Chapter 1

It should have been a sign of just how numbed everyone was to Russia and America's antics that they did not even bat an eyelash as the two blatantly worked to rile each other up. Indeed, their roughhousing had become, in a word, routine.

But what would occur today would actually be far from routine.

Unsuspecting of the turn today's events would take, England did little more than roll his eyes as America smirked and continued to goad Russia, who returned fire with relish. Japan's passive expression did not change as he simply sidestepped the others as he walked. Italy continued talking with Germany as though nothing of interest were happening.

There was no reason for such actions. Everyone was aware of the softer looks the two countries sent each other, going out of their way to exchange gentle touches, perform subtle little displays to incite reactions of a more scandalous nature in the other. No, this teasing and needling and physical display of strength was simply them unable to help themselves. After a thriving romance withered to barely checked rivalry, even after affection was allowed to bloom with the spring thaw, Russia and America had had a taste of competition together and found they liked it. And so their renewed relations had something more. And they were letting out that something more in the hallway outside of the conference room.

"Fine, don't use your possessed scarf. I can still beat you with both hands tied behind my back," America boasted. Anyone who had been listening to the exchange would know they were proposing a wrestling match.

"Aaah," Russia sighed musically. "A beautiful sight that would make."

America snapped his fingers in front of Russia's somewhat glazed eyes. "Mind out of the gutter, Braginsky. Unless you're just so excited for me to take my prize when I win."

"I am excited to see you proven wrong. Again." Russia looked him over, mind a little more focused away from that earlier tantalizing prospect, though thoughts clearly not particularly pure.

America scoffed dismissively, stopping where he stood. Wheeling round, he jabbed a finger into Russia's chest. "All I'm hearing is someone looking to avoid something he knows he's going to lose."

Russia stepped closer, America's finger pressing harder into his chest even as he grabbed it. "You know I do not avoid anything." It was with the increased pressure of his hold on America's finger that their tussle began. When America felt his finger being forced to bend a way it certainly was not meant to, he squirmed, free hand flashing out in retaliation. Russia relinquished his hold in favor of meeting America's strike, and soon the two were grappling, jabbing, kicking, pulling…and laughing. Light flashed across the lenses of America's glasses, masking the confident glint in his eyes but replacing it with something more dangerous. The sight alone drew an enticed smirk from Russia as the two continued to wrestle, their actions almost completely ignored by the rest of the world. A few glanced their way out of curiosity, or shook their heads in parental disapproval (such a response was reserved for England). On the two fought, America wriggling in Russia's hold, his back pressed to Russia's chest as the other slipped two cool hands under his shirt, fingertips dancing over sensitive skin.

"Augh- no…fair!" America choked out through his forced laughter. He jerked and writhed, chest heaving with mirth as he tried in vain to escape Russia's fingers. The heels of his feet squeaked against the polished floor as he tried to push Russia back, back against the wall. The slight thump behind him told America he had made progress, as Russia was now sandwiched between the wall and his captive. "Hands…off!" America gasped, prying at Russia's hands. Sensing defeat, Russia changed his course; in one fluid motion he tugged the hem of America's shirt up over his chest, covering his face, letting the fabric hook onto America's head. Without pausing, though wishing he had a better view, Russia resumed tickling with one hand, and pressing his cold flesh to America's stomach with the other.

It felt like an ice cube was sliding over his heated skin. The combined sensations and restrictions drew a particularly violet jerk from America; with a heave, he arched back, body and head driving Russia in turn back against the wall. Through the sounds of his own struggling, America heard a potent crack behind him, and the hands on him slipped away. Scrambling forward, America righted his shirt, face considerably more red than it had been before their scuffle. Panting, he turned to his opponent, nodding in approval at seeing Russia slumped on the floor, one hand cradling his head, the other pressed against the back of it.

"See? That's just a preview of how our match will go down." He nodded, flashing a triumphant, albeit tired, grin. Stepping back over, he extended a hand to help Russia up.

Russia's head barely moved as he tried to inspect the figure before him. His eyes roved blearily left then right, making no sign of acknowledging the hand offered to him.

"America?" Russia asked in a hollow voice.

America raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, big guy?" he asked patiently, still waiting to pull Russia to his feet.

Russia's head turned, a broken moan escaping him with every movement. He stared blankly somewhere to the left and down of America's face. "America?" he said again, eyes widening in mounting dismay before fluttering in equally potent discomfort. He rubbed at his head, face twisting in a grimace, body swaying slightly. A few people had congregated to where the two had fought now.

"Yeah? I'm here." America's easy smile steadily slid into a confused frown. "What's up, hot stuff?" He waited in the same position as Russia shakily swayed and groaned.

At last, Russia raised a hand. But it was not to accept America's proffered one. Rather, it was to raise in front of his own paling face, back and forth.

"I cannot see."

.。.:*・° .。.:*・°

Notes: Heeey, look at me with another multichapter fic! I feel less guilty about starting this, though, since I finished Red on White, my OC fanfic is partly for myself, and I am starting to work on End of Endings again. I feel good about doing this multichapter fic; I have plans and priorities. I'm done with classes at a college I didn't want to go to. I am taking a science course, but it's just one and like I said, I feel better about how I handle my time and goals. So, with chapter one, I present you the beginning of Blind Spot! Enjoy!

Also, while I'm putting this as humor (along with romance), that may change, as inevitably I will incorporate hurt/comfort elements into it. I'll make that change when we get there.

Next chapter Russia receives medical attention and a formal diagnosis. America, meanwhile, receives his special assignment. See you there!