My first R/A. Written for deathfairy_01 on lj as part of the Russiamerica comunity's Spring Fanfic exchange. Enjoy!

It had all started simply enough. It was at a meeting with their bosses, to further hash out the nuclear disarmament plan they'd recently made (an uncomfortable subject for both countries). Russia had arrived clutching a somewhat-battered looking sunflower, which he promptly presented to America as though this was business as usual. America didn't know what he was expecting, maybe something about peace and the beauty of the natural world. Something related to disarmament at any rate. What he certainly was not expecting was, "For you. It matches your hair, da?"

He was just about to start explaining to Russia that heroes were manly and didn't accept girly flowers from their sort-of frenemies, but his boss stepped on his foot. Hard.

"Ah! Uh, thanks, then." His eyes were watering slightly from the unexpected assault on his toes, which weirdly only seemed to encourage Russia, who was suddenly smiling like it was 1957 again. America was thankfully spared any further awkwardness by Medvedev, who cleared his throat and greeted Obama, setting off the usual exchange of pleasantries before the meeting got underway.

Things proceeded smoothly enough from there, although America had no idea what he was supposed to do with the dumb flower. It would probably be a bad idea to throw it out while Russia was watching, anyway, so he set it on the table and firmly ignored it. What wasn't so easy to ignore was Russia's stare burning a hole into the side of his head. America tried to pay attention to what their bosses were saying, although he really didn't need to; he and Russia were mostly there for the photo op anyway and his boss would fill him in later on what they'd decided. Today he was going to be responsible and listen, though. He was definitely not going to get into a staring match with Russia. He was way too mature for that.

Less than ten minutes after his resolution to pay attention, America's eyes were tearing up as he stared into Russia's freakish purple irises. Must…not…blink… It was too much. America's eyelashes fluttered helplessly and he bent over his papers, trying not to be too obvious. When he glanced up at Russia, though, he looked disappointed. Whatever, he was being weird today. Maybe it was the jetlag.

For the rest of the meeting, Russia tried to make eye contact and America tried to avoid it. Whenever he tried to focus on what their bosses were saying, he would inevitably be distracted by Russia's intense gaze. It was almost the sort of look he had been used to back during the Cold War, and it was honestly making America a little nervous; not because he was afraid of Russia, but rather that he was afraid Russia might be trying to start something again. It had been bad enough the first time. He had no desire to repeat the nasty, jealous game of chicken they'd played for decades.

It was a relief when Obama and Medvedev decided to call it a day. America didn't know how he was going to last through two more days of this. Maybe if he was lucky they would finish early and Russia could go back to being a creep in Moscow, not Washington DC. America almost forgot the sunflower when they got up to leave, but remembered to grab it at the last second. It certainly looked like Russia had a done a number on the thing. The stem was bruised, like someone had been gripping it too tightly. Had he brought it all the way from home? America shook his head and turned to shake hands with Russia and his boss. It wasn't worth worrying about. Russia would probably be more normal tomorrow, at least, now that he had gotten the weirdness out of his system.

- - - - -

It was too much to hope for.

Russia came in the next morning clutching a rose, of all things, which he handed to America with his customary smile. Their bosses, who had been making small talk, suddenly grew very quiet. America had no idea what he was supposed to say. It had probably been a mistake to even take the thing from Russia. To avoid responding, he examined the flower. The thorns had been carefully picked off; whether by a florist or Russia himself America couldn't tell. It was a deep red – The color of lovers, America thought, and snorted.

"You like it?" Russia was suddenly much too close for America's comfort, and he tried to lean back without being too obvious about it.

"Yeah, sure," America shot a glance at his boss, who looked similarly bemused. "If you don't mind me asking, though, what's with the flowers all of a sudden?"

Russia frowned. "Is it not traditional to show affection this way?"

America was a little taken aback. "Well, yeah, but you don't usually…" He caught something moving in his peripheral vision. His boss was making a tiny slashing movement across his throat; America could only guess that he wanted to keep the talks as low-tension as possible. "Uh, I mean, yeah, that's fine. Thanks."

