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: pumpkinpatch212, Beelzineff, CactusNoir, LeedsLass, Simonana, Spearsem, IrishMaid, Blueladymare, PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, 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.
This last chapter is dedicated to all of you. Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, commenting and keeping the story going.
Warnings: Sheer unadulterated fluff, Pru-Den, France...
Epilogue No. 2
Around two months later...
Russia straightened his tuxedo and bow tie and attempted for the hundredth time to brush his hair down into something resembling a parting. He failed. He sniffed the scarf around his neck again, checking it was clean and had a quick swig of vodka to quell the butterflies in his stomach.
He replaced the glass on the mantelpiece and looked up at the picture above the fire – a real, authentic, original da Vinci showing two Italian cherubs aiming their arrows at a hastily patched up canvas with a picture of himself in full General's uniform. Russia was quite pleased with the result.
His new 'maid' hadn't been pleased.
"Dammit! I never thought of bow and arrow!" the small bad-tempered Italian had sworn whilst dusting along the marble fire place with his feather duster. He'd been silenced with one look from Russia's purple glare.
"Three more weeks, dammit..." Romano had chanted to himself – the price of his misdemeanour evident by the awful maid's uniform he'd been forced to wear.
"Braginski! You look... er..." Poland took a deep breath.
"Handsome? Debonair?" Russia asked hopefully.
"Musty... I mean, sweetie..." (Russia winced at this) "... How old is that tux?" Poland went on.
"I don't know... I bought it when I went with Mr Khrushchev to visit America in..." here Russia screwed up his nose and closed his eyes in concentration and scanned his scarred memory. "Do you think Aija will mind?" he said finally.
This was his first date with a real woman in... he had no idea how long. And yes, he supposed she was officially his girlfriend – that word made him feel funny and gave him a little pink glow. And yes, she was carrying his baby which also gave him little bursts of pure joy at odd moments, yet they'd never actually been on a proper date.
Poland shook his head, took hold of Russia's arm and dragged him upstairs, "Come on honey. You must have something you can wear... that thing smells as if Khrushchev died in it."
Latvia was also attempting to make herself more glamorous. Her only clothes were her khaki combats, a tatty pair of jeans, an old pair of trousers with the bottoms taken up that used to belong to Toris and the pink miniskirt Pol had given her when she'd first 'come out' as a girl, which seemed centuries ago.
So she and Pol (Katya was at her farm with Estonia, the latter, clever Nation helping her with her finances) had rummaged through the various boxes in the attic. They found several bizarre items. Cossack outfits, fur hats, a panda costume, a crown that could have been real, various military uniforms with varying stains on them, ballerina costumes and eventually some beautiful gowns. Latvia wondered whose they were. Some were perhaps Katya's – they were too large in the bust for Latva – but they found one that was a beautiful midnight blue with encrusted pearls on the fitted bodice that seemed much smaller.
"Right, come on, girlfriend," Pol had said and promptly pulled the dress over her head without further ado.
It had actually fitted her as if it were made for her. The bodice fitting around her gently swelling stomach, the silken material just skimming the floor. Poland had even done her hair, curling it just right and then gently pulling it back with a diamond comb they'd found.
Latvia now looked in the full-length mirror and tried, unsuccessfully to walk in high-heels. It was useless, she was used to army boots and she stumbled as she tried to walk. How on earth did Pol do it, she wondered.
When Russia stood at the foot of the staircase waiting for his date, he was now attired in a more pleasant-smelling suit. He still wore a scarf to cover his neck and had carefully arranged and re-arranged it to hide his scars.
Then he stopped fumbling and stared as Latvia came down the stairs. She was attempting a glamorous entrance but failed epically as the high heels she was wearing got stuck and she tripped down the last few steps.
Russia caught her gently in his arms and held her for a moment against his chest before setting her down.
He stared open-mouthed, looking slightly gormless, gently touched her blond hair and then ran a hand down her side with the lightest of touches.
Latvia smiled up at him, "Vanya, you look so handsome!" she said.
Russia blinked slowly, "This dress..." he began as he touched the pearls on her bodice.
"I hope it's okay? Me and Pol found it..." Latvia hesitated when she saw the sad look on Russia's face, his purple irises misted a little.
Russia nodded and then said quietly, "The last time I saw it, little Anastasia was wearing it at one of the last balls. I taught her to waltz," he said softly.
Latvia immediately wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest, "I'm so sorry. I'll go upstairs and take it off," she began to say, rubbing his broad back.
