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"Put your dancing shoes on, Lithuania, we're going out!"

Lithuania looked down at his shoes in alarm. They were neat and polished to as high a shine the leather would take, but they weren't the sort of shoes he could wear to go out. Not for dancing, if America was being serious. They were also his only pair, a fact he was sure had escaped America's notice.

"Out?" he said, nervously smiling at his employer. "I have a lot of chores to get through still – there are all the dishes from dinner, and then I need to do a final dusting, and there's some darning –"

"Nope," America said cheerfully. "We are going out. You haven't taken a day off since you got here."

"I'm used to hard work," Lithuania said anxiously, then worried that that had sounded too pathetic. It was better than whining that he couldn't ever afford a day off, he decided. He had some pride left. He squeaked as America towed him out of the kitchen.

"Brush your hair, get your best hat and put on those dancing shoes!" America said. "Ten minutes, Lithuania!"

"Before you go without me?" Lithuania said, not quite hopeful of avoiding embarrassment.

"Nope, before I come looking for you and you end up going out dressed like me." America's smile was open and had no malice in it, but Lithuania still felt his heart speed up unpleasantly at the thought of a superior who would come looking for him.

"I'll be as quick as I can," he said, his eyes meekly downcast till he was safely out of the room. Damn, he thought. Now he had to embarrass himself with his old-fashioned clothes and his well-worn shoes. He washed his face and brushed his hair, then, with a resigned sigh put on his Sunday suit. He looked respectable and ordinary. He looked, he thought, as if he were going to Mass – maybe, he thought, he could tell America that he'd prefer to go to Mass; it wouldn't be embarrassing to be threadbare and respectable amongst those of his people who had come to live here.

The restaurant America took him to was just as bad as Lithuania had feared. Everyone looked so shiny, the men with their oiled-back hair and their evening wear, the women with their jewels and scandalously short skirts and shorter hair. America fitted right in, tall and good-looking in a tuxedo, his hair combed as neatly as he could get it. He ushered Lithuania across the room in the wake of a waiter and watched him try to hide behind a potted palm. Lithuania felt horribly conspicuous in his old dark-brown suit, and felt worse when a girl looked his way and tittered behind her hand to a friend. The waiter - also dressed better than him, Lithuania noted – came back and poured wine for America to taste.

"Very nice," America said happily. "What do you think of the tea?" he said, laughing as he raised his cup in salute to Lithuania.

"I don't see how this can convince anyone we're not breaking the law," Lithuania said in worry. He sipped the wine and smiled as convincingly as he could. "Very nice." He'd had better. A lot better. Long ago, he told himself sternly. This is what you are now.

America watched people eating and drinking, smiling to himself at the sight of his people heedlessly enjoying themselves, then turned to the menu and studied it, humming to himself. "I'm having this thing that's probably just steak," he said. "It's called something in French so it's gotta be good, right? How about you?"

"Ah," Lithuania said, scanning his menu in horror, "I don't know. Maybe a salad? Could I see your menu? I think this one must have been badly printed - they've left the prices off it."

"They gave you a girl's menu?" America said. "Sheesh. Your hair's not that long." He passed his menu over as Lithuania went scarlet. "Don't have a salad," he went on, "Have some real food. You're not some girl addicted to reducing exercises, are you?"

Lithuania felt his breath leave him as he saw the prices. He closed the menu gently. "I'm feeling a little dizzy," he said. "I should go back –"

"No way," America said, looking upset. "I'll get you some water, you'll be all right. Once you start dancing you'll be fine. Hey! Hey, waiter –" The waiter came back, fast as if on a spring. "Can I get a glass of water for my friend?"

"Of course, sir," the waiter said, and was back with the water in a matter of moments, setting it neatly in front of Lithuania.

"We're both having sole, and then steak," America said. "If he asks for a salad, that's just 'cos his English gets mixed up sometimes, but he'll learn better now he's here, right?"

"I'm sure, sir," the waiter said with a polite smile. He sounded like one of Hungary's people, Lithuania thought, and cringed at the possibility the man thought they were laughing at him.

The food came quickly, and America ate it with enjoyment, still looking round in glee at his happy people. Lithuania cut his into the smallest bites and ate slowly, making it last and wondering how anyone could justify eating such expensive meals. If he worked longer hours, he thought, he could cover the cost of his meal. He'd ask for more work, he resolved. Secretarial work as well as household chores, although the mere sight of memo books made him think of Russia's house and caused his heart to race with worry. Dessert came too, America demanding apple pie and getting it, though Lithuania would have laid bets the restaurant didn't usually keep such mundane dishes for its patrons. It was all washed down with more wine, and finally with coffee.