Russia brightened. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was smoothly interrupted by his boss, who stepped forward and suggested that they all start the meeting.

America had been hoping that Russia was finished staring at him after all the fun he'd had yesterday avoiding the other's gaze, but no such luck. He was once again trapped in an awkward one-sided staring contest. After about two hours of this, when America felt like he could positively take it no longer, he jerked his head up and sent Russia a fierce glare. Russia looked momentarily upset, even a little hurt, but he perked up when America mouthed 'Stop it' to him, and his smile popped back up like it had never left his face. He shot America what the other nation could only interpret as a fond, indulgent sort of look.

Weird. He was just too weird! America shook his head a little and tuned back in to the meeting. "…Would encourage North Korea to follow suit," his boss was saying. Medvedev nodded, and America's interest waned again. There was probably just some signal he'd missed, some reasonable explanation for the flowers and the staring. Maybe it was time to dig out that book on the atmosphere he and Italy had found and reread it.

The day seemed to drag on, and more he tried to ignore the nation sitting across from him, the harder it became. He played briefly with the stem of the rose he'd been given to distract himself, then realized Russia was beaming at him. There was probably anthrax on it. America could have cried with relief when Obama and Medvedev finally got up to leave, as unheroic as it would have been. He grabbed his papers and his rose (it was too late if it did have some horrible disease on it), shook hands with everyone, and got the hell out of there.

- - - - -

The third and final day of the conference, Russia showed up with a bouquet of thirteen red roses and America choked on his coffee. Russia's boss looked exceedingly uncomfortable. He and America's boss watched, both clearly at a loss, as Russia offered the bouquet to America, who was still coughing up his Starbucks. Instead of taking the flowers, America grabbed ahold of Russia's arm and pulled him down the hall. Once they were safely out of earshot, he rounded on Russia with a fierce glare.

"Seriously, what the hell is with you?"

Russia didn't appear upset by his outburst. "This is what they do in American movies to win someone's heart, yes?"

"Well, yeah, maybe if I was a girl and we were dating…It's not okay to just give someone roses out of the blue."

"Ah, should I have given them to you in private? Our bosses want us to be closer, so I thought it would be okay now."

"That's not—"America stopped, a sudden thought striking him. Come to think of it, it was almost April. He was known for going crazy on April Fools' Day; it fact he had gotten Russia pretty good last year. Maybe this was all an elaborate practical joke to get revenge?

Well. Two could play at that game. He lowered his voice a fraction and tried to look embarrassed. "I don't really think our bosses need to see stuff that's just between you and me, you know?" Russia nodded, seemingly encouraged by this. America tried a step further. "Speaking of which, why have you been staring at me these past two days?"

"Huh? Staring?" Russia asked, sounding puzzled. "Don't lovers often look into each other's eyes?"

America quickly turned his surprised laughter into a cough. This was actually a pretty good prank; Russia was being very convincing. "I guess they do," he managed, then quickly turned to hide his grin. "We should head back; they're probably ready to start by now. And remember, no more PDA, okay?"

Obama and Medvedev looked relieved to see no injuries on either of them. The meeting flew by much more quickly than it had on the past two days. Without Russia distracting him, it was much easier for America to concentrate – although now what he was mostly thinking about was how to anticipate what Russia's next move would be. If he thought he could pull one over on Alfred F. Jones, he still had a lot to learn.

- - - - -

Three days later, America was back in New York.

"Yeah, it was crazy, Matt," he laughed into the phone cradled against his ear, "You should have seen my boss – eyes the size of dinner plates, I swear!"

America shifted on the window ledge, trying to get a better view of his city. "That's not all, though. I think he's really taking this whole joke pretty seriously. Guess what I got the other day?" He barged on without waiting for Canada to respond. "Chocolates! Hey, don't laugh, I'm serious! They were nice ones, too. Godiva, I think."

On the other end of the line, Canada's laughter had mostly subsided. "Really? Did you return them?"

