I told myself I was going to work on uninstall and this happened instead. I have no idea if I'm even going to continue this.

Have I published a Hetalia fic yet that doesn't have Lithuania in it? *checks profile* Nope. How am I still so bad at writing him? I swear, I use a different characterization for him in everything I write. ONE DAY, LIET. IT'S COMING.

Also, Shadows: book club. *wink wink* [Also, don't google "quotes from bad romance novels". It will scar you for life.]

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. I do own my computer and the idea for this... whatever it is.

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets, rattling along the housetops...

Ivan Braginsky didn't notice. He had a fire going, a patchwork quilt tucked around his legs, the scarf his sister had given him for his birthday wrapped snugly about his neck, the moose sweater his other sister had given him for Christmas vaguely scratchy against his arms, a glass of hot chocolate on the table beside him, and a book cradled in his large hand. Because he was home alone, he hadn't even bothered to wrap it in the book jacket labelled "Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman", like he usually did. The actual cover, now bared proudly to the world, was sickly pink, covered with roses, and had flowery cursive writing on it proclaiming that it was the fourteenth book in the "Heavenly Eyes" series, and then something about an angel and teapots and fencing.

The wind shook the window frame loudly. Ivan ignored it. His cocoa was starting to get cold, but it just made the mint flavor stronger, so he took another sip and hummed in satisfaction.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she felt his warm hand cup her cheek. Then his chapped lips brushed softly across her mouth, tasting like strawberries and basil. Sonya involuntarily slid her arms around him and leaned into the kiss. Their bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces.

Vasiliy never held her this way, she thought fuzzily, how had she not realized that this was what she had been craving all this time? Then she gasped and pulled back, as if she had been doused with ice water.

"We- we shouldn't be doing this," she mumbled, and even in the darkness she felt Alexei's stricken look.

"You have to give him a chance!" Ivan exclaimed. "Your husband never really cared for you anyway!"

Vaguely, over the howling of the wind, Ivan became aware of a fretful mewling. He groaned and set the book down next to his cocoa mug. "Boris," he sighed, dislodging himself from his warm, comfortable nest and trudging to the front door to let the cat in. The sudden draft as he yanked the door open was sucked through the hallway as if through a chimney; he flinched and shivered as a spray of rain soaked his hair. Behind him came a disapproving yowl.

"Huh?" Ivan turned and saw the huge grey cat sitting firmly on the carpet, shaking its fur with a growl of complaint.

The wails were still coming from outside. Ivan peered out into the darkness. If Boris wasn't making that noise, than what was? His hand groped on the wall until he found the switch and flicked on the porch light. The illumination was dim, but it was enough to make out a large cardboard box positioned carefully under the eaves with an umbrella taped firmly to the side, evidently an attempt to protect the contents of the box from the elements. Ivan picked up the box - it hardly weighed anything - and slammed the door shut again, shaking water out of his hair.

He examined the package. The lid had been taped down to the sides, at odds with the probable reasoning behind the umbrella - why would anyone make such an obvious effort to keep the box dry and yet leave it open? The box was apparently crammed full of blankets, and he wondered who could have-

Another piercing wail emanated from the box. Gingerly, Ivan reached out and flipped back the corner of one of the blankets. Huge, tearful blue eyes met his as the infant drew in a breath.

Ivan sank to his knees numbly.

Someone had left a baby on his doorstep.

Someone had left a baby on his doorstep.

What on earth was he supposed to do with a baby of all things?

.

Ivan would have made a panicky phone call to his older sister, but the storm, it seemed, had knocked out the telephone lines. Instead he knelt on the floor next to the box and carefully lifted the child out of its nest of quilts. Its tiny pink mouth worked frantically. It wants something. Food? Ivan glanced doubtfully at his cocoa mug. The baby didn't seem to have any teeth, so the candy canes were out and not that nutritious anyway, but hot chocolate had milk in it. Babies liked milk, didn't they? Awkwardly, he shifted the infant into the crook of his left arm, stiffening when it wriggled. What if I drop it and it breaks? With agonizing slowness, he tipped the mug into its mouth; it coughed and spluttered and started crying again. Ivan winced. Obviously that was not going to work.

It took a few tries, but eventually he settled on dipping his fingers into the by-now quite cold hot cocoa and letting the baby suck the sweet liquid off. Amazingly, the infant began to yawn, small tongue flickering out to lick up drops of cocoa from its lips, and suddenly it was asleep, or at least pretending to be. Ivan put it carefully down on the floor and turned back to the box. Maybe there were instructions? Like there had been in the box for his new microwave?

