Russia decides to kidnap America. Things don't go exactly as planned, since you can't really kidnap the willing.

Pff, I wrote this ages ago and forgot about it. XD I couldn't even hazard a guess when I'll update further, but yeah.

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Shoulders sagging, Russia tugged his party hat off and tossed it onto a chair. Nobody was coming. Nobody ever came to celebrate his birthday, either, but that was in the middle of winter. He couldn't blame them. But it was almost summer! Oh sure, the party was not celebrating anything in particular, but that never stopped the other nations. They loved a fun get-together, especially if booze was involved. He had sent invitations to everybody months ago (except Belarus... she would have come, hence him not sending her an invite).

It was no use. They just... didn't like him. They were afraid of him, that was the problem. He didn't even need to do anything, just smile politely, and the other nations would quiver in fear, or run away. Even England, who had once been the terror of the seas. Even France wept in fear when he groped Russia. With a sigh, he turned off the music and started taking down the streamers.

If he just had one friend... one friend to stay with him. Who wouldn't be a trembling ball of goo every time Russia approached.

A plan started forming in Russia's mind as he cleared away the untouched snacks and drinks. If he only had one person with him, everything would be so much brighter. Nobody would come willingly, but he could get around that. Now the only problem was... which one did he pick? Whom could he convince to not be terrified of him?

There was that one... a northern nation. What was his name? He was nice enough, on the occasion Russia noticed him around. Would he work? No... no he wouldn't. He had a crazy brother who would jump at the chance to rescue him with lots of big weapons, and...

Wait. What about that idiot brother? America was not afraid of Russia. Not at all. While the others quivered in terror in his presence, America just had a snarky comment or two. He stood his ground. He looked Russia in the eye when they spoke. He even smiled at Russia on occasion when he wasn't being a jerk.

Russia's own smile grew. America was a perfect choice! He would be harder to keep captive, but that was what made him so perfect. Russia could think of no other nation he could consider his equal.

There was a meeting soon. It would be the perfect time to make his move.

The plan had been set into motion.

The first order of business had been to make sure America stuck around after everyone else had left. Not an easy task, he was usually the first one out the door once the meeting was over. Russia had spent way too much time plotting that one simple, first task. Each plan he came up with was more complex than the last. His schemes to keep the American alone in the meeting hall were worthy of Hollywood.

In the end, he had ditched them all. Too many of them depended on America cooperating, doing what he was supposed to. Not a good idea. In the end, Russia had simply sent him an anonymous note telling him to stay put after the meeting.

Sure enough, the dumbest of his plans worked like a charm. The rest of the nations filed out, but America remained in his chair, looking around like an eager puppy. He remained there for about five minutes before standing, moving over to one of the large windows to look out while he waited.

A car waited outside, to transport them to Russia's waiting private jet. The jet would take them home, where he had a special America-proof little room waiting. It was all so perfect. First, though, he had to render him unconscious... He had briefly considered knocking him out with a well-placed fist or pipe, but rejected that idea quickly. He didn't want to damage his guest. And so, Russia silently crept up behind America, chloroform-soaked rag in hand. The young nation had no idea he was there until it was too late, and one arm was wrapped around him, the other pressing the rag to his face. There was a struggle; they twisted around in a mockery of a dance.

The plan could have worked. Things would have turned out a lot differently. But alas, Russia had forgotten one rather important detail about America. He remembered what it was the instant he went airborne, sailing in an arc over America's head, to crash to the ground on his back.

"Ow."

"Russia?" America's face came into view, upside down. He was smiling rather sheepishly. "Sorry. Reflex. What are you doing?"

"Ow."

"Were you trying to kidnap me?" he asked, casual as could be.

"...No."

"You totally were, man. Not cool." America moved around Russia and (quite easily) helped him to his feet. He didn't seem as upset as Russia would have predicted under the circumstances. "Are you okay?"

Russia rubbed his back, wincing. "I'm fine." What did he do now?

"You could have just asked."

"What?"

"If you wanted me to visit you, stupid."

Russia frowned. He had no idea what was going on in America's brain, but that was clearly a lie. "If that were true, you would have come to my party. I invited everybody."

"Everybody?" America tilted his head. "Not me. Where'd you send the invitation?"

Could that be true? "Ah... via the White House?"

"Well, there's the problem!" America clapped Russia on the back, and he winced again. What was with this sudden camaraderie? "My boss and all them, they... frown upon me attending parties. And especially throwing parties, but also attending. They wouldn't relay any invitations to me."

"That is unusual. I did not know you let your boss have so much control over your personal life."

"Well..." America rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's just say that the War of 1812 was easier on the White House than I am when I'm wasted."