Russia gently tipped her chin up and gazed into her eyes, "Nyet, Aija. You should wear it. She would be pleased it is being worn. You look very beautiful. I kept so many of her things and... you should have them. She would like that."
Latvia stroked his cheek and smiled.
As they stepped out into the cold night air, Pol and Lithuania were watching, the former with his hands clasped in utter joy, the latter with a slightly bewildered but worried look on his face.
"Take care of her, Braginski. And Latty darling, try not to trip up..." Pol called as Russia held open the car door.
"And don't stay out too late..." Toris called.
"What are you? Her father?" Pol said, gently nudging Lithuania.
"I know... it's just... she's like my little sister..." Toris said quietly.
Pol smiled and wrapped his arms around Toris, "I love you, Liet, you're so cute. Right, come on, let's leave those youngsters to their night out..."
Toris doubted Russia could ever be called a 'youngster', "Mr Russia's older than you!" Toris exclaimed as he allowed himself to be pulled back into the house.
"Of course he is, sweetie. And he looks it. I, on the other hand, still only look 21..." Pol said.
Dinner at the finest restaurant in Leningrad where only the top officials ate and then ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre – the perfect date, Russia thought.
In actual fact, Russia didn't eat much dinner. He was too busy staring at Latvia. Completely mesmerised by her, and every time she moved and her bodice seemed to threaten to undo and the swell of her breasts bounced, he dropped his breadsticks and then had to hurry off to the bathroom.
Latvia barely ate anything either. She was aware that there were a lot of people staring at them. She supposed they were looking at Russia – many of the restaurants' customers were government officials and she supposed they were afraid of her 'date'. She also felt strangely bashful and for a whole twenty minutes they sat in silence, while she fumbled with the menu, Russia tried to pick some wine and then just pointed vaguely at a nervous customer, telling the wine waiter 'I'll have that one'. The said customer (a high-ranking KGB officer) almost emptied his bladder in fright.
It was utterly bizarre as they gazed at each other. Russia thinking how enchanting she was and barely believing that she was there, with him, without coercion or alcohol and he couldn't quite come up with coherent speech to tell her all this. Latvia, for her part, was thinking how handsome he looked, how all the women in the room were looking at him – tall, strong and gorgeous in his dark suit – and how her dress was making her feel all squashed and hot.
But both were thinking along the same lines. Why on earth had they left it 30 years to get to this point? Latvia now wished she'd told him at the beginning who she was. Russia was wishing he'd never been so bullying and scary to the little Baltic who'd arrived at his home so many years before.
They both reached out at the same time and entwined fingers.
"Aija... I... when..." Russia began to say.
"Vanya... when I came to your house..." Latvia began.
And they were both interrupted by a commotion from a neighbouring table.
"Chicken nuggets and fries? Peter...?"
"Mom... Dad... I know... but I don't want to eat this rubbish..."
"Peter, it's not rubbish. Ber, tell him..."
Russia rolled his eyes, was it possible that they could have a date without other Nations being around?
Latvia smiled, "It's Berwald and Tino's anniversary," she told him.
Russia grunted a reply.
Latvia waved across at them and the trio waved back, Sweden and Russia sharing a glare, Finland smiling happily, Sealand waved a book which appeared to be entitled 'How to be an economic superpower in four easy decades by Yao Wang'.
"I think Poland might have told people we were on a date..." Latvia began to say.
Russia growled, bent a spoon in half and his purple aura shimmered.
"... I think they're just happy for us," she continued.
Russia wondered if they could be happy for them further away.
He was about to say just that when he was interrupted by an extravagant Frenchman who wouldn't go away until Russia had bought all his red roses.
"Honhonhon, a beautiful rose for ze beautiful lade?" France had crooned.
Russia growled, "Why are you here?"
"Ze romance... eet is so beautiful... 'ow could I resist... Le Russie... and ze beautiful La Lettonie... ah oui..." France twirled around the restaurant. He was brought to an abrupt halt by Russia's hand around his neck.
"I'll take all of them... if you fuck off..." Russia snarled in his face.
There was a halt in eating around the restaurant. France cocked his head on one side, "Mind ze hair, mon ami... but of course you can buy all of my beautiful flowers... She is worth it, non?"
Russia nodded, letting go of the French Nation, digging in his pocket, dumping money into the Frenchman's hands and then handing Latvia over two dozen red roses.
