Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

They sat across from one another, preferring to stare at the scratches on the wooden table rather than at each other. They were uncomfortable and quiet. America, trying to diffuse the awkwardness, was chattering on and on about something, but Ivan was not paying any attention.

Masha sat on a stool in the corner, glowering at the men at the table. Ivan would not look at her: the look of betrayal and pure hatred was not pretty, and he didn't think he could handle her wrath right now. The war had been long, the nights cold. Ivan didn't want to look at her at all.

"Well guys, this is it!" America bubbled, smacking his hands down on the table and making the men jump. "Lets discuss this. We're going to take our time and get to the root of the problem. Okay?"

Japan sighed, and Ivan noted that he looked as exhausted as Ivan felt.

"Here's the thing," America said abruptly, more quietly than Ivan had been expecting. "Agreeing to end a war is not a victory, or a defeat. It's just that: agreeing to end a war. And I think that's what you both want right now."

There was a hiss in the corner from the little girl in pigtails. Japan's head snapped sharply to the side as he hissed back, "Nanami, be silent."

Nanami. So that's what he called her, Ivan thought. He suddenly could not stop himself, and glanced over at her.

She was perched on a stool, her little feet not touching the ground. Her sickening pale maroon eyes were smoldering, her brown hair barely brushed her shoulders, and her cheeks still had some baby fat. She couldn't have been more than five.

Hadn't she been older, before? At least fourteen or fifteen?

"Gentlemen," America said. "I've made a layout of conflict-ending agreements. Would you review them?"

They agreed. They looked at the paper, and found the terms suitable. Ivan looked at Masha again, and found she'd grown even smaller. Her pigtails were nubby now, her limbs short. Three years old, maybe?

But still the same look of horrible hate in her eyes. And the teeth... Still the teeth.

"Russia... To peace?"

Ivan looked up to find Japan (no, Kiku, Ivan wanted to call him by his first name again) holding out his hand to shake. Without hesitation, Ivan took it. Their grip was brief but firm, and then Kiku turned away to leave.

Ivan looked back at Masha, but the stool was empty.

Is there anything you readers would like to see happen? Any character or scenario? Feedback.