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Rays of sun shine onto Russia's skin, causing beads of sweat to pool on her forehead.
She stands awkwardly still as America works around her. Swiftly and with a practiced sort of attention, Amelia works sunscreen into Anya’s skin.
“It’s such a nice day out!” Amelia hums, radiating an energy the sun must be envying right now.
Anya grumbles, "It is too hot. I do not know how I was talked into this.”
Amelia completes her work, finishing up with her hands on the curve of Anna’s hips. “Because you lovvve me and want to make me happy?”
“I do not recall saying either of those things.”
“‘Don’t need to, Anna! I already know it.”
Anya blushes, but fortune smiles upon her for it can simply be waved away by the blazing heat. Amelia leans up, pushing on the tips of her toes, (which is a little difficult with the sand, but she makes do), and brushes their faces together.
“Oh, you are sweaty.”
Anna hums noncommittally.
“Well, good thing I was planning on getting you in the water today. That’ll cool you off. I wanted to teach you how to surf!”
“I was of the belief that surfing was an activity that required you to stay out of the water, America?”
“Have you surfed before?”
“No.”
“Then, unless you’re a prodigy, you’ll be in luck!”
Amelia’s laughter rings out with an absurd sort of volume. It seems she would be doubling over with laughter if that were something you could do in water.
“What are you doing?” she giggles.
The board slips out from under Russia right when she goes to respond. Meeting the waves face first, Anya thinks she surely stayed on top of the surfboard much longer than her prior attempts. Progress, right?
Appearing back up from the water, madder than a wet hen, Anya seethes, “Is not like you are being much help to me, Amelia!”
America takes a deep breath, trying to come down from her fit of giggles, “Sorry, sorry! It’s just too funny. I’m sorry.” She offers with a sincere enough lilt to make Anya wither.
“You are going to help me,” Russia points a finger at America, who nods rapidly.
“Of course, I did say I was going to teach you!”
Moving over through the crashing waves with the means of her hips, Amelia comes to Anna’s side.
“Start by getting onto your knees first.” Amelia helps Anya up onto the board, holding her by the hand with a soft grip.
Anna kneels on the board, wobbling back and forth.
“Straighten your spine, don’t hunch!”
“This feels weird,” Anya says hesitantly.
“What’s the worst that can happen? You fall again?”
At this, almost like it is commanded merely by the spoken words, the surf board slips out from under Russia.
Amelia laughs so hard it hurts.
Bobbing back up, Anna’s cheeks grow pink. “You are the worst that can happen!” She says, using a large, sweeping motion with her arm to splash Amelia.
America squints, eyes crinkled with humor, “I’m sorry!” She uses the hand that isn’t occupied to try to block the attacks of womanmade waves. It’s with this Anya realizes she hasn’t tried to let go of her hand, even with all of the ruckus of falling back into the water—her cheeks are pink for a completely different reason now.
“Maybe you just need an example? Let me try!”
Anya gently lets go of her girlfriend’s hand, and watches with interest as she wades out deeper into the ocean with the surf board in hand.
Like it’s the simplest thing ever, she stands on the board and catches a small wave.
Anya watches, enchanted, as Amelia moves with her land’s heartbeat.
Swimming back over, glistening with little specks of ocean water, Amelia says flippantly, “Waves aren’t really good today.”
Her golden hair stands awry, and her voice is a little dreamy, like she’s thinking about the days the ocean’s ripples were stronger.
Anya wiggles closer, itching to fix her hair. “We came on a bad day?”
“Yeah. But there’s still loads of fun stuff we can do out here! Do you want to get ice cream?”
Blue eyes peer up at Anya as she tries to work her sea salted hair into something acceptable. “Yes, I would,” Anya says with a soft chuckle, finding something adorable about the way she posed the question—like she’s worried Anya’s not having enough fun.
“Yeah! Awesome!” Amelia grins.
Anya orders a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a bowl. Amelia orders two scoops of chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone.
“It’s melting!” She complains as they amble aimlessly down the shoreline. She's about halfway through it and it’s dripping down her hand.
“Eat faster, then." Russia responds plainly, watching with great amusement as America tries to clean up the drips with her tongue before it reaches her elbow.
“But then my head hurts!”
“Then do not eat it that fast.”
“But it’s melting!” Amelia repeats with a whine, looking up at Anya with a sad frown. Anya sighs deeply at the sight, “I think I am tempted to drown you, America.”
Amelia’s sullen little look turns into a smile, like Anya had hoped. “I think you should let me finish my ice cream, first, Russia.”
America already looks bored by the time they reach where the beach breaks off into a pier. Lucky for Russia, she never finds herself bored in the company of the United States—endlessly entertaining, albeit a little unpredictable.
Even now, as she sees a lightbulb go off in the younger woman's head, she's not even the slightest bit sure what will come out of that opened mouth.
"Wanna see who can build the best sandcastle?"
"Sandcastles? I honestly thought you were going to propose I bury you in the sand."
"Oh, if any burying is gonna be done it's gonna be you, my dear, with my huge sandcastle!"
Anna's heart fluttering almost stops her from quipping back, "I have not agreed to this sandcastle contest."
Amelia's shoulders fall down, "What? Come on, Anya!" she clasps her hands together in plead, squeezing her eyes shut, "Annnyyaaa, please? Come on, you know you want to!"
