A/N: In reality, Lithuania is a very homophobic country. This deals with that.

Chapter 1: In the Rye

It was tough, sometimes, to be a nation. He could feel what his people felt in a ghostly sensation tickling right next to his heart. Many times, it was what he, too, felt. Many more times, it was a nagging feeling that would bother him until he examined it, whereupon he would find that he agreed with the majority of his people.

But then there would be one of those times; those rare, once-in-a-blue-moon occurrences where Toris felt one thing but Lithuania felt another.

One of these predicaments began during a rye harvest some six, seven hundred years ago when bossy Poland became carefree Feliks in the warm, sun-drenched fields. Wind blowing his hair, he danced and twirled and laughed. And was beautiful.

There was gold all around as Toris sat with his sickle to the side, just watching his neighbor's slim hips swaying in time to the nodding of the rye. Golden hair, golden fields, and when the other boy turned around and opened his eyes, there was deep green as he had never seen it before. Green as the tops of the summer forest on the outskirts of the field.

Then it was "Come, come dance with me," and they, hands clasped together, whirled until they fell to the ground. Feliks lay on top of him and all he could see was green and gold. He felt his heartbeat quicken and wondered if this sweet ache was what they called "first love".

-oOo-

New York, 1925

Jazz music winding sensually down the streets of Harlem. Flapper girls and their sharply dressed beaus dancing the Charleston. Laughter, smiles, and Prohibition liquor flowing through their veins, they spit whiskey in the eyes of the law.

Lithuania had gone to live with America, working around America's house to escape the poverty and desolation in his own land after the wars. It wasn't just the Great War, but the other war that broke out in the aftermath. He couldn't go back just yet.

As he thought about the circumstances, he knew he wasn't ready to face it all. But just as he had been about to mope, America had burst in on him and hurriedly told him to pack.

"Come on, come on, let's go!"

"Where are we going, America?"

"To New York!"

"B-but my job is here! And...why?"

"Because you need to get out more, and I'm the hero!"

That was all the explanation he had gotten.

So here he was, not cleaning America's house in Washington D.C. Instead, he was accompanying the young nation on a trip to the Big Apple. He had thought it was a business trip, but that didn't explain how he ended up in this dance hall.

Even though it was nighttime, everything was brightly lit. The women wore colorful dresses and hats, their skirts flying up to show an indecent amount of leg as they twirled across the dance floor. Everywhere he looked, he saw youth and celebration. It must have been nice to be a young nation in modern times, without the constant wars and fear of invasion that had plagued even Lithuania's supposed "Golden Era".

In the center of everything was America. He laughed louder than the other men and danced with more enthusiasm. The girls lined up for their turn with the handsome stranger. America dipped and spun them around one after the other, leaving them breathless, flushed, and eager for more.

"Pleased to meet you, ladies! Alfred Jones at your service!"

America, the Beautiful. Was a stark contrast to what he had left behind. For a brief moment, he again reverted back to thoughts of his war-stricken home, left in shambles in the aftermath of WWI, and then to defending Vilnius from the green-eyed rifleman in the smaller war that broke out immediately after - the one that didn't shake the world, but tore Lithuania's heart. Things would never be the same with him again.

Some reunion that had been...

Shaking his head, Lithuania brought himself back to the present. He resumed his observations of the dance floor and... found it hard not to stare. The young nation was so carefree about nearly everything. So bright, so enthusiastic! He shone, not unlike Lithuania's memory of another blond boy dancing in the rye.

America turned to him, then, and their eyes met. All he could see was blue. Blue skies filled with promise and hope for the future. Dazed, he didn't notice America getting closer until the other man was seated next to him, and then it was, "Where are his glasses?"

"-ey! Hey! Hello?" America waved a hand in front of his face. "I asked if you wanted a drink. Did you hear me?"

"...Where are your glasses?"

"Hmm? Oh, Texas doesn't like New York."

"Ah, I see..." He didn't, actually, but couldn't quite find a way to ask for clarification.

