You're Hot and You're Cold (and Crazy)

Summery: Some bets just aren't meant to be made. And when they are.. well..

Warnings: Cursing. A lot of cursing... America's a little more psycho than usual due to Cold War stress. Poland comes over. Random Prussia scenes. The Baltics go crazy. And, at some point later on, an insanity meter talks to Estonia. Read only if you dare.

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Latvia's pov:

Latvia sighed as he looked around the dark room. Russia was in here somewhere. He always went in here when he wanted to hide frome Belarus.

"Russia?" Latvia called quietly. "Russia?"

No answer. Latvia's eyes traveled across the room, coming to rest on a large pile of clothes in the corner of a battered rug. He approached it carefully and lifted off the top shirt, revealing Russia's violet eyes.

"Russia?"

"Hmm?"

"He's here."

"Who's here?"

"America."

"Ah, right." The pile toppled as Russia stood up, towering over Latvia. "You coming?"

Latvia started, "I-I think I'm gonna fix dinner instead. After all, this is more of a m-military issue. I'm not much help there."

Russia stared at Latvia until dread started to well up in his stomach. Then he smiled. "Okay. Out of curiosity, what are you making?"

"I-uh," Latvia smiled back weakly. "I have no idea. Maybe some stroganoff since it's cold outside. Y-you know. Comfort food."

Russia nodded and walked towards the door. "Oh, Latvia?" His back was turned. Latvia couldn't see his face.

"Ye-yes?"

"Um... Belarus isn't anywhere around, is she?"

He relaxed. "No. She left. Doesn't like America that much. Says he gets in her way."

"Hmm.. okay then." Russia walked out.

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Russia's pov:

Russia waited until he was out of earshot and released a sigh of relief. Belarus was his sister and he loved her like a sister. The only problem was that she didn't love him in typical brother-sister proportions. He constantly had to look over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't stalking him. (Though she usually was.)

He paused outside the sitting room and focused on happy thoughts. Something to brighten his mood. He and America were both strong countries. They often worked together on major world issues and (kind of) fought on the same side in wars.

Of course, none of that meant they didn't piss each other off. Quite the contrary, actually. Each one seemed to be the only person that could really piss the other off.

Russia pushed open the door and walked into the room. Standing in the center was America, looking the same as he always did. Same flyaway hair, same glasses, same strangely casual clothes, but for some reason...

"America, why are you wet?"

And god, was it true. He was soaked. Didn't exactly look happy about it either.

"Some girl came in the room and dumped this stuff on me. It's not even water!"

''What is it then?''

"I don-I-I'm not sure. All I know is that is brown and it smells... like meat."

Beef broth? She poured beef broth on him? That was just special, even for Belarus.

"What did you do to her?"

''Oh, I preformed the capital offense of saying hi.'' America voice dripped with sarcasm.

Russia felt a vague annoyance. Great Belarus, anger America as soon as he walks though the door. That'll sure lead to diplomatic relations. Russia looked him up and down. No way was he letting America sit on any of his furniture with the state he was in.

"If you want America, you can change into some of my clothes. I will clean yours and sent them to you later."

America made a face. Russia guessed he didn't find wearing his clothes too appealing. " It would be better than the clothes you are in now, da?"

America sighed. "Yeah. Da and whatever."

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America's pov:

America stared at himself in the mirror. Russia really must have gotten a kick out of choosing his clothes for him. He chose his freaking communist uniform. With the dark blue coat and pants, and the gold buttons, he could almost pretend it was his civil war outfit.

If he ignored the ignored the soviet star on the arm.

It also didn't fit right. The top was fine, but the pants were about two inches too long. Still, Russia had taken his other clothes, so his only other option was to go parading around in his underwear. And there was about zero chance of him ever doing that in front of that stupid commie.

America suddenly turned and walked out, finding his way back. Whatever. It was just clothes, right? It wasn't like he was going to switch to the evil economic system. How could he be the Land of the Free then? Not to mention the hero. Heros, he was sure, were never communist.

Regardless of those facts, America couldn't help but slow when came near the sitting room. Something about this entire situation was absolutely humiliating. Why Russia? He'd have been fine if it had been any other country, but Russia stood for everything he hated. And he just knew he'd be smirking when he walked in. Saying a thousand trillion things just by sitting there: I'm better than you. Stalin was awesome. Communism is better than capitalism, you monopolist. Now that you're in proper uniform, you will become one, da?