She blushed as he mumbled, "These are for you, my love..."
"Tell 'er zat zay are nothing compared to her beauty!" Francis said, helpfully, in his ear.
Russia slammed his elbow backwards into Francis' ribs, slumped back down in his seat, ignoring the now prostrate France who was gurgling and murmured, "They are nothing compared to your beauty."
"Hmmm," Latvia said, but nervously sniffed them anyway.
It wasn't until the desserts – of which Russia ate both, Latvia feeling too nervous and skittish to eat, that they managed to actually talk. By then, Finland, Sweden and Sealand had left (Sealand still complaining about the 'posh food', his English genes coming through alarmingly – his 'parents' shaking their heads sadly).
France had been carried out and was no doubt annoying some other Nation elsewhere, probably England or even America.
"Vanya..."
"Do you feel sick again, Aija?"
"No, it's just..."
"Do I have chocolate around my mouth?" Russia asked.
Latvia nodded and then passed him a napkin, but felt an urge to lean across and kiss the chocolate off – very slowly.
Russia smiled and wiped his mouth. "Thank you, little Aija... you know when you came to my house, I wasn't very friendly and you were scared, da? Did you decide to keep pretending you were a boy because you were scared of me?" He said all this in a rush and looked her straight in the eyes.
What could she say? If she told him the truth, that yes, she had been terrified of him, he would be upset, so she lied, "It was Gilbert, Sir. He was an arse and I knew I would get no peace from him. And... then... it was too late. I wish I'd told you earlier... I wish you'd found out earlier..." she gazed at him. Actually, she thought she hadn't exactly lied.
Russia beamed at this, "You weren't too scared of me, then? I didn't bully you too much? I thought you were a boy and needed to toughen up sometimes... I did like you, even when I thought you were a boy..."
Latvia's eyes widened.
Russia flushed and said hurriedly, "But not like that... I thought you were cute... But not in that way..."
Latvia smiled, "You're so funny..."
Russia frowned, "I thought you were gay – like Toris and Eduard."
Latvia spluttered on her water, "Ed? Gay?" and then she saw Russia's uncomprehending face. "Oh... oh yes, he is... of course. And Toris... hahaha... he's had more women than I've had hot dinners!"
Russia shook his head, "Oh Aija... you are very naive..." he wagged his finger at her, "Toris is gay for Polska!"
Latvia laughed at this. She found Russia's interpretation of Toris' sexuality funny. Russia seemed to view it as some sort of hobby that Toris only did at the weekends - and with Poland. Latvia knew otherwise, Toris, she knew, had had more girls in his room than Russia would ever know. She started giggling again.
"Wut?" Russia asked, completely confused.
Latvia shook her head, she couldn't tell him but she looked up and saw two familiar faces with their noses pressed against the window – one had his tongue stuck out and was making an obscene gesture with his hand.
"Gil? Den?" Latvia said, half pleased and half annoyed that they were there.
Denmark responded by making an obscene motion with his tongue, and then pulling Gilbert into a headlock.
Russia growled, "They are hooligans," he said.
"They're my friends..." Latvia protested and then turned back to the window, miming, "Come in and have something to eat..." she said it slowly, mouthing the words.
Russia glared at the two miscreants. He couldn't say anything, they'd saved his little Aija's life, but his fists itched and one hand wandered to his coat pocket and fingered his faucet pipe.
Gil extricated himself from Den's headlock and mouthed back as Den stood looking gormless, "We can't..."
"Why?" Latvia asked.
"Banned from every restaurant in Leningrad..." Gil mouthed back and grinned.
Latvia couldn't help but smile at the two idiots in front of her.
"You okay?" Gil mouthed at her.
She nodded.
Den then opened his mouth and no 'miming' or exaggerated sign language – obscene or otherwise – was necessary, "WE WERE WORRIED ABOUT YOU... GOING ON A DATE WITH BIG FAT MAD COMMIE BASTARD!" Den yelled, every word clearly reaching a radius of around 5 miles around him with ease.
Russia abruptly stood up, pulled out his faucet pipe and was about to smash through the window and grab the two idiotic Nations and pulverise them into the ground.
Latvia put a hand on his arm, felt the muscles tense and relax a little and said softly, "They're just watching out for me, Vanya."
Russia pulled her to her feet, threw money on the table to pay the bill and stormed out.
Den and Gil were still pulling faces at various diners and were, therefore, caught unawares when Russia clamped a huge hand on each of their shoulders.
