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Giving In	By : Artificial_Starlight Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1852 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, nor the characters withing. I make no money from the writings I produce

Chapter List
- 1-Hot
- 2-Cold
- 3-Here
- 2
- 3
Chapter 3: Ici: Here

Throughout the journey to Moscow, Matthew's survival instincts screamed at him to get the hell out of there. Everything would be fine when Ukraine was around, but then there were times when she went to the bathroom or stepped away to use the phone, and then Ivan's seemingly normal appearance would turn deadly. His threatening presence would make Matthew want to run all the way to America or England, screaming like a little girl, begging for forgiveness and crying hysterically. With every second he regretted his decision to help.

But that wasn't the worse of it… oh no. The travel from the plane, into a cab, and all the way to Russia's house (more like castle) was fairly easy compared to the little incident given to him by the one person who was suppose to keep him safe, and alive. "You're going?" His voice squeaked at the end and Ukraine looked at him curiously.

"I'm sorry, but my boss called, saying something came up. I need to get back, but I know you can handle everything, Canada. I'm so very relieved you decided to come, I know my brother will be okay with you here; besides I'll be back in three days-"

"T-Three…" Mon Dieu, He was going to faint. Out of his peripheral vision, Ivan's childish smile played across his face.

"Do not worry sister, Matvey and I will be fine, da?"

Was he the only one who noticed the tone; the one that hinted at his slow and painful death? Is this what the Baltic States had to put up with? He suddenly had a lot more respect for the three, somewhat unnoticeable nations that always seemed seconds away from tears.

"Alright," Ukraine conceded. "But if you need anything, just give me a call." Don't go!

Putting on a smile that was as deceiving as Ivan's, Matthew waved as Katyusha turned back to the cab they had recently vacated and slid in. As the car pulled away, Canada felt his life go with it and he watched with a sense of dread, waving goodbye with a smile on his face like an idiot even when the yellow vehicle left his sight. Gradually, the smile disappeared and his hand fell to his side. Taking a deep breath, he tried not to show his fear and turned to face Russia, forcing himself to look into the violet eyes. They were dark with… anticipation? Either way, Matthew quickly decided that it was frightening, especially when connected to that wide smile.

"We should go inside," His voice was but a small whisper, and he mentally berated himself for sounding like such a weakling; his brother wouldn't be so submissive. Picking up their luggage he decided that for the moment, he'd pretend he was Alfred; brave, brash, annoying Alfred. Except, maybe he'd omit the brash and annoying parts.

Ivan's smile grew, "Of course." Taking the keys from his pants pocket he opened the door and stepped out of the cold, leaving his boots in the hall. Matthew followed his example looking around curiously. The house was huge; the outside a dark grayish stone, the inside decorated in a mixture of earthy tones. Cool tile met his socked feet as he took off his sneakers, the stone smooth and dark, complimenting the off-white painted walls with wood outlining.

In front of the foyer Matthew could see the beginnings of a sweeping staircase splitting to both sides with elaborately carved railings and a large, sparkling chandelier above. To the right was the dining room; a dark wood table set with expensive china and able to seat eight. There was a tall cabinet on the far side of the room with a glass door to display rich dishes and goblets that most likely cost a fortune. Everything around Matthew looked to be in pristine condition and probably held historical value; the kind of artifacts that museums and archaeologists would die for.

There was no dust, no cobwebs, and no dark and doom dungeon facade that many others would have been expecting of Ivan's domain. In fact, the house looked to be well taken care of, organized and beautiful; fit for a royal. However the more he scrutinized the place, the more details he noticed. It didn't look used. The furniture was perfectly placed, the decorations strategically located to offer the best view, but the sofas looked to have been rarely sat on, the dishes never used. Candles never lit… it didn't feel homey, even though everything necessary was provided.

But perhaps one time, this was a home; back when the USSR had been together. He could imagine Lithuania cooking, Latvia cleaning, Estonia reading. He could see Ukraine laughing with Belarus and Russia nodding, periodically joining the conversation. He wondered what it would have been like, sitting at the dining table; would they have enjoyed the food and spoken to each other like a family?