"Let's dance!" America said, and towed him from the table to the dance floor. "See any girls you like?"

Lithuania looked round in worry. He saw lots of girls, all of whom looked terrifyingly modern and self-confident in their fringed dresses and bright lipstick. Neither Belarus nor Ukraine would have been seen dead in such costumes. While he dithered, America grabbed his elbow and pulled him over to where the very girls who had laughed at him earlier stood smoking.

"May I have this dance?" America said to the blonder of them, not very discreetly pushing Lithuania towards the other. He whisked her away into a foxtrot, leaving Lithuania alone.

"H-hello," he said. "Would you l-like to dance?"

The girl took a long pull on her cigarette, and gestured towards him with it, the red tip swaying at the end of the cigarette holder. "Are you his country cousin? No one wears suits like that any more." She frowned at his expression, then patted his hand. "Look, I'm sure you're a nice guy, but if my friend sees me dancing with someone dressed like you, she'll laugh at me. Why don't you just buy me a drink?" She paused, and said delicately, "Or you could get me a glass of water and pretend you bought me a drink."

"Thank you," Lithuania said. "I think I'll sit at our table and wait for my friend."

"OK," she said. "Sorry."

He nodded and went back to the table, overcome with shame that he was so clearly a charity case. America danced with girl after girl, laughing in open delight. Lithuania spent the evening looking down at his carefully polished shoes, the expensive dinner turned to ashes and bitterness in him.

"Hey," America said breathlessly, coming over to him. "Are you OK?"

"I'm very tired," Lithuania said. "Would you mind if I left before you? Is it all right if I leave the payment for my dinner on the table?"

"Whoa, whoa," America said, holding his hands up. "My treat, Lithuania. C'mon, don't look at me like that, I can afford it easy, I know it's hard for you old European guys when you come over here at first –"

Lithuania found himself on his feet. America blinked at whatever was on his face, and he took a deep breath and smiled the easy, open lie of a smile that Russia had always demanded of him. "Thank you," he said, and knew it had sounded sincere enough when America clapped him on the shoulder and grinned again. "Goodnight," he said. "Thank you."

"Hey, it's no problem," America said. "Do you want to take a cab, or do you just want to go straight back?"

If he walked, Lithuania thought, he might find a church with a priest still awake. I could confess this stupid pride, he thought. Or I can accept it's pride that makes me think I have the right to keep someone awake at this hour, and add it to my list for the next time I go to Mass. "I'd better go straight back," he said.

"Sure," America said, walking with him to the coat check girl. He tipped her and winked as Lithuania pulled his coat on and stood there, hat in hand. America opened a door that for anyone else would have led to a closet, revealing his hallway to Lithuania's thankful gaze. "See you in the morning," America said cheerfully. "Get some shut-eye."

"Thank you," Lithuania said again, and fled.

America never had hangovers, and was bright and breezy when Lithuania brought him his breakfast the next morning. Apart from humming and sometimes actually singing dance tunes, he didn't say anything about the evening, which was a relief. Lithuania sank back into his rhythm of daily chores, finding a deep satisfaction in doing them for someone who appreciated him, not for someone whose demands changed daily so he had never known when he'd be disciplined for breaking rules, or to make up for someone who was just too damn lazy to do his own share. He scrubbed in irritation at a spot on the tablecloth he was washing, thinking of the newspaper reports on what was happening at home. When he went back he was going to put Poland over his knee and give him such a spanking -

"Hey, Lithuania? A little help?"

"What is it?" Lithuania called, searching for America. He had to be round here somewhere. Oh. "How did you get covered in all that red tape?" He started disentangling America so he could at least breathe more easily.

"That's what I'd like to know," America grinned. "Bosses, hey? They keep getting more and more good ideas, and before you know it, you can't turn round. Thanks –" He shrugged off the last of it and stepped free. "Let's have coffee! I got some cakes."

"I was washing – " Lithuania started, gesturing vaguely down the hall.

"Coffee and cakes, Lithuania! Whatever you're washing won't get dirtier if you leave it for a while, will it?" America looked thoughtful. "Seriously, will it? I sort of ignore things like that."

"It'll be fine," Lithuania said, trying not to laugh too much at his thoughtful face. "I'll make the coffee."