"Privet comrades..." he said silkily. "Why are you here?"
"Aaaaaaargh!" Den and Gil screamed (in a manly way) in unison and Gilbert leapt into Den's arms.
Den dropped him.
"We're checking on dude chick, dude..." Denmark told the larger Nation.
"Yeah, man..." Gil said, from the ground, glaring up at the Russian, "Making sure she's okay..."
"Awwww... you're both so sweet," Latvia said, and clutched Russia's arm, stopping him from punching the two of them out.
Both men looked at each other in horror and complete bewilderment, neither, in all their centuries-long lives, had ever been referred to as 'sweet'.
Russia just rumbled, deep in his chest. He did not think either of them could ever constitute as 'sweet', particularly Prussia who he thought was the most annoying, disgusting and perverted (after France) person on the planet. Denmark he thought had some kind of mental or drinking problem (much like himself) so was just worthy of ignoring. However, the Dane's exuberance and over-loud voice gave Russia a migraine.
"Dude chick's an honorary member of our Dude Trio, man!" Denmark all but yelled.
"Just an honorary member?" Latvia asked.
Russia grumbled, he was not happy about this at all.
"Yeah!"
"So who else is in it?"
"Me, Pru and you..." Den said, rubbing his head, completely baffled. He personally thought it was brilliant.
"So I'm a full member then?" Latvia persisted.
"Well..." Den thought hard about this.
Russia pulled on Latvia's hand, "Come on, Aija, leave them... we have to go to the ballet..."
"Well, I have to be a member then otherwise it's not a Trio is it? It would be just a Duo with me as an occasional member..." Latvia said, gently stroking Russia's hand, slowing him down a little.
Gilbert smacked Den in the chest, "I told you she'd make it complicated... bloody women!" he said.
"What do I have to do in this dude trio?" Latvia asked, much amused. Russia wrapped a possessive arm around her and glared over the top of her head at the two smaller Nations.
"Drink, man!"
"Aija is pregnant. She cannot drink," Russia told them.
"Party, man!" Den came back with.
Latvia laughed, "With you two? Will you both bring your embroidery?"
Prussia was outraged, "I don't do no embroidery! Tell her, Den..."
"Nah, man, he gave it up... we got thrown out of the crocheting group as well..."
"Why?" Latvia couldn't help but ask. Despite having a tall, gorgeous, blond Russian trying to pull her away, she just couldn't resist but wind these two up, just for a bit.
"...For partying, man! Those Russian babushkas couldn't cope with the awesome us!" Denmark told her, rather proudly.
Latvia frowned, "So you used to be in a crocheting group with some Russian grandmothers?"
"Nein!" Prussia yelled (Russia winced at the use of German and growled again, his hand clenching around his faucet pipe), "He's just joking!" Gilbert clamped a hand over Denmark's huge mouth.
"And what happened to your Hawaiian Tropic tour? And I saw your erm... photograph in that magazine..." Latvia started giggling.
"I looked brilliant, man!" Denmark yelled again. A passing pedestrian crossed the street hurriedly to avoid them.
"Well..." Latvia shook her head.
"We left... they were all men... and I ain't gay," Prussia said with a great deal of emphasis, but stood with his hands on hips.
Russia looked him up and down, "I always thought you were gay when you lived in my house," he stated simply.
Gilbert spluttered in disgust.
Latvia giggled, she found it hilarious that Russia assumed all the male Nations apart from himself were as gay as ... Poland.
"So is America not in this Trio?" she asked with interest.
"Nah, he's not allowed," Den answered.
Russia was still looking Gilbert up and down in that creepy way he did, his purple gaze taking in Gilbert's hands-on-hips pose, his stuck up hair (in Russia's mind any man who put products on their hair to that extent had to be gay) and the Prussian's annoying grin.
"Did England not give him a note to say he could join you?" Russia asked, "I bet Natalya would not let him join, either... maybe Natalya is now Amerika's stepmother... or ... something..." Russia's brow crinkled in, what Latvia thought was an adorable way, as he struggled to comprehend the family relationships between England, America and his little sister.
"Nah, it was Belgium... she's in charge now and he's not allowed to be silly with us."
Russia nodded, "He is about to become a father and so he should be sensible," he said and gently patted Latvia's growing bump (it wasn't literally growing at that moment, that would be weird) in a possessive way.
Latvia craned her head backwards at him and smiled.
