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Russia didn’t show up at the meeting that day. Which was extraordinarily peculiar, seeing as the wintry nation never missed a single meeting. He was usually one of the first to arrive, his tall figure an unmistakable presence. But not today.
“Has any of you received a message from him?” Germany asked, the others already filing out of the stuffy room.
He was met by a lot of “no”s and shaking of the heads.
“You don’t think he might be sick?” Veneziano asked, worried for the other despite finding him a little scary at times.
“Russia? Sick?” came a loud and boisterous voice, America’s head popping up from the sea of nations. He quickly elbowed his way through, stepping on some toes and laughing the insults away.
“Hey, you want me to go check on him or something? My boss just called me to say our plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow, so I’ve got time.”
Germany frowned. “I did not know you were concerned for his health.”
America laughed a bit awkwardly, cheeks flushing a faint pink. Not many knew about his improving relationship with Russia, their Cold War antagonism already subdued to a mere memory of the past. (And definitely no one knew about how his heart beat just that bit faster whenever the other smiled at him.)
But that was why several hours later, America was standing in front of Russia’s massive house. It was still the same old thing where he lived while being the Soviet Union, and even though it was much too big and empty for him now he couldn’t get it over his heart to sell it. Too many memories, most painful, but still a part of his history.
America excitedly rang the bell, hopping up and down on the spot as he waited. And waited. And waited some more. He rang again, and a couple times more for good measure. Then he began knocking, before he was practically punching the door.
“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiivaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan, I know you’re in there!”
Before he knew it, he had successfully punched a hole clean through the wood. Oops. Sometimes he really got carried away, hehe.
“Ivan? I’m coming in okay?”
Placing the wrecked door behind him and promising he would replace it, America strode right in as if he owned the place. He had been here quite a couple of times the last few years, so he was already familiar with the lay-out. Well, the lay-out of the most important rooms, as there were some places he just couldn’t go without getting lost once or twice.
“Ivan? You in hereeeeeeeeee...”
The sunny blond found Russia bundled up under blankets and pillows on his couch, eyes red-rimmed and the TV showing white.
“Ivan? You sick or something?”
Russia didn’t look at him, nor did he move. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse, as if he had been crying just a moment before.
“...How could you? Why would you do this to me?”
“Do this... Do what?”
Alfred once more looked around the room, and then he finally caught sight of the probable perpetrator. It was a DVD box with a very familiar print on the cover.
Anastasia. Aha.
“W-what do you mean?” he asked a bit sheepishly, not really seeing why a simply cartoon would cause the other such distress. If anything, Russia should be honored to have someone else make a movie about his country (even if half of the film didn’t even take place in Russia, but those were minor little things).
“Why would you remind me of her?!” the ashen blond suddenly shouted, rising from his nest like a bear being awoken from its winter slumber. His lips were drawn back in a snarl, eyes furious.
“I-Ivan?”
The other reached him with a few swift strides, looming over the smaller nation with all the intimidation he could muster. But America could see through the facade- could see the hurt. He hadn’t spent so much time getting to know him for nothing, after all.
“Anya is dead, Alfred. Dead. She is not coming back. There is no fairy tale ending. And what you did with the other characters? Why, Alfred? WHY? Do you want to mock me?! Is this some attempt to change history?”
“Ivan!” America hissed, temporarily silencing the other. “Why would you ever think I would wanna mock you with this? I made this movie as something good, to give her another chance! To give a more positive outcome! Don’t you see that? Doesn’t it make you the least bit happy?”
Something broke in Russia’s expression, and he stumbled to his chair to sag down like a bag of potatoes. Burying his face in his hands, he groaned quietly.
“You are living in a dream, little one. Can you not see the truth... I lost her so, so many years ago. And not only her, all of them. Why would you think I want to be reminded of that? I loved them more than anything, but I never want to think about that day again.”
Alfred reached out, hesitated, stepped forward and placed a trembling hand on the other’s broad shoulder. Ivan flinched, but didn’t push him off.
“I’m so sorry, that wasn’t what I was thinking at all when I made that... I just thought that, you’ve been through so much bad things, wouldn’t it be nice if that changed? Wouldn’t you wanna see her happy, and be happy yourself because of that? I- I guess I should have thought more about what effect it would have on you... But I really just wanted to make you smile.”
The tall nation stilled, peeking through his fingers at Alfred.
“Really?”
Alfred felt that blush coming up again, and quickly set to explaining himself.
“Yeah, I mean, of course I know the movie isn’t historically accurate, come on! But, why else did you think I’d give her all that happy stuff? Because I wanna see her happy, because I wanna see you happy...”
Okay, no use trying to hide it now. His face was redder than a tomato.
Ivan seemed to be thinking, eyes big (and beautiful).
“You... You have done so much research about my history? For me?”
Alfred stuttered something incomprehensible, and the Russian slowly began smiling again.
“Would you- would you like to watch it together? I am afraid I did not really focus on the happy parts the first time-”
“Hell yeah!” Alfred blabbered, quickly setting to starting up the film again to avoid any further embarrassment. Then he settled on the couch next to the other, freezing when Russia’s thigh touched his.
“So, where did you get the idea for Rasputin?” he asked softly, and Alfred was glad his eyes were glued on the screen.
He swallowed, and set to explaining.
“Well...”