Suck.

America swallowed his manic bitterness, somehow forcing a mask of a smile onto his face.

Then he walked in.

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Russia's pov:

Russia really hadn't known what to expect when he gave America his uniform, but he couldn't help but smile darkly when he walked in. If he hadn't known he was American, he would have assumed he was Russian. And Russia liked it that way.

Besides, Russia happened to know that America's deepest desire was to become one-even if America hadn't realized it yet. Russia figured that it must somewhere deep within his subconscious, so he silently vowed to probe that part of his mind.

Then, sooner or later, America would realize just how stupid his system was and come crying to him. And of course, dear, pitying Russia would happily take him in as a new part of the Soviet Union. He even had a few special treatments planned for him.

"Russia, stop staring at me like that. I do have a gun. And I'd take great pleasure in shooting you a couple hundred times. Don't push me, asshole."

Russia suppressed a jump, startled out of his thoughts. "I had not meant to stare, comrade. Though in my opinion, I do find those clothes much more suitable on you than any of the other casual disasters I have seen in previous years."

America was still smiling at him, though his eyes had widened slightly, a small glint working its way into them. Russia wondered in a detached manner how such a small thing could change his expression so drastically. First he was sweet and friendly and next he looked a bit like General Winter his smile was so cold. Interesting.

"I'm just sorry I'll never be able to return the favor, Russia."

"Hmm? What are you talking about America?"

"I'm sorry but your clothes are a bit too big on me. Even if you wanted to borrow my clothes, you'd have to lose weight. You're too fat."

Russia frowned. "I'm big-boned."

"You're in denial too."

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America's pov:

America's hands clenched as his mind took an uncharacteristically dark turn. Forget the gun. This guy needed something evil. And although he didn't know the details yet, he was getting some pretty good vibes from the words "hand saw" and "staple gun".

Russia wouldn't know what was coming to him.

".. but what about you, comrade?"

"What?" America's stomach twisted sharply when he realized Russia'd been talking to him the entire time. He hadn't heard a word. Russia just smiled.

"I was suggesting we build a satellite in space together. You and I both have interests in that area, I presume? Think of the resources we would save. They are numerous, da?"

"I see..." was all America said. He did see the advantages of an international satellite. As far as he knew, both his and Russia's space programs were progressing steadily, though they lacked a few crucial pieces. Russia might hold some of the knowledge he sought for. And probably vice versa.

Russia was right about resources as well. The materials needed weren't exactly cheap. Sharing costs would lift a huge financial burden off both of them. It'd allow that money to be used for... other things. (Such as paying off a crapload of debt money. Screw you England.) Anyway... yeah. Yeah that would help with that.

But still, this was Russia. The man was not to be trusted under any circumstances. Knowing him, he'd probably bug the system and learn every classified thing in the pentagon.

No thanks.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass on that, Russia. It's better if we each stick to our own projects."

Russia's smile didn't waver. "Of course. I mearly thought to save you embarrassment, comrade. I am sure you know that Russian satellites will be in space before your pathetic American ones can even be assembled."

America's smile darkened further, successfully pissed off. "Oh, Russia. It's a sad fact, but you can't see the future. We won't know who goes up first till the one who does, does it."

"You seem rather uncertain, comrade."

"I'm certain enough."

"Then perhaps a bet?"

"No."

Russia continued anyway. "Whoever manages to get into space first gains the other as.. well.. basically their bitch for a month."

America frowned, unable to resist. "F-fine," Damn that stutter. Damn it. Dammit! "Whoever goes up first gets the other servitude for a month."

Russia stood up and grabbed America's forearm, America quickly grabbing his opposite shoulder.

"America you are so kind, changing words around to make things sound more appealing. I like to think it's that faux sweetness that keeps you from being compared to me." He sighed as America's glasses flashed. "But never mind that. It is a deal."

They tightened their grips on each other for a second. Both aiming to bruise. Both succeeding.

Unnoticed by the pair of them, a small figure darted away from where he'd been listening.

"This.. won't turn out well," Lithuania sighed.

A/N: Yes! Done with the first chapter! I was a bit worried at first but I think it's gonna turn out well enough. I'll try and update whenever I can but it'll be pretty irregular so bare with me chicas, I'm lazy. Rate and review please~