America snorted. "Hell no, they were good chocolates! How often do you get Godiva delivered to your doorstep for free? Well, I mean, alright, Valentine's Day, but still. Thanks for what you sent me this year, by the way. France's was better, but yours wasn't awful." America suddenly had the strangest feeling that Canada was rolling his eyes on the other end. It was probably nothing, though.

"Anyway, I got some more this morning. I guess it took them a while to figure out they had to deliver them up here. They were pretty tasty."

"You already ate the whole thing?"

"Yeah, all except the dark chocolate."

"…That's disgusting, Al."

"Huh? Did you say something, Matt? Anyway, you're coming on Monday right?"

That feeling again, the eye-rolling feeling. "Yes, Al, I'm coming on Monday. It is a world conference, after all."

America hummed to himself, pleased. "Good, 'cause I'm hosting."

"I know."

"I think England's coming down early to go over my notes and stuff, so don't feel bad about showing up a day or two ahead of time, okay?"

"I'll see if my boss is okay with it. I'll definitely be there first thing on Sunday if not."

"Sounds great!" America chirped, "See you then!" He hung up without saying good-bye; Canada always seemed to figure it out.

- - - - -

The first thing England did when America let him in was to fuss over the state of his apartment. America sat back and watched as England cleaned all the papers, wrappers, and old pizza boxes off his floor, folded his dirty clothes and put them in his hamper, and finally made them both tea. America had told him a hundred times that he hated tea and coffee was much better, but he let him do it anyway. England was always easier to deal with after he had gotten most of the mother-henning out of his system.

"So, you wanna see my notes and stuff? It's gonna be awesome, I can't believe I was lucky enough to get the April Fool's Day meeting." America said as he sat down, cheerily ignoring the cup of tea England placed in front of him.

England took his own seat at America's kitchen table. "Yes, I do want to review what you're planning at some point today, but first I wanted to talk to you about something."

America leaned back in his chair. "Shoot."

England cleared his throat delicately. "I don't mean to pry," he began, "But… Are you and Russia, erm, involved in any way?"

America bit his tongue to keep from laughing. "Sure we are," he said, watching England shift uneasily. "We're both in the G8, the G20—"

England seemed to have caught on. "That's not what I bloody well meant," he snapped, "I mean—well, it's just that he called me the other day, asking after you. So we talked about you for a little while and then…" England looked nonplussed, "Well, then he asked me if I knew any good love poems."

His tongue was starting to hurt. "Yeah, go on. What did you tell him?"

With effort, England raised one of his eyebrows, clearly suspicious of where this was going. "I recommended a few of my own poets, of course, but I also told him that the best poems are those you compose yourself—what are you laughing about?"

America couldn't hold back his laughter anymore. "Nothing much. That just explains what I got yesterday." He got up, fishing around on the counter for a minute before he found what he was looking for. England watched as he returned to his seat, waving a letter at the other country. America flipped it over briefly so England could see the neat Cyrillic going down the page.

"Can you even read that?" England asked, looking skeptical.

America huffed indignantly. "Of course I can! Tons of Russia's kids live at my house. This stuff is a breeze for me!" England had his doubts, particularly as he'd noticed an English-Russian dictionary sitting on America's counter, but he decided it would be wiser not to comment. "Russia's just playing an April Fool's joke on me anyway," America continued, setting the letter down.

"Are you sure?" England asked doubtfully. "He sounded fairly serious to me."

America waved his hand as if to say, 'don't be silly'. "Yeah, I'm sure." He grinned as he suddenly remembered why England was there and bounded out of his seat. "But come on, come see my plans!" England cast a long look down at his half-finished tea, but reluctantly left it and followed America down the hall. He could only hope his little brother knew what he was getting himself into.

- - - - -

After England left, America plopped down onto his couch. It was a lot of work hosting a world conference, and he was tired out from all the planning he's already had to go through. He knew from experience that tomorrow would only bring more challenges – things inevitably would go wrong and require him to come up with quick solutions. There might be flight delays, rooming issues, or disputes among the dozens of countries that would soon be gathering in his city. It was nice to relax for a little while and not have to worry about everything.