Unpacking the blankets took ages - at least he knew why the baby hadn't frozen to death. Underneath the linens, at the bottom of the box, were several plastic bags. He turned them out. Wipes, diapers, packets of something labeled 'baby formula', plastic cups with markings on them and strange lids made of rubber. And in the last bag, a sheaf of papers. He pounced on them.

The first few were, indeed, instructions. Detailed notes on how to change a diaper ('you'll want to grab both ankles at the same time and lift his legs up so you can get his back'). How to mix formula ('test it on the inside of your wrist first. If it feels hot to you, it'll burn the baby'). And one sheet with a sketch of the strange lidded cups, labeled neatly as 'this is a baby bottle. The rubber nipple goes in his mouth and he sucks it. Don't fill it more than 16 oz full and remember it's going to leak a little'. Then a diagram of how to fit the lid onto the bottle. Oh. Silently, he blessed the thoughtfulness of whoever-it-was, before remembering that the same whoever-it-was had left a baby on his doorstep in the first place and therefore did not actually deserve blessing.

The last paper was not instructions.

He stared at it for a long time before he worked up the courage to read it because it was obviously a letter and worse, the handwriting looked vaguely familiar although he couldn't think where from, and he was not ready for this.

Finally his curiosity got the better of him.

Dear Ivan,

Do you know, I almost wrote Vanya there, the way I used to. But I realize I've probably lost that right by now.

I don't even know what to say, where to start, and I feel so, so horrible for taking advantage of you like this... but you are the only person in this world whom I trust, and I know you and I know you never break your promises, and you did promise me all those years ago. "If you ever need me I will be there," you said, and I don't know if you remember but I do.

Have you moved on, Ivan? I hope so, I really hope so because of all people you deserve to be happy and not have a stupid girl and her petty drama poison your life. I really hope you don't even remember - goodness, how long has it been? Five years? Six? Seven? Since you finally worked up the nerve to confess to me and I turned you down flat? You'd better not still be mooning over me, Ivan, I know what a romantic you are and I saw your face when I said no. That weird face you make when you're trying not to cry. And all you said was "Oh. I see." Then you tried to pretend it hadn't ever happened and that it hadn't completely ruined our friendship and - Ivan? You have no idea, absolutely no idea how hard that was. All I wanted was to take it back, I wanted so badly to take you in my arms and let you kiss me, because I had a lot of reasons for rejecting you but not loving you wasn't ever one of them.

And now for those same reasons I can't keep Raivis with me anymore. It's too dangerous for him just as it would have been too dangerous for you. Ivan, I don't expect you to raise him. Put him up for adoption if you wish - if you feel it'll be better for him. I love him so much and I never wanted things to come to this, but I know I can trust you to somehow make sure he's taken care of.

Please?

I understand if you hate me, if you think we're not that close anymore - if we were never that close - when you said 'if you need me' I know you didn't mean something like this. But whatever you feel toward me will you put it aside? For Raivis' sake? He didn't deserve a mother who would have to do something like this. Because no matter how much I try to justify it I am abandoning him and I will never forgive myself for it. (Any more than I will forgive myself for what I did to you. I loved you so much it hurt and I couldn't even make you smile.)

I would sign this 'love', like I always did. But that would be too presumptuous of me when I've already presumed far too much.

Viltė

Ivan gripped the paper tightly in his shaking hands. Four years since they'd seen each other. No word for four years and now this? For he remembered, oh how he remembered, Viltė with her soft brown hair and sunny eyes and that sweet smile that once he would have done anything to see.

Blinking, he realized he had missed a hurried postscript:

I don't know how legally binding this is, but hopefully it'll help things go more smoothly?

I, Viltė Laurinaitytė, transfer full guardianship and full custody of my son Raivis (born November 18, 2001) to Ivan Zimavich Braginskiy. I am of sound mind and under no coercion from Mr Braginskiy to do this.

And then the scrawled signature that had been as familiar to him as his own.

He had loved her. He knew he had loved her, that it was no childish infatuation, and what was worse was she knew it too. The sorrow in her eyes when she'd rejected him had been his only comfort as he tried to forget about her, as the days went on and they pretended to keep the friendship they'd had since kindergarten. She had dropped out of school a month later, dropped off of the face of the earth for all he'd heard from her or of her. And now he knelt on his kitchen floor staring at an anguished plea to take care of-

Viltė's son,
said the part of him that was an incurable romantic and to tell the truth had never quite forgotten about her.