Taking a glance at Russia, he tried to picture the man with a happy disposition. It was difficult. Even before the war, Ivan's smiles were full of childish cruelty; fake and unhappy. He had never seen the nation smile for real, not even in the company of his sisters, who he knew for a fact Russia cared very much for.

When Ivan turned to him, Matthew broke out of the somewhat depressing thoughts and tried to get back to the task at hand. "I-I can cook something, if you're hungry."

There was a small nod of agreement and the large man turned to walk through the house, Matthew behind him. They arrived at the kitchen and Matthew took in the view, once again wondering at the amount of money this mansion must have been worth; the utilities were restaurant-worthy. The countertops were dark brown granite, offset with dark wood cabinets. A large refrigerator with a touch-screen of some kind on its surface along with a water and ice dispenser. A chef's dream stove, a big oven, along with the small appliances like a coffee and espresso machine, microwave, and assorted jars containing sugar and whatnot. Everything available came in a stainless steel or black and brown.

A mini-bar to the side caught his eye and he took notice of the bottles in the cupboard. While most of them seemed to be some kind of vodka there looked to be many different kinds of alcohol; wine, champagne, even gin, rum, and tequila.

Stepping into the ultimate kitchen, Matthew couldn't help but feel a little giddy. Cooking was a hobby of his (probably inherited from France), and he could just imagine using everything here, making all kinds of meals and desserts. Which reminded him, what exactly would he cook?

Now was the time to admit his ignorance regarding Russian culture. "Um, what would you like? I don't know many recipes from this side of the world, I'm afraid."

"Does not matter, I will not eat."

"W-what do you mean?" Remembering his face in the car, he took a guess that nausea was a factor in his sudden loss of appetite. After all, they hadn't eaten since leaving the hotel, which was at least eight hours ago. "I'll make something light so it'll agree with you. I do know your potato pancake recipe. Would that be alright?"

Ivan's face remained blank, but he hesitantly nodded his head, "Draniki, is what we call it. That is fine."

Slightly happy that he was getting somewhere with the Russian, he made his way through the kitchen, finding and gathering ingredients and utensils. He quickly started to prepare, thanking his self-interest (it wasn't an obsession) in pancakes for leading him to memorize so many variations of them. From maple or cinnamon pancakes, to crêpes or Dutch pancakes, he'd found so many recipes of his favorite food, that he was bound to enjoy some form of the meal wherever he was.

In all actuality, potato pancakes weren't the typical fluffy, bread-like pancakes he was used to, but more of a patty. Still, it was quick to make, easy on the stomach, and good to eat.

At some point, Ivan left the kitchen, and Matthew's posture relaxed. Pretty soon he was lightly skipping around the kitchen, getting familiar with the place while humming a quiet, nameless tune in his head. Fixing up two plates, he set them on the counter and called Ivan, "Russia! Dinner is ready!"

Unfortunately, unless you were in the same room as Canada, his voice usually went unheard. Unless you were Kumajirou… if food was involved he suddenly seemed very active. Treading from around the corner, his claws making soft clicking sounds, he looked up at his friend, "Have you seen Russia?"

The bear tilted his head to the side, "Hungry."

Abruptly turning to the refrigerator, Matthew opened the freezer to find the two fish he had come across during his exploration. They were probably being saved for some kind of meal, but without anything else for Kumajirou to eat, these were the only option. A polar bear's diet was a very delicate thing. Giving them to his friend with an affectionate pat, he wandered around the house to look for his host.

The living room connected to the kitchen was empty. The fabric covered sofa looked warm and inviting, an abnormally large plasma screen in front, ideal for movies and games. Alfred had one even larger for that specific purpose, but he wondered what Ivan used it for (if he used it at all). Traveling down the brightly lit hallway, he passed the front door and into a double entrance next to it to find a library. Two story shelves full of literature that was probably only available in Cyrillic. Some books looked newly purchased while others were old and worn with age; the spines bent and frayed. In one corner, behind a glass window, there were scrolls; ancient and probably worth more than Matthew could believe.