"Man! I'm a dad... I've been a dad loads of times and I was never sensible..." Den said.
Latvia laughed at this but squeezed Russia's hand.
"I'm going to be a dad again..." Russia began to say, a little pink glow emanating from his shoulders, "And I am sensible!" he chirruped.
Prussia shook his head, "Poor kid..."
Latvia glared at him, "Vanya will be a brilliant dad," she said. Russia just beamed happily.
"We have to go, Aija... our taxi is here," Russia told her and pulled her away.
"Hey! Dude chick!"
Latvia turned to look back at Den before Russia handed her into the taxi.
"I'll send you the next photoshoot I do for Playgirl... a special picture of my hunkiness just for you," Den said, with a horrid leer.
Latvia laughed, "Don't bother... I've got Vanya, he's all the man I need," she told him.
This prompted Pru to punch Den in the stomach and 'kesese'.
Den was about to argue this point, but the taxi pulled away.
In the back of the taxi, Latvia snuggled up to Russia and he pulled her gently into a one-arm bear-hug.
"Which ballet is it, Vanya?" she asked, looking up at him.
He smiled back at her, "Swan Lake... I thought you would like it," he said and kissed the top of her head.
She leaned against his side and sighed. It was going to be so romantic, so lovely, so classy... just the two of them in the royal box.
It wasn't just the two of them in the royal box. Latvia was settled into her seat by Russia, he gently brushed a hand down her back and then sat beside her, entwining her fingers in his, smiling happily, and then...
"This is the one, I think... careful... mind the wheels..."
"Liz, this buffoon is just deliberately smashing the chair into corners..."
"I know, Roddy, I know... just have a little patience..."
"It says here that the conductor is ... oh... we don't have the royal box to ourselves..."
Latvia smiled at the Austrian and the Hungarian. Russia didn't.
"Hello, Liz... it's nice to see you here. I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Mr Austria," she said.
Russia said nothing. The temperature dropped several degrees. Hungary glared at the big Russian and Russia glared back... and wondered when Hungary had taken a job as a nurse.
"Well... I would be perfectly fine if... ow..." Austria began but was stopped as the theatre employee who had been pushing his wheelchair, halted abruptly and slammed (hopefully not deliberately) the immobile Austrian against the wooden balustrade.
Liz, pulled her rather tight and short nurse's uniform down a little, suppressed a snigger, but paid the man – who left quickly – and then sat down beside Latvia.
"So Latvia... how's it going?" Hungary asked.
"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" Latvia answered. She sought Russia's hand and felt the tension in it, like a coiled spring.
"I'm fine... I've been looking after Roddy. Nursing him back to health," Hungary began and then took her ex-husband's hand.
Austria, who had been glaring about him – at Russia (which probably would have resulted in a trip to the hospital, except Russia obviously felt he couldn't beat somebody up who was already in a wheelchair), at the orchestra who he thought looked 'slovenly' and at the retreating back of the theatre employee - actually turned to his ex-wife and gave her the softest, gentlest look of love that nobody would have thought possible of the dour, bad-tempered Austrian.
"Why are you here?" Russia asked abruptly. He had been hoping that they'd have the royal box to themselves and he could cuddle Latvia in private whilst they watched, what he thought, was the most romantic ballet of all time.
"To watch the ballet... Tchaikovsky happens to be one of my favourite composers," Austria replied.
Russia's features softened a little at that and Latvia stroked his hand reassuringly. She'd found his temper and moods quite easy to manage really, now she was 'allowed' to touch him. A stroke on his hand or on the top of his beige-blond head and he quietened down and the purple haze would dissipate quite quickly. She found, backing it up with a quick kiss, meant the trigger was also forgotten. It was just a shame, she thought, that it had taken 30 years to realise this.
"...But Mozart is clearly superior," Austria added.
Russia growled but was quietened as Latvia stroked his head, as if he were a large dog.
"Well..." Hungary began but was watching the exchanges between Latvia and Russia with interest, storing it all away to report back later to Poland and Ukraine, the two Queens of Gossip. "...How's the pregnancy going? Morning sickness? Constipation? Weeing all the time?"
Unfortunately, Hungary had never been a quiet person and her voice carried around the auditorium.
Latvia winced but nodded to all those symptoms. "And you? How's your pregnancy coming along?"
Hungary patted her stomach, "It's brilliant, never felt better. I feel as if I could kick arse and I mean arse..." she glared at Russia.