Puppy dog eyes burrowing into her soul, (she thought she left that on her desk back home? You should, before you come to America), Russia smacks a hand on her face. "Fine!" She agrees. "But only because I wish to obliterate you."
"Oh, good luck with that! I am a pro at making sandcastles, bro."
With this, Amelia scampers off to gather supplies for her project. She carries herself with such speed that Anna questions for a brief second if they are being judged not just off of skill but also time.
"Amelia," Anna asks, a little after they've set up and she's started making a sand base for her construction, "How are we supposed to know whose is better if there is no judge?"
"Huh?" Amelia says from behind her; they are back to back because Jones insisted that if it were otherwise, Braginskaya would 'cheat'.
"I mean, how will we know whose is actually good if we are…" she waves her sandy hand around, "…have more liking for what we made?"
After a pause of deep consideration, Amelia answers cheerfully, "Oh, we'll just know."
Anya's eyebrows furrow, trying to focus both on the baffling response and making the first few towers to her castle. "What? What does that mean?"
"We're honorable, Anna, we can admit defeat."
"…You are the very last nation I'd expect to admit defeat, actually."
"Well!" America says with a small chuckle, "I mean, it don't matter—I think we both know who is gonna win."
"Me," Amelia says at the same time Anna says, "I am."
A strange splatter from behind her causes Anya to turn around. "Don't look—" Amelia says just as Anya does. Half of America's 'castle' has fallen apart and melted into the sand beneath it. To call it a castle is gracious.
"What is that?" Anya asks, staring at the manmade blob of wet sand. "I have not even finished mine and it is better!"
Amelia turns to see Anya's work. "Ah, well, castles were never really my thing anyway."
"Why did you… put so much water?"
"I thought I could squish it back together!"
"And to think you were talking so highly about your ability to make sandcastles."
"You have to talk trash! That way your opponent gets all insecure and messes up, too. That's how I always win!"
"Is always meaning never?"
"Screw you!" Amelia stands, kicking her sand'castle' so it flies everywhere.
"Aw, do not do that. It was endearing me…" After allowing Amelia a moment to stare at the sanddisaster in regret, Anya asks, "Do you want to help me finish mine?"
"…Yeah, fine, whatever." Amelia crosses her arms, moving to sit in front of Anna's creation, side by side with her girlfriend. "You, like, totally need my help."
"I would, like, totally very much like it," Russia says, in her best attempt at Amelia's accent, causing America to break out in giggles.
"I don't sound like that!"
"You, like, totally do, dude."
Amelia goes breathless trying to contain her laughter, "Ew! Don't say that, it's wrong."
"What is?"
"'Dude'! You saying that is, like, hurting the universe."
"What should I call you then, hm?" Anya leans into Amelia's space, a playful look taking over her face, "My sweetie?"
Amelia blushes, laughter bubbling up in her chest as Anya creeps closer. "Ew! No!"
"Sweetness? Buttercup? Lover?"
"Who are you and what did you do with Russia?" America exclaims, grinning as Anna reaches a sand-coated hand up to her face.
"I am Anya." Russia answers, brimming with silliness.
They kiss—Anya is pretty sure Amelia leans in first, but she'll dispute that when asked later—and their noses brush funnily for lack of preparation.
Anna adjusts, tilts her head, making the kiss more proper.
Amelia's back hits the sand, and only at this—America gazing up at her, all flushed and happy—does she realize they have crushed the creation they were supposed to be working on.
"I think I just destroyed your sandcastle," Jones says first, feeling the lump under her back.
"Is okay," Anna waves her hand dismissively, "I think it is for the best—your boss might not be happy with me plotting little kingdoms in your sands."
Amelia giggles as Anna runs her thumb over her freckled nose, "You can plot little kingdoms in my sand anytime you want, doll."
"Really? You will make an empire with me, Amelia?"
"Absolutely, Anya. We are going to have the biggest sand empire the world's ever seen. They'll tremble before us."
Anya dips down to kiss her again, and Amelia leans up to cut the work short. She thinks that, maybe, she can taste the faint flavor of chocolate on Amelia. She sighs—she should have gotten chocolate, instead. But she'll settle for enjoying the taste off of America.
They watch the sunset, the sky becoming a deep shade of orange as they sit on the sandy beach and listening to the waves crash.
When the sun finally drops out of their view, Anya notices how much Amelia’s skin has deepened, how her freckles have become more noticeable.
Pressed against each other like this, their thighs make a contrast. Anya places her hand just above America’s knee. Amelia places her hand over hers.
“Your hands are so cold!" she says aloud.
“Yours are so warm.”
Amelia smiles shyly, turning her face to Anya’s.
"Um," she starts softly, "I want you to have this."
Anna tilts her head, "What is it?"
"Open your hand up."
Amelia reaches across and grabs Anya's hand—the one that isn't currently holding Jones' thigh.
She places something into Braginskaya's open palm.
"A seashell?"
"Yeah. A scallop's."
The way Amelia twists nervously as they both regard the small object makes Anya herself anxious. "It is very beautiful," she says, in some hope of reassurance.
"It is. But also," Amelia turns it over, to the hollow side, "It's a memory. A space where feelings can stay, safe and understood, by only those who lived there."
Amelia's blue eyes hesitantly meet Anna's purple. Somewhere, distantly, the moon is adding a spark into their eyes. Looking into each other's eyes, they find their safe space. A small seashell carried and changed by the large ocean; the large ocean, pushed and pulled by their giant moon.
"I love you too, America."