This room looked significantly more important than the others; a stack of misplaced books, papers, and pens on the desk next to a laptop told the Canadian that Ivan visited this room quite a lot. However, the Russian was not here and Matthew felt as if he was intruding. Quietly backing away from the library he turned to the next door across the hall. He knocked on the wood before slowly opening the door, finding a large bedroom.

The bed was huge, definitely not a size readily available in stores. It had a dark red duvet and plenty of pillows in a lighter shade. The frame was a rich dark wood that matched the armoire on the other side of the room. Double glass doors lead to a veranda on the right, and a large fireplace was set to the left, outlined in the same wood as the furniture. Logs already in the pit, waiting to be used, Matthew could see that this room seemed more worn as well. Pictures sat on the end tables and fireplace mantel; he could see Ukraine and Belarus, a few of the Baltic States and Ivan's past bosses. No pictures of Ivan though, he noticed.

Sounds came from the left and he found another door most likely leading to a bathroom. "R-Russia," Canada called. The door swung open and Ivan stared at the nation with a blank face. His hair was damp and he wore new clothes, so it was obvious the man took a shower. "Um, food is ready. You should e-eat before it gets cold."

"Da."

Dinner was tense and quiet, much like it was back at the hotel. Ivan didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, and Matthew didn't want to take the chance of getting him angry. Although, the slight soothing of the Russian's brow as he took a bite of his food lifted the blonde's spirits. Finishing quickly, Russia stood, taking his plate to the sink and storing it in the dishwasher next to it, "There is a bedroom upstairs that you can use; the first door on the left. If you are to stay here, you will obey my rules and clean up your mess."

"Of course," Canada agreed, taking his own empty plate and setting it next to Russia's. "I can cook and clean, I won't be a bother, but I am here to make sure you get better so… if I obey your rules, you have to listen to what I say as well."

Ivan's eyes instantly narrowed and Matthew rushed to specify, "You have to get plenty of rest; I won't keep you from work, but limit it to a few hours a day. You have to eat what I cook for you, and I'll learn some Russian cuisine, so it won't be so foreign. And you have to let me help. I'll respect your privacy but if your fever gets high enough, I will bring it down, even if I have to push you into a swimming pool."

Russia's eyes didn't change from the glare harsh, but no matter how much he feared that look, Matthew wouldn't back down. He wouldn't be a pushover. He was an independent, strong nation, and he wouldn't submit to another, not even Russia. So as their eyes locked, Canada added a little glare of his own. "You think you can order me around, little one?"

With his height, Ivan easily towered over the Canadian and as he took a step closer, Matthew's oxygen supply seemingly decreased, but he didn't back away; frightened animals ran, weaklings ran. Canada would not give Ivan the implication that he could be controlled. "Not at all, but I'm not here to be your servant. I think it's only fair that we put in the same effort and get this over with. Three days to put up with each other, then Katyusha will be back and if you wish, I'll leave then."

They had a stare-down, Ivan's gaze unwavering. Matthew wasn't ignorant to the fact that Russia's tactics regarding an enemy relied mainly on psychological aspects. This was a game of chicken and Matthew refused to be the first to break away, it would only lead to more situations like this one in which Ivan believed he would just roll over.

Suddenly, Russia smiled, as if he won their little game. "Da, we should both work together then. Such a bright one you are." A big hand came to pat Canada on the head like a child and Matthew was too surprised to react before it moved away. "I will get better and you will learn respect, da?"

Finally getting his vocals back, Matthew stuttered for a second as Ivan turned from the sink, striding out of the kitchen to presumably go back to his room. "Спокойной ночи, Matvey." He bid goodnight.

You're the one who needs to learn respect! You ungrateful jerk! Matthew had a small rage in his head, full of all the comebacks and insults he wanted to throw in the Russian's face, but sadly, and pathetically in his opinion, he simply nodded, watching the man walk away with a livid expression.

"Nice." Kumajirou's voice brought Matthew's gaze to his friend who looked up from his seated position on the floor with a face that criticized everything he had done.

