Latvia's hand and stroked her palm gently. A very tiny black blob appeared on the screen and Russia gave a gasp of wonderment.
"Did we do that?" he asked, almost childlike.
Latvia nodded, 'Oh God oh God oh God, I'm going to cry again'... she thought.
Latvia smiled up at him, but felt very exposed, her stomach - which she thought already had a layer of fat on it - looked floppy and white to her, and she was aware that she smelled of chlorine. But all that was forgotten as they listened to fast chugging heartbeat of new life.
"Everything seems absolutely fine, Miss Gallante," the radiographer smiled as she passed the Doppler machine over Latvia's stomach.
Latvia wasn't listening. She and Russia were gazing deep into each others' eyes.
"I love you, my little Latvia," Russia murmured.
"I love you, my Russia..." Latvia whispered back.
Author's Notes: Leonid Brezhnev was the 'boss' of the Soviet Union (as mentioned before I think) during the early 1980s, at the time this story is set he would have been in his early 80s.
Doppler machine – what they use for ultrasound scans of fetal heartbeats. If anyone disagrees that you can't hear a heartbeat at six weeks ... you're wrong. Don't argue, I've been there and done that, bought the t-shirt and sent it back. You can pick up an ultrasound picture of a foetus at six weeks, but it would be very faint and look like a small black blob.
Can anyone guess who the Nation is who turns up at the police station? Also the suitcase that Belarus packed – see Chapter 9 – and foreshadowing.
Yes, I know – very soppy.
Next Chapter – A king returns, more Russ-Lat fluffiness, more angst.