"Great! It's raining out, so we can't sit in the garden – let's have it in the sitting room."

Lithuania went to the kitchen and made the coffee, setting out the cups America particularly liked on a tray, and plates for the cakes. He supposed America had taken them with him into the sitting room instead of letting him deal with them, and shook his head, smiling. He certainly wasn't like anyone else Lithuania had had to deal with for centuries. He brought the tray through to the sitting room, finding America, his jacket off, in an armchair tapping his foot to the tune coming from his Victrola.

"Have a seat," America said, taking the coffee he was offered, "and a cake – they're in that box on the table." He took a big bite out of the cake Lithuania gave him and closed his eyes in pleasure. "These cakes are German," he said through a full mouthful. He chewed and swallowed happily. "That's something that's so great about my house – all these people come here and I get to eat all their different cooking without having to go halfway round the world for it. How come you don't cook more of your food for me, Lithuania?"

"I will, if you want," Lithuania said. "I just thought you liked France's food better."

"I like yours too," America said. "Good, hearty food. I like that a lot."

"If you come to my house we can swim in the Baltic," Lithuania said, a warm feeling growing in him. "You'll see why hearty food is needed."

"Yeah, yeah," America grinned. "I know nothing about the world, I don't even know what cold water is. Let's paddle in the Great Lakes, that'll show you cold water. And then Canada will scoff and tell us real men wash themselves in the spray of a Newfoundland storm, or something. Sheesh," he said in mock sadness, while Lithuania tried not to laugh too much at someone who was, after all, America's brother, "why he doesn't just shell out for indoor plumbing I don't know." He got up and refilled Lithuania's cup before he could be forestalled. "How come you always wear the same shoes?" he said in a tone that suggested the question had just occurred to him. "They're not your only pair or anything, are they?"

Lithuania felt his face go blank, then the blush heated his cheeks. America was just looking at him in a friendly, quizzical way, waiting for him to say something like, I just forgot to change my shoes for the last few months. He stood up and tidied his plate and cup away on the tray. "They are," he said in a neutral voice.

"No way," America said, like he'd made a joke.

"I should get back to the washing," Lithuania said. "Do you want more coffee?"

"No, I'm fine," America said, looking a little puzzled. He looked down at Lithuania's feet again, and back to his face, catching him blushing deeper still. "I don't get it –" he started, and paused, his eyes going wide and surprised. "Um," he said, and went a sudden, bright scarlet.

Lithuania attempted to flee in shame; America caught his elbow and held it tight. "England's always saying I never know how to read people and I'm the most tactless guy he's ever met," America said, "which is rich, coming from him, but he's got a point, I guess. I'm sorry, Lithuania, I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

Christ, give me strength, Lithuania thought. "It's all right, really."

"No, it's not," America said. "I like you, you're a good guy. You don't deserve someone you think is a snotty nosed kid being rude."

"I don't think you're –"

"Do you know how to dance?"

Lithuania looked at America's face, dumbfounded. His English had failed him, he thought; he'd missed some crucial grammatical construction that alerted people to sudden swerves in topic. "Dance?" he said. "Um, what dance?"

"Modern dances, not your old fashioned waltzing round." America grinned. "That's all past tense, now."

"I'm sure you remember when the waltz was new. And scandalous," Lithuania said, still feeling at sea.

"We'll practice one of my dances, and it'll be fun and you'll cheer up!" America said, taking the tray away. "You do like dancing, right? Right, of course you do, everyone likes going dancing with their friends. We're friends, right, Lithuania?" He looked hopeful and a little less sure of his charm than usual.

"Of course we are," Lithuania said, and America's face brightened at once.

"Cool!" He put a hand on Lithuania's shoulder, then slid it back and down to rest between his shoulder blades, and took his right hand in his own left. "OK, now I'm going to step forward on my left foot, you step back with your right. Ready? Forward, forward. Good! Now I go back, you step forward. Back, back. And again – forward, forward, back, back. Not so hard, huh?"

"No," Lithuania said. It felt a little ridiculous, having a dance partner of the same height, and he wondered how silly they looked.

"Quit looking worried! This time, bend your knees a bit as we step, OK? And, forward, forward, back, back – knees, Lithuania! Forward –"

It was a simple step, far simpler than some dances he'd mastered in his time. America flashed him a happy smile, and Lithuania found himself powerless to resist returning it. "Now we're going to the side, think you can manage that? Does Russia's fancy new government allow going to the side?"