Russia was oblivious to the animosity emanated from the Hungarian. He just bent his head so Latvia could run her fingers through his hair and he hummed softly.
Hungary frowned, it was truly bizarre - to see the biggest, baddest, scariest Nation on earth, the one whose very presence often had his fellow Nations shivering - now reduced to the appearance of a big fluffy teddy bear.
She patted Austria's hand as he fretted over some mistake in the programme.
"Why is Austria in a wheelchair? The bullet hit his chest, not his legs," Russia asked bluntly, with a genuine frown on his face.
Had he forgotten? His memory was flaky at the best of times. The only thing he tended to keep track of lately, was Latvia's pregnancy, i.e. how much she'd eaten, when she'd thrown up, if she had backache, the first fluttering she'd felt in her womb – the advent of the more vigorous kicks she'd feel later on. The events of the previous months didn't really compute with him.
Hungary thought it was a good question. Truth be told, after he'd saved her life, leaping into the path of a bullet meant for her, she'd acted as his nurse and had actually enjoyed it, pampering him and indulging in his wish to be wheeled around in a wheelchair.
Austria had always enjoyed his spells of ill health. He seemed to particularly enjoy it now. However, he had actually been very ill and she'd feared he'd die. His recovery had been slow, but actually they'd both, in that time, rekindled their old romance and she'd never been happier. Austria had actually embraced the idea of being a father again after so long and had even took to picking out furnishings and colours for the nursery they'd planned at his mansion.
"He's convalescing... I'm his nurse, so shut up, Braginski," she said, adopting Poland's style of address at the big Nation, but she took a seat as far away from the Russian as she could.
Russia grumbled about this, but was soothed again by Latvia's hand on his shoulder and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
"I'm sure Mr Austria is still feeling very delicate and needs time to recover," Latvia said diplomatically.
Russia was confused about this. He'd been shot, stabbed, had once got in the way of a tank (the tank came off worse), in car crashes (usually caused by himself), almost drowned (the incident in the Baltic Sea hadn't been the first time he'd had to swim for safety), jumped out of an aeroplane without a parachute (he still didn't understand why the snow hadn't cushioned his fall quite as much as he'd thought it would), poisoned and crushed under a Murphy bed, but he'd never felt the need to spend any time in a wheelchair.
To say Hungary and Austria were fascinated by Russia's sudden descent into cuddliness would be an understatement. Hungary seriously wondered, considering how 'girly' (her words) the male Nations were becoming, if there were any 'real' men around anymore. She certainly had never counted Austria amongst these 'real men'. America was being bossed around by Belgium and seemed to spend his days acting all grown up and hadn't turned up in a superhero costume for weeks. England, who could always be relied upon to be sarcastic and to cause trouble by getting roaring drunk and insulting everybody at meetings, had turned into some kind of domesticated love-struck idiot. The English Nation now seemed to spend all his time doing embroidery, decorating his London townhouse and... learning to cook.
Then Hungary heard a voice and she knew that there were at least some manly men.
"Come on, Feli... mein gott stop messing about with your hair... it looks erm...nice..." the familiar German voice wafted through.
Russia growled a little at the German accent, but Latvia gave him a gentle nudge and shook her head when she saw him grip his faucet pipe.
"Ha! A real man... you won't find Ludwig acting like a lovestruck teenager or being all..." Hungary broke off as the German man walked in, with a pretty, young girl on his arm.
Russia and Latvia exchanged bewildered looks. Nobody had had a clue that Germany had a girlfriend.
"I thought Germany was gay!" Russia whispered to Latvia. Latvia rolled her eyes, Russia had always been under the impression everyone was gay.
"Clearly, he's not!" Latvia whispered back.
"Vee Luddy, this is nice!" said the girl and brushed her brown hair back from her eyes. She wore a simple green dress, her shoulder-length hair was pinned back and her amber eyes shone with delight.
For some reason, Latvia, Russia and Hungary all felt they knew her from somewhere, but were all absolutely dumb-struck. Hungary in particular, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, just stared. In all the centuries she'd known the stoic, sensible and ultimately – boring - German Nation, she had never seen him with a girlfriend.
Only Austria didn't seem surprised, "Hello Italy... I presume this is your first ballet? I hope you're not going to show us all up," he told the young girl.
The girl laughed, a tinkly, charming laugh that Germany seemed to find enchanting. It was weird, he was acting very un-Ludwig-like, as he hadn't stopped touching her – on the waist, her arms, her hair – since they'd entered the royal box.
