Russia prided himself in being able to accomplish things that other people thought were impossible. He had survived ridiculous odds over the years, put a man in space, and even more impressive, actually convinced America to visit his house in the winter. He really deserved a medal for that last one. It was no secret that winter wasn't America's season, and General Winter could be most unfriendly at times. It had been no easy task, but Russia had taken a page from America's own book and tried the well practiced tactic of following America around and chanting, "Pleasepleasepleaseplease." The method yielded results after only few days. America had caved, grudgingly packed his suitcase and caught the next flight to Moscow. He then proceeded straight to Russia's house, up the stairs and into Russia's bed. Normally, Russia felt that his bed was a perfectly acceptable place for America to be, but after a few days of America's attempts at hibernating under the blankets, they were both starting to suffer from cabin fever.

The real trick had been to lure America outside again. Offers of nice restaurants and sight seeing around the city did nothing to move him. Finally he found something that piqued America's interest: ice skating. America still took his sweet time getting outside, and refused to take one step past the front door until he had donned no less than five sweaters, but at least they were out and doing something together...almost like a normal couple.

Russia had entertained the daydream of the two of them gliding around the ice lazily, hand in hand, but America was intent on running frantic laps around the edge of the rink at top speed by himself. Russia just sulked off to the side, skating in lonely little circles until America passed him by on one of his laps. At last, America's orbit passed by Russia's way.

"Fuck, it's cold," America hissed as he slowed to a halt. "It's really fucking cold. Jesus Christ, is your coat unbuttoned? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It is warmer than it had been all week. Only...ah..." Russia paused and did some quick mental math to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit. "Only 22 degrees today. Not so cold at all, da?"

"Not so cold if you're a polar bear. Sit tight, I'm gonna do another lap or two. Gotta keep the blood moving or I'll freeze."

Russia grabbed at America's well padded sleeve before he could leave again. "Can we not skate together? If you must go fast, we could race..."

America's wind-reddened face lit up. "A race! Perfect! So do I get a prize if I kick your ass?"

"Ah, so confident in your victory? I will get a prize if I win too, da?"

"That's only fair, ain't it? Okay, three laps, you and me, mano-a-mano. OnyourmarkgetsetGO!"

America took off like a bullet, gaining a comfortable lead from the start and leaving Russia scrambling to close the gap between them. He could tell it was a losing battle; America's lead was too great, and it was only growing with each lap. America had always been fast on the ice, and Russia's forte was style rather than speed. Still, he pushed himself faster, to close the margin he would lose by as much as possible if nothing else. It seemed important to not just give up at one of his favorite sports.

He had loved ice skating long ago when he was small, long before the Olympics and competitions and even before proper skates existed. He just liked slipping and sliding around on the ice in his boots. He could remember the very first time he ever tried it, and how Ukraine stood at the bank and shouted for him to be careful not to fall, holding Belarus so she wouldn't chase after her brother onto the frozen pond. Oh, but he did fall. Many times. At first it didn't bother him. He would just crawl back to his feet and go back to skidding about on the slick surface, until he bit his tongue during a particularly hard fall. He reached up to touch his mouth, and it was all over once he saw the blood on his fingers. It was funny how seeing blood made his tongue hurt a lot more, and how it also reminded him that he had fallen quite a few times already on his knees and bottom, and that he was really starting to ache all over. At that point there was nothing left to do but burst into tears and run-slide his way back over to his sisters for some much needed coddling.

He had improved his technique a bit since then. People might call him a big-boned, clumsy bear, but he was graceful on the ice. Though not necessarily fast, he grudgingly admitted to himself as he crossed the imaginary finish line where America was waiting for him.

"WOOO!" he bellowed, waving his arms in the air. "THE CHAMPIOOOOON! Hey, what do I get for my prize?"

"Whatever you like," Russia sighed. "Within reason, of course. You may not ask for a spacecraft."

"Spoilsport," America laughed, sticking his tongue out. The race seemed to have warmed him up, or at least distracted him from the cold. "What are you looking glum for, huh? Are you bummed 'cause you lost?"

"O-of course not-"

"Okay, I got it! For my prize, I want you to do a trick!"

Russia cocked an eyebrow. "Trick?"

"Yeah! 'Cause I'm faster, but you're better at all the fancy jumps and spinning and stuff. C'mon, show off a little! You're the best at this stuff!"

Russia could feel his cheeks heating up at the unexpected praise. "Well..."

"Do a trick! Do the quad! I double...no, triple dog dare you!"

Ah, the legendary quad. Russia had been trying for years to get it just right, but so far he had only landed it properly twice. "Maybe an easier jump for now?"

"Don't wuss out on me, man! Do the quad! You can do it!"