Predictably, America's rest was interrupted almost as soon as he had lain down. He raised his head, irritated, as his doorbell chimed. With a sigh, he hauled himself off the couch and ambled to the door, trying to school his expression into something slightly less grumpy than he was sure was already on his face. A young, slightly nervous-looking boy dressed in a McDonald's uniform was waiting on his doorstep.

"Ah, hello," the boy greeted him, "Delivery for a Mr. Alfred F. Jones? From a Mr. Braginsky?"

America stared at him blankly. "Delivery?"

The boy fidgeted a little and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. America followed his gaze to a car parked on the side of the road, a McDonald's logo plastered across its side. "Yeah, there's kind of a lot. Is this the right place? You're Mr. Jones?"

America nodded, still confused. "Yeah, yeah, but… you said a delivery? You guys deliver?"

The boy looked relieved. He gave a thumbs up to the car, and immediately three other McDonald's employees hopped out and started carrying boxes of what were presumably burgers and fries up to America's doorstep. The delivery boy, who seemed a good deal more personable now that he was sure he hadn't messed the order up, chatted as America watched the procession. "Yeah, we only started it recently, and it's only here in the city, but people seem to like it. It's good for parties, I guess. You must be throwing one hell of a bash with all this, huh?"

America nodded absently along with the boy's chatter, brain working furiously. Russia had sent him massive amounts of fast food? Was this still part of the prank?

By the time all the boxes of McDonald's had been brought in, America had more or less straightened things out for himself. After the initial shock had worn off, he felt much happier than he had only twenty minutes before. He loved McDonald's burgers, and this was as good as an all-you-can-eat burger buffet. He would have delicious leftovers for days. Actually, he hadn't had lunch yet, and the food smelled pretty good. America hunted through the boxes until he found a Big Mac and blissfully dug in.

- - - - -

Sunday was chaos. Nations were arriving all day, and America had been told very firmly by his boss that yes, he had to be at the airport to greet everyone. It was a good thing he was so awesome, or he would have gotten tired. As it was, his energy was only slightly dampened. As the conference's host, he had to be at the top of his game! America wouldn't allow himself to be like Greece, who had fallen asleep more times than he could count when he had hosted the world conference, or like Austria, who was always so uptight about everything when he hosted that no one had a good time. America wasn't exactly the most popular nation on Earth at the moment to begin with, so it was important that this event was a success.

It felt like an eternity of shaking hands and being boringly diplomatic and polite before America ran into any of the more quirky nations. When Germany arrived, Prussia threw his arm around America's shoulders and offered to buy him a drink, never mind that it was still early. America brightened at the prospect of a diversion, but Germany apologized and dragged his brother away with some difficulty. Poland informed him that he was expecting at least one decent April Fool's trick at the conference "And don't wear a hideous tie like the one you've got on now. Like seriously." America was a little offended. After all, who didn't like Spongebob? Canada apologized for not being able to arrive any earlier and meekly offered him some maple syrup as consolation. America had flashed him a winning smile and told him that he had expected at least two bottles in apology, but since he loved Canada so much he'd forgive him this time anyway. He was such a good brother.

The endless chain of arrivals was starting to wind down when Russia stepped out of the gate. America waved to get his attention and waited for him to make his way over. It was stupid, but all of a sudden he couldn't think of what to say. What could you say to someone who sent chocolates and love poetry to your home? It was April Fool's – just April Fool's – but still!

No, this was ridiculous. It was just some prank and although he had decided to be a sport and play along, it was really going too far to stress out this much. He would just shake Russia's hand, thank him for his consideration, and tell him where to pick up his luggage. By the time Russia had pushed through the crowd, America was all ready for a polite but neutral greeting – but his plans quickly flew out the window. Russia strode right up to him and wrapped him in a warm hug before America could say a word. It was over before he knew it, but the damage was done; he was tongue-tied.

