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“I- did you think this would last forever?” Austria asks, looking up, and Russia feels his fists tighten at that expression on his face, slightly smug and slightly surprised, as though Russia were a doddering fool who had only just realized he’d been robbed. “What did you think I was, your lap dog? I’m not stupid, Russland. You’re an interesting man, but not enough for me to lose my mind.” He claps Russia on the shoulder, as if they’d just shared a joke. “I’d wish you luck, but you brought this upon yourself.”
His eye twitches.
Russia doesn’t dignify him with a response. Austria takes no note, adjusting the hem of his waistline, nonchalant save for the poorly-hidden smirk on his face.
So he doesn’t notice when Russia’s hand shoves itself forward and closes around the front of Austria’s uniform.
Austria yells, smile dropping; he yanks the smaller man closer, burning rage searing his neck; lying, conniving traitor, ungrateful coward -
Austria, to his credit, makes it difficult for Russia to hold him, nails digging into Russia’s wrist, leaving crescent-shaped indents in his skin. Austria thrashes, bringing his knee up - but before his attack connects, Russia kicks his legs without restraint and a hiss of pain is what he gets in reply. Russia pulls him closer, til their noses are almost tip-to-tip, Austria’s breath fanning over his face. Austria’s eyes meet his, gold on gold.
“Russland, let me go,” Austria hisses, putting up a remarkable front of fury. Yet underneath his anger Russia can see the unmistakable shadow of fear pooling behind his gaze; perhaps, it was the belated realization that the Slavic man was indeed far taller than him, indeed stronger, and that it’d been Austria himself who’d closed the office door. Austria flails again, “Russia-”
A large hand swallows Austria’s next words. Russia squeezes the sides of his jaw shut with no pretense of gentleness, silencing him.
“When Sevastopol remains standing,” He starts, tightening his grip on Austria’s uniform - “When I kill their men, when I send them crawling back, when Russia sits as the true heir of Rome-” Austria lets out a wheeze of disbelief. Russia ignores him, only clamping down his hold on his face. “Do you know the first thing I will do, Австрия?”
Austria’s hands dig against Russia’s, trying to free his mouth to no avail. Saliva dribbles down Russia’s wrist and into his sleeve. He shakes Austria like a doll, effortlessly light.
“I will remind you what you owe,” Russia growls. “I gave you your empire, Австрия, I gave you your crown and your throne. Everything you have is because of me.” Indignation flashes across Austria’s face; he renews his struggling, trying to kick Russia again. Russia hoists Austria higher, crushing his legs against the side of the table- “How hard would it be to persuade ‘your’ people to revolt again, I wonder? Imagine,” He breathes, forcing Austria ever-closer, watching the fear flicker to terror as he continues, “what they will think when I offer them my protection, when I rip you from the inside out-”
Austria bites against his hand.
The teeth slide against his palm, struggling to find purchase - Russia shoves his knee into the smaller man’s crotch, earning him a pained grunt. He throws Austria against the table, listening to the yelp and the thud when he lands against the wood.
Slowly, Austria picks himself up, groaning.
Russia stares down at him, wiping his hand on his shoulder.
“You are insane,” Austria chokes out, rubbing his chest. He stumbles against the side of the desk, placing it between him and Russia. “What in God’s name - what the fuck is wrong with you?” He spits, hunching over. “You - ugh,” A wince breaks his words when he tries to take a step backward, leaning on the table for support. “Get out.”
When Russia doesn’t move, still staring impassively, Austria raises his voice. “Get out!”
His bravado twists into a flinch when Russia suddenly complies; with a twist of his hand, he grabs his coat, kicking the chair it’d been resting on aside. Austria watches his every move and Russia wishes the man had the spine to try attacking him when he turns around, but Austria makes no noise of retaliation.
The door slams behind him.
Russia stares at the telegram, ignoring the balding minister who blabbers something about German states. It’d arrived hardly an hour ago, the latest of a flurry of dispatches.
Из Вены.
Австрийское правительство приняло прусские условия.
Перемирие заключено.
Подробности последуют.
A smile pulls itself onto his face. So Prussia had done it, after all. Not that Russia had had much doubt that Prussia wouldn’t win - no, if Russia was a more forgiving man, he might’ve felt pity for Austria. It was remarkable how fast Prussia had moved, and even more remarkable how utterly unprepared Austria had been.
A masterclass of underestimation. Russia places the telegram aside; he should send Prussia a congratulations, perhaps in the form of some beer that German liked. Later - he knew Prussia must be stressing himself silly dealing with the aftermath.
Russia’s gaze travels across the paper, reading the words again. It wasn’t only Prussia’s victory that Russia was celebrating. Even though a little more than a decade had lapsed since Austria’s betrayal (yes, it was betrayal, even if Austria claimed himself neutral) in the Crimean War, Russia had been hoping for this moment for a very, very long time. It was just a shame he hadn’t managed to make good on his word to Austria personally. His smile drops slightly at the thought. The war was still a sore spot.
But as he once again rereads the telegram, he finds elation settling in his chest again. How he wishes he could gloat. See what happens when you betray your allies, Austria? If Austria had simply kept out of the way, he and Russia may still be friends. If they were still friends, Russia would’ve supported him; if they were still friends, Russia could’ve stopped this entire war if he’d wished - one word to Prussia and Prussia would’ve stood down. The man was foolhardy, but not stupid.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a world they lived in. As it stood, Russia may live to see Austria collapse. The thought satisfies him more than he’d imagined it would. If Prussia gave Austria hell in reparations, then Russia would have to travel quickly to get one last word in with him.
He leans back, enjoying the thought of catharsis.