All the commotion was starting to draw attention from a small crowd at the edge of the rink, Russia noticed with a wince.

"Look at that man over there!" he heard a woman say. "The one in the scarf! Is that Plushenko?"

"It can't be!" said another. "What would he being doing here?"

"But it looks just like him! I think it is!"

"Hm...he's really gained a lot of weight since the Olympics."

"Did you hear that boy talking to him? I think I heard him say something about a quad."

"Oh, is he going to do it? Quick, get the camera!"

Russia's face turned redder as he tried to shrink down inside his coat. Why did this always happen whenever he went ice skating? "I think we should go home now," he muttered.

"No way! Look, all those people are watching now!"

Russia cringed in embarrassment. "I know."

"So you can't let your audience down. Just one jump, that's all! Pleeeeeease? You look so cool when you do this stuff!"

At that, Russia's tongue decided to tie itself up in a knot. It was very hard to keep saying no when America was looking at him with such admiration. Finally he made up his mind and flashed a brash smile that would rival America's own.

"Stand back, please."

America beamed and did as he was told. A round of applause went up from the human audience when it became clear what was about to happen. Russia took a deep breath and began skating a slow circle to warm up. He could do this. He had landed a quad before! Not too often, maybe, but it could be done! He just had to focus. He built up speed, gearing up for the jump...jumped...turned once, twice, again, again...and realized all too late that his skate was coming down all wrong for the landing. The blade glanced off the ice and suddenly he was toppling over backward. He had only enough time to swear in his head and lament how stupid he must look before a sharp crack made the world turn dark.

When Russia's brain was working again, his head was resting on something soft. Ice was not usually soft. This was very confusing.

He forced his eyes open. Two Americas peered down at him. How odd. Russia was quite sure there was only one America last time he looked. This might be a problem. America could be terribly loud sometimes (especially first thing in the morning) so two Americas would be twice as loud. But on the other hand...America was very good at cuddling. So two Americas would mean twice as much cuddling! Russia could have one on his left and one on his right. It would be like an America sandwich! ...Or would it be a Russia sandwich? Sandwiches are usually named for what is in the middle, yes?

He pulled himself up sluggishly, blinking groggily. To his disappointment, the second America disappeared.

"Hey, lay back down!" the singular America scolded. "You took a real nasty fall there. How are you feeling? Dizzy? Woozy? Let me know if you think you're gonna puke, okay?"

Russia blinked again, slowly regaining his bearings. Ah, he was in his own bed. That explained the soft thing he was resting on, at least.

"Wha- happen?" he slurred thickly, flopping back down on the pillows. That was a mistake, as it sent the room spinning.

"You tried to do that quad thing, but...I dunno, it kind of looked like you tripped when you came back down, and then you fell back and hit your head. Man, it sounded awful. I almost thought we'd be cleaning brains up off the ice. Yuck. Anyway, you were out cold, and then all the people on the side were fussing about taking you to a hospital. And that was a pain, 'cause it's not like I could let 'em know that you weren't human and you wouldn't die even if you did spill brains all over the place, so I kinda made an excuse and picked you up off the ice and carried you back here."

"C-carry?"

"Yep. Bridal-style. I thought it would jar your head less."

Russia was suddenly glad to have been unconscious for that bit of embarrassment, and allowed his eyes to slip closed. "So...rry."

"Huh? What are you sorry for?"

"This...not any fun...for you...? Because...wanted you to have fun. With me. Only reason I...asked you to come..."

"Of course I'm having fun with you, dummy! Why wouldn't I be? ...oooh, this is a concussion symptom, isn't it? Yeah, I hear head injuries can make you feel all weird and depressed! Sit tight, I'm gonna make you some tea. That'll cheer you up!"

Russia cracked one eye open. "Vodka?"

"Nah, I don't think booze will fix you. It'll probably make your head worse."

"Vodka fix...everything."

"Tough luck. I'm cuttin' ya off until your well enough to get it yourself. Do you need anything else before I get the tea started?"

A memory bubbled up. He was a little boy, sobbing over his bruised knees from another fall on the ice. And big sister bent down and kissed his knees to make it feel all better...

His fingers felt about as sloppy as his tongue, but Russia managed to point to his aching forehead. "Kiss it better?"

America didn't bother to answer. He just grinned and leaned in to do just that, before dropping down to give Russia a quick peck on the lips. "There you go. Two for the price of one! You'll be better in no time. Maybe I should visit you next winter too. Who else is gonna kiss your ice skating booboos, huh?"

Russia sank down into the blankets happily, unbothered by the way the room continued to spin. America was going to visit next winter. The impossible had been accomplished yet again.