"Yeah, I could have handled that better, couldn't I?" Sighing, Canada cleaned up what he could of the mess he made cooking. When everything was put away neatly and the kitchen looked just as it had before, he picked up Kumajirou and went in search of his bedroom. Up the stairs and to the left… Wow.

It must have been a second master bedroom or something. It was huge. A large bed, probably as big as the one in Ivan's room. There was a large seated window on the other side of the bed, an armoire to the back. The bed had a light blue bedspread and bamboo colored frame which, of course, matched the dresser and end tables. Kumajirou wiggled in his grasp until Matthew let him drop to the floor. "Our house is nothing like this, is it Kumasaru?"

The white bear climbed up the bed and jumped onto the pile of pillows and Matthew laughed, running over to join him. They had fun bouncing on the bed and throwing pillows around before settling down. Canada sat up, planning on changing his clothes and getting into bed but he stopped short when he recognized his suitcase to the side of the door. Did Ivan put it there?

Not bothering to think about it too hard, he rifled through it, changing into a pair of pajama pants and shirt.

"Mon Dieu, look at this bathroom, Kuma!" A large black granite countertop with a white porcelain sink, full length mirror and a bathtub that could fit four people! The shower had three different showerheads and everything gleamed in white or black marble. "This guy has economy issues?" He asked himself. Hell, if the Russian sold his mansion, I'm sure he'd be rid of his debt.

Brushing his teeth, and getting ready for bed, he turned off his phone, put it on charge and climbed under the clean covers. Kumajirou curled up on the pillow near his head, giving Canada a lick to the brow as a goodnight gesture which was returned with a good scratch behind an ear. "Night, Kumajirou."

…oOo…

It was usual for Canada to wake early. He was a bit of a morning person (as opposed to America who slept in as late as he possibly could). So when he opened his eyes, ready for the day at six o'clock in the morning, he felt very well rested. His headache was less noticeable and his throat wasn't as scratchy as it had been yesterday. So, all in all, he was in high spirits. He got up, gathered some clean clothes and toiletries, and headed off for a shower. The water was hot, the pressure perfect enough to soothe whatever muscles had been sore, and upon finishing up, he felt cleaner than he had in a while.

"Ok," he mumbled to himself, dressed in some casual black slacks and a grey shirt with a white design on the front. "I should cook some breakfast first, then I'm going to need to go shopping, cause you have nothing to eat," He said to the polar bear, who he knew was awake, but was just ignoring him in favor of lazing around. "That means I need to change my currency." He had seen a currency conversion place just outside the airport when they had left, he would go there. "And after that I should wash some clothes."

Sighing at the chores piling up, he decided to go check on Russia to see if the man's fever had returned. Traveling through the house silently, he softly entered the bedroom door and tiptoed to the humongous bed, stopping short at seeing Ivan's face.

He looked too serene to be such a violent, cruel, and heavy nation of ill repute. His face was smooth, not necessarily happy or sad, but it held more significance than his blank expression usually did. Matthew idly wondered what sort of dreams Ivan had; what did a nation such as Russia think about? It was so hard to tell, his emotions were always fickly childish or outright threatening. But here, he looked almost normal, hulking frame covered in rich blankets, expansive chest rising and falling with every breath.

He was different like this… handsome, that was the word. It was strange to think of a man like Russia as being handsome. Ivan came with so much emotional luggage that it was difficult to see him with anyone, really. Especially when taking in the suitors; there was no nation he could think of that would be a very good match.

They all had baggage of their own; all of them had been through war and strife. Considering that, it was a wonder any nation could be with another at all. Marriages weren't for love anymore but for diplomacy or alliances. Nowadays everyone fought for something, and that inevitably drew others to get involved. Before anyone knew it, another war had started or an accident involving terrorists or revolutionaries occurred.

And yet, they kept trying. Like a magnetic field, the countries were drawn to each other. Whether by common interests, similar characteristics, cultural differences, or something else. They made enemies, made allies; the relationship always changing. A friend this century could be a bitter rival the next. It was constant chaos and yet they threw themselves into the fray; why?