Hungary nudged her ex-husband, "Roddy, that's not Italy... I know she looks like him but..." she stopped and took a closer look.
"Of course it is! Anyway, we should all be quiet now..." Austria retorted as the orchestra began to warm up.
They all ignored Austria and whispered to each other.
"Is that Italy?" Latvia whispered to Hungary.
"No... can't be... I know Feli looks girly... but... even he doesn't wear dresses... well not any more..."
"It can't be Italy... This girl is too pretty," Russia whispered to Latvia, and then, seeing Latvia's frown added quickly, "...But not as pretty as you, my love..." He reached across and kissed Latvia softly on the cheek and then said, "...But that is definitely a girl." He felt quite confident saying this, which was laughable really as Latvia had spent so long disguised as a boy under his rule.
Hungary said as much, "Yes, because you're the expert at gender identification, aren't you?" she said sarcastically.
"Shush, it's about to start," Austria said.
In all this time, Germany and the girl were sat together, linking hands and occasionally whispering to each other. The girl leaned against Germany's shoulder, while Germany smiled dazedly.
Nobody took any notice of Austria, Russia was about to punch him but was stopped by Latvia.
Finally, it was too much for Hungary and she said, rather loudly, "Hey Italy! Why're you wearing a frock?"
"Miss Hungary! Vee...!" the girl turned and laughed at the four Nations.
Germany shifted uncomfortably.
"Shush!" Austria said irritably.4
"Mr Italy... you look er nice but..." Latvia began.
"Tell us to shush again and you will be wearing that wheelchair on your head," Russia interrupted to tell Austria.
"I'm not Mr Italy!" the girl said with a cheerful smile and hugged Germany, who subsequently blushed, "I'm now Miss Italy!" she added.
Hungary and Latvia shared a look of utter bewilderment.
"See! I said she was a girl!" Russia beamed happily. Finally, he thought, he'd got a gender correct.
"Shush!" Austria said again as the curtain rose.
Russia grabbed the Austrian's wheelchair and looked set to hurtle him down the steps at top speed, but was stopped in his tracks by the next statement.
"Vee... Mr England did some of his magic and I'm now a girl!" Italy, for it was she/he, almost sang, waving his/her arms around happily. "Me and Luddy-kins are going to have lots of babies!"
Russia forgot what he was doing, Latvia leaned forward, Hungary started laughing.
Only Austria didn't share the moment, "Idiot Russian buffoon... Turn me around, I can't see the stage... honestly, heathens! This one of the greatest ballets ever written... Of course he's a girl..."
"Awwwww..." Hungary, Latvia (and Russia) all cooed at this. (At Italy's revelation, not at Austria's rant which was being duly ignored.)
"...But Luddy doesn't know what to do..." Italy continued in a rather loud voice.
'Luddy' hid his head in his hands in despair.
Hungary snorted, "Oh this is just too funny..." she managed to splutter.
Latvia laughed, Russia frowned and nudged his 'little sunflower', "Do what?" he asked her, puzzled.
"Vanya, go with Mr Germany down to the bar and get us some drinks and have a quiet word with him," she said to Russia, batting her eyelashes at him.
Russia frowned, "A word about what?" he asked. He didn't really like spending time with Germany. He found the man odd and loud and the German accent brought back horrid flashbacks...
"Birds and the bees..." she whispered to him.
"Okay," Russia chirruped and got up, shoved Austria out of the way again and nodded to Germany to follow him, "Come on, Germany, I will buy you a beer."
"This is going to be good..." Hungary said and ignored her patient's irritable sighs and groans (Austria didn't dare tell them to 'shush' again).
It was halfway through the first Act before Russia and Germany came back.
Germany looked even more bewildered than before, he sat down beside Italy and whispered, "I have no idea what just happened."
Russia looked very pleased with himself. "You were right, little Aija! Mr Germany knew nothing about birds or bees..." he shook his head in disbelief. "... But I put him right..."
Italy smiled at Germany, "Vee Luddy, we'll go back to the hotel tonight and try again... You'll get the hang of it..." she/he said confidently.
Hungary spluttered into the soft drink Germany had brought for her and started choking.
"Feli...!" Germany protested.
"Did Mr Russia tell you what to do?" Feliciano/a asked in a lower voice.
"Erm, I'm not sure. He said something about seeds and watering them and then something about nests..."
"Kinky sod!" Hungary retorted.