"H-hey, good to see you," America stammered. He could have kicked himself. He shouldn't have been this worked up over something so stupid. Get yourself together, Al! This is only a prank, remember? Relax!

He almost missed Russia's reply, so caught up in his train of thought as he'd been. "Good to see you too, America, although it has not been very long, da? I have been looking forward to this meeting."

"Ha, yeah. Well, I've worked hard on it so I hope it turns out okay. Um, do you need help finding your luggage?"

Russia shook his head, then seemed to hesitate. "Actually, I was wondering if you might do something for me, America."

America tried not to sound too apprehensive. "Yeah, what were you thinking?"

Russia seemed encouraged. "I was wondering if you might take a walk with me," he said, his smile tiny and hopeful.

Although he was a little confused by the request, America decided it couldn't hurt. It would start the conference off on a positive note for the two of them and he had some time to spare. "Yeah, okay. I guess we can find your stuff after."

"There is a park nearby, maybe?" Russia asked, looking around as if for a map of the city.

"No, not really. I don't think I have time to go to a park, anyway, though. Sorry, Russia. China's getting here in half an hour and my boss says I have to stay and greet everyone, so…"

Russia waved his hand a little. "Then we can walk around the airport, da?"

"Alright then."

It was not the strangest walk America had ever taken – that had to have been the time he and Teddy Roosevelt had gone hiking in the Adirondacks – but it came pretty close. They walked side by side through the busy airport, watching the travelers rush around. America stuck his hands in his pockets and tried not to look as tense as he felt. He stole glances from time to time at Russia out of the corner of his eye, wondering what was going through the other nation's head. After the third time he caught Russia glancing over at him, America decided they were both being ridiculous.

"Hey." Russia looked over at him questioningly, and America pointed to an empty bench mostly out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the airport. "Want to sit down for a bit? My feet are killing me after all the standing around and waiting I've had to do today."

Russia nodded his assent and they sat, both trying to strike that careful balance between too close and too far. "So why this all of a sudden?" The question was out before America could stop it.

Russia frowned slightly; America could see it out of the corner of his eye. "All of what?" he asked.

America waved at a hand in a vague circle. "You know, the flowers, and the chocolates, and the walk, and all of it. What's it for?"

There was silence for a moment before Russia replied. "I am trying to be romantic, da? Am I doing something wrong?"

America's mind worked furiously. If he could catch Russia at some weak point in his joke tonight, he wouldn't have to deal with whatever grand finale Russia had planned for the prank on April Fool's Day tomorrow. No one would be able to call him an April Fool; he would be the undisputed prank king! It sounded pretty awesome. But it wouldn't be any fun to let Russia know that he knew it was a joke, he had to let on that he was taking the whole thing seriously, at least until Russia gave it up on his own. That was the best kind of victory.

He realized he hadn't responded yet, so shook his head a little to clear his thoughts. "No, you're not doing anything wrong. I'm just wondering why you're doing it. I mean, why now? Wouldn't Valentine's Day be better?"

Russia did not fidget – but he looked around evasively, which for Russia was as good as fidgeting. Aha, America thought, Gotcha. "I was… occupied on Valentine's Day," he said slowly, "I usually am, as Natalia is very fond of that holiday." America winced in sympathy. Russia continued, "But I did think now was the right time. It has been some time since the Cold War ended, and we have both had difficulties since then that have brought us closer –" 9/11 and Beslan, America thought briefly. There was more, of course, but that was what stood out most vividly to him. "—and now, with our bosses wanting to cooperate, I thought… you might give it a chance."

Damn. That was… actually a really good explanation. America studied his shoes. Russia had obviously put a lot of thought into this… into the prank, anyway. For a brief moment, he wondered if—no, that prank he pulled last year had been a killer one. If he were Russia, he would have been planning revenge all year.

Well, it was clear he wasn't going to be able to catch Russia at the game tonight, anyway. "Now is as good a time as any, I guess," he said, standing up and offering Russia a hand. "Should we say something at the meeting tomorrow?" He could top Russia's prank with one of his own and say that he was eloping with Japan. Scandalous – and hilarious, considering how reserved his Asian friend was.