Because it's lonely, that's why. The people they take care of, the humans they represent, die in a blink of an eye- their decisions are what keep them alive. Their bosses' choices weighing heavily on their future and making an impact with every bill passed, every word spoken. Nations themselves didn't get a voice in anything. It was their lives being controlled, their actions being scrutinized… they were freaks, living beyond all those who claim to be their masters and being passed down from one generation of leaders to the next.

Finding others like them, despite their opposing opinions, standards of fashion, foreign languages, and shades of skin; they were alike in the aspect that they would live for however long their rulers let them. They found comfort in the fact that they were not alone and sometimes, things worked out. Sweden and Finland could attest to that, having been together for many years, they set an example. But what about everyone else?

Would America find another nation, probably one among them now, to marry? What about England, or France, or him for that matter? Will I be lucky enough to find someone to love?

Looking at Russia, he worried if Ivan would too. Certainly, the ability to provide for whoever might come along would be there, but he didn't think the Russian would make a very good husband, domestically-speaking. He just couldn't see the man loving anyone the way a husband would love a wife.

Slowly extending his hand to the dubbed bachelor's face, Canada pressed his palm very lightly to the man's brow, judging the heat before moving away. Backing up and quietly out the door, he shut it behind him and let out the deep breath he had been holding. Russia seemed fine, his temperature low enough to be considered normal, but he doubted the illness had disappeared.

Matthew returned to the kitchen, smiling to himself as he set about cooking a big omelet with a side of bacon and a glass of orange juice. He was just about to wake Russia up when the man walked into the room, dressed for the day, though he looked slightly grumpy. The image of the man sleeping was indeed completely different than the Russian's demeanor now and Matthew quickly set the plate of food in front of him before starting on his. Determined to have conversation this time around, he jumped on a topic that would hopefully not cause tension. "I'm going grocery shopping today. Is there anything in particular you want me to cook?"

Ivan took a few bites before bothering to answer, "You should learn borsch."

"Ok," He turned to a cabinet above the stove and pulled out a heavy cook book he'd seen yesterday. Holding it out with a smile he asked, "Would it be in here?"

"Da."

"May I borrow it then?"

Once again, Ivan took his cleared plate to the dishwasher, storing it away neatly, "Don't lose it." He started to leave the kitchen but paused at the doorway, reaching into his pants pocket he took out his wallet and set five bills printed with "1000" on the counter.

Canada immediately started shaking his head, his arms flailing a little, "Don't worry about that, I was going to go to a currency converter anyway!"

Ivan gave him a look that silenced him quickly, "Then go, but if you are to stock my kitchen with food you will use my money." Matthew frowned, opening his mouth to make another argument but was cut off with a glare. "A mere five thousand rubles will make no difference in stabilizing my economy. This is one of my rules, are you going to defy me?"

Canada gaped like a fish, trying to think of some kind of comeback, but in the end, he simply crossed the room and split the cash on the counter, keeping three bills and leaving the other two. Five thousand rubles is equivalent to about two hundred Canadian dollars, so three thousand is roughly one hundred. His voice was back to a whisper, much to his disgust, "Fine, but I don't need that much."

Ivan took one of the abandoned bills and held it up, a creepy smile on his lips, "You will if you are buying vodka."

Mauve eyes narrowed and Matthew looked up at Ivan with a very disagreeable expression. "But I'm not buying vodka," He said slowly.

"Da, you are."

The money was forced into his hand and Canada groaned, honestly, he was getting nowhere with the Russian. Stubborn as all hell, perhaps that's why he and Alfred didn't get along. "Fine, I guess I am. C'est des conneries." Russia's smile grew.

"When you return I will be working, I will want vodka then."

Nodding exasperatedly, Matthew turned, clearing the countertops of the dirty plates and pans, "But if you feel bad; dizziness, nausea, or if your fever returns, stop working, okay?"

Ivan seemed to grind his teeth, "Da." The conversation was over and the Russian spun on his heel, exiting the kitchen to go to his library where there would not be an annoying Canadian trying to tell him what to do.

Matthew just sighed, wondering why every conversation of theirs had to end so unpleasantly. Heading to the door, he put on his shoes and left. Hopefully the fresh air will do me good.