"Shush!" Austria said.
Latvia giggled and just raised an eyebrow.
"Wut?" Russia asked.
Three hours later, the six Nations left the theatre, Austria was still grumbling that he'd missed most of the performance, Hungary and Latvia were gossiping, Russia was humming happily to himself, Germany still look confused and wondered where he was going to get a watering can at such a late hour, whilst Italy was twirling around and around.
"I like being a girl... ve it'sa fun!" she declared.
"Just keep her away from France," Russia warned Germany.
Germany nodded and just gently took the smaller Nation's hand, "Come on Feli, back to our hotel..."
"Vee Luddy! Are we going to make a baby?" she said, rather too loudly.
Hungary laughed out loud – again, "Hahaha, yes, you are... But looking at the big German fool, you'll have to knit one!"
Germany, red-faced and stuttering with rage and embarrassment, pushed Italy into a waiting taxi.
"Come on, Roddy, let's get you into bed..." Hungary said, pulling her coat around herself, hiding her too short nurse's uniform. She managed to make the whole remark sound vaguely obscene.
Russia murmured to Latvia, "I don't think nurses should wear skirts that short, it doesn't look practical."
"It's Pol's," Hungary told him.
Russia blushed and pulled Latvia along the pavement with him, "Let's go for a walk, Aija..." he said.
Latvia was still giggling. In fact, she'd barely stopped giggling and had had to visit the toilets several times in the past three hours.
"Where are we going?" Latvia asked as they walked along, hand in hand. Russia had a set look on his face. He evidently had some idea in his head.
"Are we going to a bar or something?" she asked.
Russia shook his head and then smiled, "I have a better idea for something to do!"
"Like what?" Latvia asked. She knew what she'd like to do... She gave a sneaky look at his tall, well-muscled physique (although, admittedly she couldn't see very much of it under his layers of clothing).
"It's a surprise! I'll give you a clue... we haven't done it in a while," Russia answered her mysteriously.
"Oooh," Latvia managed to keep the disappointment out of her voice. It wasn't that then.
"The last time we did it, you were a boy... I mean, I thought you were a boy... and you were a bit sore afterwards..." Russia continued.
Latvia couldn't understand what he was talking about. Was he going to practise his martial arts on her? Surely not?
All became clear as they walked through the nearby park and she heard music and saw the twinkly lights.
"Ooooh..." she said, understanding made her smile when she saw all the people whizzing past on their ice skates.
"I will take care of you, Aija – make sure you don't fall," he told her.
This time, there was no awkwardness, no stumbling and no worrying about hanging on too tight. Latvia held onto his shoulders and allowed him to guide her around and around the ice rink to the music. She felt safe, secure and warm in his arms. She stumbled once or twice but he caught her easily, holding her gently and then wrapped his arms around her and they traced a slow, lazy, figure of eight around the rink, Russia's bulk making other skaters slide around them.
"Can you remember the last time we did this?" Latvia asked him, gazing up into deep purple irises.
Russia nodded, "You kept falling over... it was very funny," he answered. But he kept a tight hold on her this time. He didn't want her to hurt herself or the baby.
"... and I told you not to call me a boy, remember?" Latvia answered, with a wicked smile on her face.
Russia's mouth went into one big 'O'.
"And remember that time I told you I wasn't a man?" Latvia continued.
"I thought you meant you were a boy?" Russia said in confusion.
Latvia shook her head and grinned. She was having fun, whilst Russia sought through his scrambled memories for all their times together and she'd given him hints and he'd just ignored them.
"You always looked like a girl!" Russia exclaimed, tightening his hold on her as their skating slowed. Correction, as Russia's skating slowed and Latvia, who had just been clinging to him, slowed to a stop with him.
"You're so funny!" she said and laughed out of sheer joy.
Russia stopped, bent his head towards hers, took her face in his hands gently and kissed her softly on the lips, "I love you, my little Latvia..." he murmured softly.
Latvia kissed him back, tracing his lips with hers, deepening the kiss and then pulling back. She felt as if she'd finally come home.
Russia rested his head on top of hers and breathed slowly and softly. Everything was right with the world...
Author's Note: Phew... I really enjoyed writing that. I tried to finish everything off and bring everything full circle. Sorry it's taken so long. I had a lot of other stories whirling around in my head and I wanted to get this finished with a lovely happy and slushy ending for Russia and Latvia (and the others).
Feel free to review/PM/comment.