Russia's face lit up briefly before he remembered something. "I thought you wanted to keep this private?" he asked.

"From bosses, sure, but this is a little different. They could use a little extra shock on April Fool's Day anyway."

Russia agreed readily enough, but told America that he had to go get his luggage and call his boss to tell him he'd arrived safely. It was about time for him to go wait for China anyway, so America walked with him to the luggage pick-up, then went to seek out the right arrival gate. He'd been given a lot to think about. Not that he wouldn't have plenty of time to mull things over - there were still a few countries yet to arrive, which meant America could look forward to spending the next few hours still stuck in the airport.

- - - - -

America hadn't had such a lively April Fool's Day in years, and it was still early. He'd woken up that morning to find his fax machine going crazy printing sheet after sheet or some sort of picture. As America had picked up the pages and sorted them into some order, he realized that each sheet was part of a crudely-drawn (and apparently very long) picture of someone's vital regions. The mystery was solved when the last page shot out of his fax machine, the words "Enjoy a glimpse of my five meters!" stamped in obnoxiously large, bolded type.

He'd set up a few little tricks at the conference center beforehand – nothing major, just enough to cause a little mayhem. Some of the doorknobs had Vaseline on them, a few of the coffee cups had small holes poked in their sides, and Cuba's chair may or may not have had tacks on the seat. America hummed to himself contentedly as he poured a cup of coffee, careful not to use one of the punctured cups. He'd wanted to do some more elaborate pranks, but England had yelled at him until he agreed to scale things back a little. Looking around at the other countries now, though, perhaps it was better that he hadn't gone crazy with the pranks. Switzerland only looked slightly homicidal, which was certainly an improvement from most April Fool's Days.

America opened the meeting once everyone had filed into the conference room. Although he was having some difficulty keeping a straight face, he quite seriously went over the topics they would be discussing for the next few days: pollution, economic recovery, nuclear disarmament, follow-up on the swine flu, and whether England wore boxers or briefs. ("Sometimes neither!" France shouted helpfully, and received a sharp kick for his troubles from England himself).

Usually the first day of world conferences was devoted to discussing current events and introducing the main themes of what this conference would be about. The host country generally began by detailing what had happened at his or her house since the last world conference, then the nation to his or right would follow suit and so on, until they were all more or less caught up on each other's news. America had a lot to share – there was the news about his health care reform, a brief sketch of his boss's plan for troops in Afghanistan (he got some nasty looks for that one), and a mention of the talks he and Russia had just finished, among other things.

Most of the other countries were either completely serious in reporting their news or made a few weak jokes. America braced himself for extreme boredom when Germany got up to speak. Reading from his notes, Germany shared the results of his latest elections, the steps he was taking to further recover from the recession, and, on a more local level, that reanimated corpses had been recently observed in East Berlin. There was silence as Germany moved on to renewable energy before people started to laugh. Germany stopped and looked up, apparently affronted at the thought that anyone would laugh at going green, before he seemed to realize what had just left his mouth. He scanned his notes quickly and turned to shoot a glare at Prussia, who was laughing so hard he was tearing up.

Once everyone had settled down again, Germany continued being insufferably boring. America sipped at his coffee to distract himself. He almost spit it out when he realized it wasn't coffee at all, but the kind of disgusting tea that England liked! Feeling betrayed, he looked over at his big brother, who shot him a look that was far too innocent to be genuine. America pushed the cup of tea as far from him as possible without sending it over the side of the table and settled down to listen to more of the other countries. Poland was speaking now. America tried to follow what he was saying, but it didn't seem quite right. For some reason Poland kept talking about his boss Grybauskaitė – but America was pretty sure he remembered Poland's boss as being named Kaczyński. It wasn't until Lithuania went and started talking about Kaczyński instead that America realized they had switched notes.