Once on the main road he waved down a taxi and spoke slowly in Russian (there were so few words that he knew, and the driver looked like he had a hard time understanding, so he could only assume that his attempt at communicating was terrible)… mostly he just used symbols and in one instance stuck his arms out and made plane noises to resemble the airport. It was humiliating and he swore to never tell anyone of that ever. The driver laughed, but apparently, that got through to him because they arrived at the correct destination within twenty minutes. Paying the man, he waved goodbye, a little confused at the driver's answering farewell. He knew it wasn't 'goodbye,' as that was one of the few Russian words he had in his vocabulary.

Committing the saying to memory, he walked into the building and looked around for the currency store he had seen. The workers were Russian too but they understood English fairly well and they were happy to help. Getting the equivalent of five hundred Canadian dollars exchanged for rubles, he safely tucked it away in his wallet and left for the grocery store that was conveniently located across the street.

Vodka… vodka… what kind of vodka did Ivan like? He asked himself, standing in front of the alcoholic beverage shelf; it was full of all different kinds of bottles. Beer, wine, rum… He didn't speak Russian, and he definitely couldn't read the Cyrillic language. Which one was which? Remembering that Ivan's bottle from the hotel room had a red label, he tried to find one based on that. That narrowed it down real well. Sarcasm; a very useful thing.

"Водка," He murmured to himself the label of one. That sounded a lot like vodka. That works.

…oOo…

Inside his library, Ivan typed away on his laptop, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. Shuffling through papers, he found the ones containing the information from the last world conference meeting, reading and copying down what he found to be important. Unfortunately, his concentration wavered every ten minutes or so as he thought about his 'guest.'

The Canadian annoyed him.

Coming up and claiming he had a duty to help him get better. Did the boy really think he could nurse him back to health? No, it was impossible. It wasn't a sickness that could be cured with medicine. It was a physical manifestation of what his country was going through, he wouldn't get better until his economy did and if he went by the news anchor's predictions, that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

So what did Canada plan to do? Despite the boy's naïve demeanor, the kid was quite bright, he meant that. Now, if only the nation could shut up and do as he was told. Then they would get along fine. In fact, Matthew reminded him of Lithuania at times, and Russia always liked Toris.

They were both quiet, they seemed to enjoy their space, they stuttered at times (it would be cute if they weren't so skittish), and they definitely knew how to cook. Yes, he found himself enjoying little Matthew's meals, and he knew the food would be even better once he learned Russian dishes.

He found it confusing though how their mannerisms were similar, and yet, Canada was infinitely more complicated than Lithuania. Was that because they were from different parts of the world? After all, he knew Toris for a very long time; they were close, physically, geographically, and emotionally speaking. Canada was a new acquaintance, part of North America… Alfred's little brother.

Maybe that's what messed him up; thinking about Matthew's family. Really, the nation was related to England, France, and America… that alone should influence him into becoming a hyperactive grumpy nation obsessed with tea, coffee, high class food, and sex. But so far, Ivan had only seen a quiet, friendly (a little too friendly), boy with no outstanding qualities (besides the bear). He didn't look too into tea, as every time they had a meal, the blonde drank water, and he was too calm for coffee. The coffee machine had not been tampered with that morning either.

He wasn't even going to think about sex. The boy seemed way too reserved for that, blushing and stuttering like a teenage girl, nothing like France at all. But he spoke French and cooked like Francis, spoke in a dignified manner with respect, like England, and had the fire of determination, like America. It was perplexing, and the only reason Ivan had let things go so far was because he was having a difficult time figuring the blonde out.

It was his fault in the first place. He had stupidly left his door open when he returned to get his keys that night. He was so dizzy and sick that he hadn't seen his suitcase in the middle of the floor. Next thing he knew, he was face down on the hard carpet, struggling to breathe. His lungs had burned, his throat had ached, his head had pounded and then, he was moved and for a long time he thought it was Alfred above him, wiping his forehead, and taking off his coat. He'd been beyond angry; at the person who kept touching him, at the economy that started all of it and at himself for not keeping a better front.