"Is that so?" Russia mentally filed the 'get America drunk' plan into the 'only in case of emergency' folder. "So... you really would have come?"

"Sure, buddy!"

Buddy...? Okay, so Russia and America hadn't had a private chat in a very long time, but how had he changed this much? Had that alien friend of his switched Americas? "You, uh... you don't hate me?"

"Hate you?" America gave him a perplexed look. "Why would I hate you? The Cold War's been over for a while now, big guy."

"Um... but..."

"You think I hold grudges that long?"

Russia stared at him. "I just..."

"So shall we go?" America chirped. Russia was having a hard time keeping up with him.

"Go?"

"You wanted to kidnap me, right?" America rubbed his chin, expression growing thoughtful. "Oh, right. I'm supposed to be unconscious now."

"Well, that was... ah!" America's eyes had rolled comically back in his head, and he slumped over. He would have fallen to the floor had Russia not caught him. "What are you doing?"

A single blue eye cracked open. "It would take a lot of skill and planning to kidnap the US of A," America whispered. "The first step backfired on you, but I imagine the rest of the plan was brilliant. I'd hate for all that planning to go to waste." The eye closed again, and America resumed his feigned unconsciousness.

"I will never understand you..." Russia slung his 'victim' over his shoulder. He remained limp all throughout. Confident that the others had already left (since he had watched them leave), Russia made his way outside to the waiting getaway vehicle. A pair of eyes, though, did watch him go.

America remained limp and lifeless for the duration of the long flight. He was a surprisingly good actor, considering the quality of the Hollywood movies Russia had seen. He didn't even break character to eat or drink anything, or use the restroom. It was a strange thing for him to show such commitment to.

At long last, they touched down at Sheremetyevo International. Russia's luggage would be delivered for him, so all he had to worry about was hauling America out. Would it kill his 'captive' to cooperate a little? Fortunately, he safely reached the waiting car without tripping or dropping his kidnappee, or anything embarrassing like that. And finally, finally, they arrived at Russia's house, and he was able to dump America into a chair. Russia bent over to catch his breath. America was certainly not light as a feather. He would need to keep that in mind if he ever actually did kidnap somebody someday, for whatever reason.

A pair of sky-blue eyes slowly opened, and their owner looked around in bleary surprise. "Wh-where am I...?"

Russia had to smile. "You are dedicated."

America winked. "Shouldn't I be tied up?"

"Are you going to escape?"

"No, but... wouldn't you have tied me up? Hey, do you have a place for me to stay?"

"Ah..." He did, but it would not be suitable for a willing guest. "I might need to make a few changes."

"Nah, I'm sure whatever you have is fine." America hopped to his feet and wandered off. It was only after a surprised moment that Russia thought to chase after him. But by then, he had already lost track of where his guest had gone.

"A-America? Where did you go?"

"In here!"

After his former housemates had left, Russia had kept their rooms exactly as they were. For nostalgia's sake. Including Belarus', whom he had had to be a bit more forceful about leaving. And it was from that room that America's voice emerged.

"No, America, that is not..." He trailed off as he walked through the doorway. America was already making himself at home, hanging his jacket on the back of a chair and kicking off his shoes.

"Nice room! You did a good job getting it ready. Not very prisoner-like, though. A little on the frilly side..." He picked something up and turned to Russia, expression worried. He was holding a bra. "Really, Russia, what did you have planned?"

Russia licked his dry lips. "This is my sister's old room. I suppose you can stay here if you like it."

"Oh." America tossed the bra aside. "Let me see where you were going to stash me."

"Very well." Russia led the way down the hall, toward the plain, locked door at the end. He opened each of the locks, and pushed the door open, standing aside to let America through. Inside was a simple bed, a television, a shelf of comic books, and an attached bathroom. The only windows were tiny and close to the ceiling.

"Aww..." America ran a finger along the comics. "That was sweet of you, giving your prisoner something to do. And a TV, even!"

"Thank you. I am glad you appreciate it."

"I'll stay here!" America plopped onto the bed. "I'll get my things from the other room later, I guess."

"You are sure?" Russia looked around. It was a very small, uninteresting room. "You can stay where you like."

"You went to all this trouble!" America stretched out his long legs. "I think I might wander around for a while, if that's okay. I'm a little cramped after that flight."

"Of course."

"And don't be surprised if I end up in bed with you."

"What?" Russia could only stare, shock coursing through him. What was... was he really saying... what?

America pointed at the television. "If some creepy ass Russian movie comes on."

"Oh."

"I'd have to protect you."

"Right."

"So!" America sauntered past Russia, out of the room, stretching his legs every few steps. "I guess I'll see you around, roomie."

"Da. Of course."

Russia had never felt such a loss of control over a situation.