"Anyway, drink up!"

Before Lithuania could protest, there was a glass of amber liquid in his hands. He cautiously took a sip; it would have been rude to his patron to do otherwise. Belatedly, he thought to question the legality of their entire trip. "I thought alcohol was illegal in your country?"

"Ah, well..." America sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "It is! That's why we drove up here! You know how many underground bars there are in New York? Thousands! Just in this city, I'd say there were at least 30,000. At least! There aren't enough cops in the whole state to stop us, and there's no way my boss can catch us now!"

Lithuania couldn't help but chuckle. "So you're here to rebel."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"And me? Why am I here?"

"Because every hero needs a sidekick!"

"Breaking the law isn't very heroic, Alfred." They were in public, surrounded by humans, so nation names couldn't be used. But although they had to keep their true identities secret, this felt so much more intimate.

"Anti-heroes are still heroes..."

"Really? Is that the best you can come up with?" Normally, Lithuania wouldn't dream of speaking to his employer in such an impolite way. He was always careful to keep the proper respect and formality in his tone while they were in Washington, but there was something about the atmosphere here that loosened him up. Or maybe it was the drink.

America casually slung an arm over his friend's shoulder and pulled him in close. "Okay, fine. And... because I like you."

He said it as if it were nothing. Beautiful America, whose homeland had been untouched by war for decades, liked Lithuania, who felt so old and weary. At that moment, it was as if there was a jolt of lightning in his heart. No, not just his heart, but the rest of his body as well.

His reaction was swift and violent. Lithuania immediately tried to clamp down on the feeling and prevent it from rising. It was so inappropriate of him, so sick, so disgusting, so depraved! This was worse than what he had felt as a child. That, he could excuse as pre-pubescent confusion because the boy from back then had been pretty enough to be a girl. This was a man's sexual attraction. To another man, because there was nothing feminine about the hard planes of America's chest pressing against his side. This was the Devil's temptation, and he was an abomination for falling to it.

...Wasn't he? His mind raced, searching for answers.

"You're slipping out on me again! Hey!"

"O-oh, s-sorry!"

"Nah, that's okay. Here, have another. It tastes better when it's illegal."

Wearing a devilish grin, America quickly poured more liquor into the empty glass. They clinked their glasses together and savored the smooth burn of alcohol. When he'd emptied his second glass, Lithuania stared sightlessly into it.

"Rye whiskey..." Why did it always have to come back to that day in the rye?

"Did you say something?"

"No, nothing." Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, rye whiskey.

America refilled his glass again. He downed it. It was refilled.

Hundreds of years later, it was happening all over again. There was another warm male body pressed close. Too close. Rye, rye, rye... His cheeks were flushed. It's the alcohol. His heart pounded. Excitement; first time at a New York dance hall. His hands were clammy and he wanted...to kiss...that golden boy... No excuses. You're a sick fuck.

The jazz, the chatter, the tapping of dance shoes. The sounds of raucous party-goers blared all around him as he sank into a haze.

Four and twenty Yankees, feeling very dry,
Went across the border to get a drink of rye.
When the rye was opened, the Yanks began to sing,
"God bless America, but God save the King!"

In the next instant, America was up on his feet again, this time pulling Lithuania along behind him.

"Wait! Alfred, what are you doing?"

"Ladies, I'd like to introduce you to my friend! This is Toris. He's-shy-he's-from-Europe-show-him-a-good-time!"

Before Toris could figure out what happened, his arms were full of giggling Flapper.

Yes. A woman was exactly what he needed to take his mind off his predicament.

Now if he could only find his feet.

Notes

The little poem toward the end is from Royal Observations by Arthur Bousfield and Garry Toffoli, stolen from the Wikipedia article on Prohibition.

"That other war" is a reference to the Polish-Lithuanian War of 1920. It resulted in them not speaking to each other until 1938 when Poland got all up in Liet's face and basically said, "Talk to me~! Or I'll start another war!"