"Who knows? But my government allows freedom of movement," Lithuania said, feeling a little daring at his own cheek. America's smile widened.

"OK, to the left, and – hey, my left, Lithuania! Left, left, no – bring one leg in front of the other, and back we go, right, right. Do it again – and put it all together, forward, forward, back, back, left, left, right, right. Not bad, though we're still dancing like old farts. Let's put a spring in our step, OK? Dance like a young, vibrant nation, not like an old fart."

Lithuania felt something in him relax as America winked. He was being teased, he thought, like they really were friends, not employer and servant. "I am an old . . . fogey," he said lightly, "but I've been dancing for centuries longer than you've been around."

"Prove it," America said, eyes and smile gleaming.

Lithuania went through the steps on the balls of his feet, light and agile, feeling suddenly it was a dance, not an odd exercise regime. America moved with him, his grin wider and wider.

"Maybe you can dance," he said, "let's try it with the music." He bounced over to the Victrola and carefully put a record on its turntable. "Isn't modern technology great?" he said. "A whole orchestra in your sitting room!" He came back as the music started up, and took Lithuania's hand again. "And – forward, forward –" He kept them moving to the beat, unselfconsciously singing as he led Lithuania through the dance. "Charleston, Charleston, made in Car-o-lina –"

"Where in Carolina?" Lithuania said.

"Charleston, I guess," America laughed, and held Lithuania a little closer to whirl him round. "Improvise! C'mon, it's fun –" He spun Lithuania out, and dropped his hand to let himself balance as he kicked a leg behind him. "Every step you do leads to something new, boy, I'm telling you, it's a lapazoo," he sang cheerfully, before grabbing Lithuania in again and starting them over again.

"What's a lapazoo?" Lithuania asked, wishing he'd known he would need dance terms in English.

"I have no idea," America giggled, "but isn't it a great word?"

Lithuania smiled. Yes, he thought, it was.

"A bit more practice and you'll have girls lining up to dance with you," America said. "No more sitting at the table for you, my friend."

"Then hadn't I better do the man's part?" Lithuania said, making himself keep his smile wide. "If you don't mind being the girl for me."

America laughed loudly. "I just love the way you speak English," he said. And, before Lithuania could be embarrassed, "I have no objections to being the girl." He let himself be led through the steps over and over, until they were both breathing hard and had to stop. "You flash them that cute smile and you won't be sitting down all night," America gasped. Lithuania felt his cheeks go a little pinker than the exertion had caused, smiling in mild embarrassment. "Yeah," America murmured "that's the one. No one will be able to resist you." Lithuania looked down shyly and back up at him, and America clutched his chest melodramatically. "Whoa! No, that's the smile. You're not going to leave any of my people their virtue, are you?"

"I, um," Lithuania said, and saw that America wanted him to joke and be happy. "Well, maybe one or two of them," he said, and gasped as he was hugged tight.

"I'm sorry I made you feel bad," America said in his ear.

"It's all right," Lithuania said, and it was, he found. "I don't feel bad any more."

"Do you give all your wages to your people here, or send the money home?" America said, still holding on.

"Yes," Lithuania said. "Both."

"And if I pay you more, you'd do the same."

"Yes," Lithuania said, though it hadn't been a question. America moved back, to look in his face.

"Then I'm just going to have to give you presents, Lithuania, and you won't quibble because I know you old European guys are all about manners and courtesy and showing me up for the brash young brat I am, right?" America grinned as Lithuania tried to speak. "C'mon, friends can tease and say that sort of thing. I think the first present should be a tuxedo, what do you think? So you can show off your new modern dance skills. Sorry it won't be a surprise, but once my tailor has your measurements –" he smiled a little diffidently. "And maybe, if you'd like and I'm not being too brash, a new pair of shoes?"

Lithuania looked at him, seeing how he wanted to be friends, and to make him happy. It was impossible to be offended, he thought. Friends didn't need to keep a wall of pride up between them. "Thank you," he said. "I'd like that."

"Great! Let's dance some more!" America said, and ran to wind up the Victrola again. He came back and put his arms around Lithuania once more, waiting for the music to start. "We can take turns being the girl," he said, "I'm told I'm easy that way."

"All right," Lithuania said, and too late saw the hilarity in America's eyes. What? he thought. Oh. "Oh," he said in dismay at the traps English continually laid for him, but America just laughed and whirled him into the dance, like they were old friends who could say anything to each other. By the end of the record, Lithuania was starting to believe it.