He's not even yours! How dare she dump this on you? said the other part - quite a large part, really, but he hesitated, because he didn't like to break promises and surely there was something he could do. Maybe the police could help take the child off his hands, she'd said that was alright, I know nothing about babies, it would be far better for everyone.

Then he made the mistake of looking down.

Raivis stirred on his lap, tiny fingers curling into the softness of his scarf. Long pale lashes fluttered on the infant's cheeks as the big blue eyes half-opened.

"gan," the little boy bubbled, and closed his eyes again. "ha."

Ivan sighed.

"I suppose we'd better get you a crib," he said, a little glumly.

"Oh, Vanechka," was his sister's response when he called her the next morning. Raivis had woken up far earlier than any human being had a right to be awake and was fretting because- because- well, to be honest Ivan had no idea why the baby was fretting, which was of course the problem.

"Katyusha," he begged, "You can say whatever you want later, but please, please, just come over? I have no clue what I'm doing!"

"Obviously."

She showed up not five minutes later, to find Ivan trying to figure out the workings of a disposable diaper, although at least the child had calmed down. She did a poor job of removing the smirk from her face, ushered her brother into the bathroom, and said:

"Clean up and go talk to the police. I'll take care of..."

"Raivis," he supplied instantly. Katya smirked again.

"Getting attached, are we?"

"Shut. Up." He swept out of the house with what he thought was a fair amount of dignity, then had to race back in with rather less dignity to put some matching shoes on. (Matching socks were unimportant, he decided, halfway to the police station. He really didn't want to go back and face the gauntlet of Katya's amusement again.)

"Laurinaitis?" said the policeman, examining the letter with an eyebrow raised. Ivan stared fascinatedly at said eyebrow. It looked like one of those fuzzy black caterpillars that ate his sunflower plants in summer if he didn't spray. Had Officer Churchman or whatever his name was tried using pesticides? He knew that they didn't always work. "There was a murder case a few years ago involving a Laurinaitis. We kept it fairly low profile because we suspected Mafia involvement. I wonder... you said you were good friends with Viltė?"

"I didn't even know she was pregnant. We hadn't contacted each other since... '97, I think? She wasn't in any relationships that I was aware of; that doesn't mean much, though - she was pretty secretive about her family and her personal life. I was her best friend and she still didn't trust me with anything, really."

"She obviously trusted you a bit more than you thought," Officer Eyebrows said drily. "I'll be frank with you. This is a very strange situation; however, I'm inclined to go with it. Since the mother has made her wishes so clear, I don't think this truly counts as abandonment, and your preliminary background check is totally clean. We'll run some more, and there's a lot of red tape involved in actually adopting, but for now I can't think of a reason you can't foster the infant."

Ivan opened his mouth to say something, but the door slammed open with probably more force than strictly necessary and a blond raced in shouting and then there was a lot of confusion while Ivan faded quietly into the background.

Officer Eyebrows finally turned to him with a grim face. "Officer Jones just got back from the bridge downtown. They found a body in the river - female, early twenties, brown hair, green eyes. I'd like you to come with me, see if it's - if you can help us identify her. It would explain a lot if..."

Ivan went, and it was Viltė.

Her face was peaceful, mouth curved up in a slight smile. It was a little at odds with the gaping hole in the back of her head where the bullet had entered, and the river water hadn't quite washed all the blood out of her soft brown locks.

"So what were your reasons, then?" he murmured. "Was this one of them?"

She didn't answer. There were rope marks on her wrists, the policemen said, and her back was laid open almost to the bone with knife wounds. Ivan wondered if she looked happy because she'd saved her son. Viltė had never cared that much about herself.

Um... cute and fluffy turns serious at the end! Yay!

Ivan, you're so adorable. :)

I think I'll add another chapter of this at some point, with some scenes from Raivis' gloriously messed-up childhood with Ivan and probably an explanation of what the heck happened to Viltė. Spoiler: lots of angst. Poor Liet. :I Oh yeah! I picked Viltė as Lithuania's female name after I read a story that used it instead of the rather-more-popular 'Viktorija', mostly because I liked it better :) It's a very common name for girls in Lithuania, and literally means 'hope'.

This is another story you can credit to my incredibly boring job and my tendency to do my daydreaming with a pencil in my hand. Also I'm still having trouble figuring out how to write Lithuania, either male or female, and I figured making him/her a posthumous character would help with that. (It didn't.) And the cute adorkable Russia who appears here and in Hands has been dubbed by me, "Pechka!Russia" and if you haven't listened to that song yet, go listen to it RIGHT NOW.