It was Russia's turn to speak next. America straightened in his seat as Russia stood. He listened patiently as Russia talked about his boss's plans for energy development, the recent bombings in Moscow, and the talks he and America had just finished. America was starting to wonder if Russia was going to reveal his joke at all when he paused, looking around at the nations assembled around the conference table. "And I have one more piece of news," he announced.

America leaned forward. Here it comes—wait, what is he doing!? He watched in half-fascination, half-horror as Russia unbuttoned his coat, reached under his shirt, and withdrew his hand, holding…

"Oh my God is that your heart?!" Poland shouted, jumping out of his seat. "Gross!"

Russia looked a little embarrassed by all the attention, but he kept holding the heart out. It was still beating. America watched a little blood spurt onto the conference table. "This is for you, America."

There was some nervous laughter around the table as everyone tried to figure out if Russia was kidding or not. Lithuania's smile seemed frozen onto his face. "That-that's not really your heart, is it?" he managed.

"Of course it is!" Denmark broke in, "Just look, it's still beating! Where else would he have gotten a heart like that?!"

"Maybe he killed something?" Turkey called from down the table. "Look around his chair and see if there are any dead animals."

"No, nothing," Latvia called back down. Lithuania and Estonia shook their heads furiously at him.

France was thoroughly enjoying he whole affair. "Well, it was a nice romantic cliché to play off of. A good joke, although it would have been better if you took off your shirt as well," he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh, I don't think he's kidding," said Spain cheerfully from France's left. "Look at his eyes; you can see the passion there! Right Romano?" The Italian brother on Spain's other side rammed his head into Spain's arm in response, but the older nation didn't seem to mind.

"America," said England quietly from beside him.

America started, realizing that although half the conference had thrown in their opinions about Russia's announcement, he hadn't said a word. Russia was still watching him from across the room, his eyes fixed on America's. Before he could think clearly about it, he was moving across the room, dodging the various nations who by now were caught up in arguments with each other. Russia waited patiently for him, turning as America reached his side of the table.

"Hey," America said, because he didn't know what else to say. A part of him wondered how Russia's heart was still beating even outside his body, and before he knew it his hand was on top of both of Russia's, holding the heart. "I'll accept it," he said, and somehow his voice had gotten soft without his permission, "But only if you put it back where it belongs, okay?" Russia's hands were cold under his.

Together they guided it back into the hole in Russia's chest. America found himself smiling, partly at the absurdity of the situation and partly because—it wasn't a prank. He hadn't been kidding after all. He looked up to find Russia studying him. "Did you know I was serious?" he asked, and his eyes flickered briefly to the rest of the room, where chaos had broken out and nations were playing tricks on each other like there was no tomorrow.

America fished some tissues out of his pocket and handed a few to Russia, keeping one for himself to wipe off the blood on his hand. "Not at first," he said thoughtfully, "But I knew after the hamburgers, I think."

Russia stopped at glanced up at him. "The hamburgers? Not the poem?"

America couldn't help it; he started laughing. "Well, yeah. Anyone can write a love poem, but those hamburgers, man… That was thoughtful. I love McDonald's. How did you know Big Macs are my favorites?"

"That's the kind you always eat…" Russia muttered, then he started laughing too.

"Hey, speaking of hamburgers, they sound really great right now and it's almost lunchtime." He took Russia's hand and led him out of the conference room, ignoring the commotion that the meeting had devolved into. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch. There's a Burger King right around the corner."

.1957: The year Sputnik I was launched. The US was not happy, to say the least.
.www . godiva . com / catalog / product . aspx. You ate the whole thing, Al?!
.McDonald's does deliver, but (as far as I know) only in NYC.
.Poland's President, Lech Kaczynski, died today in a plane crash. May he rest in peace.
.I've seen Beslan referred to as "Russia's 9/11". You can read more at news . bbc . co . uk /2 / hi /8231597 . stm.
.The prank America played on Russia last year involved Belarus, some vodka, an empty supply closet, and a key that America conveniently "lost". Russia did not recover for several days after the incident.

Hope you liked it!