He had expected Alfred to tease him, annoy him, tattle on him, and take the moment to exploit his weaknesses. Imagine his surprise when the boy didn't do either of those things. Matthew Williams, Canada, was definitely not anything like his brother. He didn't know if this was any better though; being treated like a child.

Canada was too close, unashamed of trying to help and unwilling to leave him when Ivan threatened bodily harm. That never happened before. The Baltic states practically ran from the vicinity when he showed his displeasure, the other nations made excuses and left with dignity, even those like America knew when to leave him alone (insulting all the way out the door but obeying his wishes nonetheless).

And while Matthew didn't insinuate any masochistic tendencies (retreating when necessary, proceeding with caution), the boy stubbornly refused to stay the hell away. He even told Ukraine! His dear older sister did not need to know about his state of affairs. He had gone through great lengths to make sure she remained ignorant. Then Canada ruined all of his carefully disguised troubles in one minute; making the situation worse by forcing him into a bath!

He was furious. Now his sister would worry about him. Katyusha had problems of her own, there was a reason he'd withheld this from her!

Thinking about all of this, his anger from before resurfaced. Three days with that boy who didn't know his place… Ivan wondered what he would do during that allotted time. Subconsciously, he knew he wouldn't get anywhere with him. Matthew, no matter how shy, had proved that he would not simply roll over. If anything, he was like America in that way. But he had been easily convinced to follow his rules… So, he refused to be his slave in a nice way?

That was definitely what it seemed like. Canada had a certain charisma; nothing like America's, but it worked for him. Shyly and respectfully declining propositions with intelligent replies. "I think it's only fair that we put in the same effort and get this over with."

Such a diplomatic answer.

The sudden ring of his phone brought him out of his thoughts and he reached for the receiver with one hand, rubbing his temples with the other, Бог, would this headache ever end?

"Привет," He called his greeting.

"Ivan."

"Ah, Medvedev, bring me good news, da?"

"Da, my friend, it is very good news." Strange, the man seemed extraordinarily happy for some reason. Not like a leader who was struggling with the declining economic mess. That raised the Russian's hopes that this would be getting better soon. "I've just had a meeting with Canada's boss, Mr. Stephen Harper. He's sending full support for our economic stimulation pack."

Moments of silence passed as Ivan came to terms with what was just said. "Did you hear, Braginski? This is just what we needed, with Canada's help we'll have more than enough to pull through!"

"That's… great."

"I heard he was with you?"

"D-Da," Oh no, his speech was being affected. Clearing his throat (which threw him into a fit of coughs) he breathed deep before replying. "He went shopping, he will be back soon."

"Good, very good," Then a pause, "Does he know Russian?"

"Нет, but I think he will be fine, da?"

"Of course, I was thinking that I would visit tomorrow. Meet the nation in person."

"That is fine."

"Good! See you then, Ivan, be well."

Ivan returned the phone to the cradle, staring blankly at a shelf of books. So Canada was serious about this. But why is he helping? How does this benefit him?

Something brushed against his leg and he snapped his head down, seeing the white polar bear Matthew must have left behind. Warm black eyes blinked owlishly up at him and Ivan simply stared back, not knowing what the bear wanted from him.

As if bored with the whole affair a large yawn split the white muzzle wide, showing the sharp teeth that Russia had the pleasure of testing. Pulling himself up onto the man's lap, the animal flopped down with a satisfied grunting sound, getting comfortable and looking about ready to sleep. Russia continued to flounder at the bear's lack of manners. "Who are you," He asked, scowling, putting off a threatening aura.

"Kumajirou," The bear replied, and yet he didn't move or even look at him. It annoyed Ivan all the more.

"Like master like pet, you're just as aggravating at that damn Canadian." But Kumajirou was already snoring away.

…Thank You…

Translations:

Mon Dieu (French): My God

Спокойной ночи (Russian): Good Night

C'est des conneries (French): This is stupid (better translated as 'this is bullshit')

Водка (Russian): Vodka

Привет (Russian): Hello

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any other copyrighted subject I may have mentioned, I make no money from this.

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