A/N: I barely know any Russian. If I am wrong then please feel free to correct me. This is a story about nothing in particular, and everything all at once.

Enjoy. The beginning part might be a little slow, but it picks up, I promise.

It was fucking cold, that much was clear.

It had been uncharacteristically cold that winter for some reason that was merciless to the on goers on the streets, every spare body part freezing over with layers of frost and ice adding an additional six pounds to adults, three to children. It wouldn't have been such a big deal had Alfred not been standing there for three hours, knees quivering and teeth rattling like maracas on a sandy tropical beach which, coincidentally, he'd give just about anything to be on at the moment. But as luck would have it (or wouldn't have it, some could argue) he was unable to leave from his very spot on that corner.

He crinkled his nose when a spare glimmer of a snowflake fell onto his nose, it sending an unpleasant burning under the surface of his skin. Damn snow. It was only mid October and it was snowing. What was the world coming to? Alfred shifted his feet and buried his chin into the curve of his jacket collar, eyes scanning slowly the vast wave of faces passing him by. He wanted to die; really he did. But dying meant getting yelled at by his boss and ridiculed at his funeral, which Alfred wasn't looking forward to.

Plus he was a hero. And heroes never died by freezing on a street corner waiting for some lumbering oaf – the reincarnation of Stalin himself – that should have been there three fucking hours ago –

He stopped and pulled up his sleeve to glance at his watch for what seemed like the ten thousand and eleventh time. Alfred growled lightly, the rumbling wracking his chest like an avalanche. He grumbled indecipherable word garbage under his breath, shooting an irritable glare at a random passerby who gave him the finger. And if he had to check one more time to see if all his fingers were the appropriate color (not charcoal black and purple that seemed to accompany frostbite) then he would surely just snap them off himself to save himself the trouble of doing it later when they actually were frostbitten.

"I can't believe this," Alfred muttered, shifting his feet once more when another snowflake slid down his cheek. "Do me a favor he says. It's only for the afternoon he says," he reiterated and made faces even though his boss couldn't see the great job of mocking he was doing. Alfred slumped his shoulders and blew into his gloved hands, the gloves actually not doing the job they were supposed to by keeping his hands warm. He was going to have to make a very angry call when he got back home. "Well I was under the distinct impression that this favor for the afternoon would be indoors. Not that pretending I'm one of those ice fairies Arthur always tells me about isn't fun. No. I find it fabulous. I'm Jack fucking Frost. And all because I'm such a nice guy who can't so no to anyone and always puts myself last when it comes to the good of mankind – but this is just plain ridiculous. I mean, I know he's sadistic, but who knew that Russian would try to go out of the box and freeze me to death? I never saw that coming! The man is fucking brilliant," he complained with a humorless laugh and smacked his forehead against a building, almost surprised his face didn't shatter into a million little pieces on the ground.

He leaned back and pouted when his forehead started to throb, obviously turning red from the impact. Oh well, it was just another body part red from this weather; his nose, his cheeks, his ears, fingers, - lips were actually more of a blue color – , probably toes, and perhaps eyelids – but now he was getting off subject.

He straightened out and stood in silence, lights wisps of white streaming from his dry and frozen lips. He watched them blandly for a while, almost as if he were smoking one of those cigarettes he used to be so obsessed with in the '20s, before a familiar clacking of heavy boots against concrete brought his attention elsewhere. He knew that sound anywhere. That sound had haunted his nightmares during the Cold War and sent painful spikes of dread (and secretly a little bit of fear) rocketing down his spinal column.

Just to make sure he wasn't going into some meltdown, the frost actually getting to him and slowly shutting his organs down one by one to make him hallucinate, Alfred turned his head mechanically and peered down the street to where a smiling Russian man was slowly making his way towards him. At least, his pace would have been slow for any normal human being, but with his legs as long as stilts, he was actually approaching fairly fast.

Alfred didn't move or show any interest as the larger nation regarded him with cheerfulness, eyes sparking when catching a glimpse of his golden cowlick sticking up persistently. And Alfred couldn't help but absentmindedly wonder how such a large man could walk so gracefully – as if he were floating it would seem. He snorted. Russia must have taken ballet at one point in his life, Alfred was certain. He did seem obsessed with those Russian figure skater people.

An eerily perky voice traveled down his ear canal making him shudder when Russia stopped no more than two and a half feet away from him with a wave. "Dobriy den', dear America."

Alfred eyed him wearily before grumbling into his collar. Russia smiled and tilted his head slightly, seeming to appear childish what with his rosy cheeks and round eyes. Alfred held back a dry heave and turned away. "I am surprised," Russia continued as if he couldn't sense his companion's discomfort; couldn't sense or didn't care? "I would have expected you to be late for our arrangement but here you are, as early as can be."

Alfred turned only to gape at the giggling (there was nothing right about a man his size giggling) Russian before snapping. "What the hell are you on and why aren't you sharing? I've been standing around here for hours freezing my ass off! You're the one who's late!"

Russia craned his neck and stopped his chortles long enough to observe Alfred merrily. "Hm? I am late, you say?" He paused to pretend to think about this only causing the American to hunker down and seethe, the snowflakes in his hair nearly melting and turning to steam. "No, I do believe you are wrong on this, America. But that happens so often, does it not? I will humor you this time and play along if you wish."

Alfred blew a puff of air harshly through his nostrils, resembling one of those bulls Spain seemed to love taunting for sport. He flexed his brittle fingers at his sides and was surprised when they didn't snap off before narrowing his eyes at the nation whose head alone seemed to be making the sun go into an eclipse. "I've been here for three hours…Three hours. I was told to meet you here at one. Not four. No. Now it's four. How can I possibly be the one late if it's four?" Alfred realized that moment that it was very hard to breathe when the inner casings of your lungs were coated over with ice and the like. Not a good discovery but a helpful thing to know.

Russia blinked before letting that annoying smile hike up his face again making his eyes squint. "You are very silly, for on the contrary. I was told to meet here at five. You see the mix up, da? Perhaps the message was just relayed by one of your common imbecilic political servants. If so then there is no need to apologize. I have dealt with this enough to know when to forgive."

Alfred could only just stare at how many insults Russia had decked at him in under two minutes of meeting each other. Was this normal to do on the eastern hemisphere? Because last time he was aware, insulting the main world power while visiting their country was not flattering.

At all.

He couldn't even muster up the strength to combat with an insult (or voice why Russia found it normal to wait around in the cold an hour earlier than instructed). Maybe that's why Russia made him wait; to ice him over and not give him enough time to thaw and escape his bear sized paws that wanted to do unspeakable things to anyone smaller than him. Unspeakable things.

"Sure," was all Alfred muttered; anything to just get out of this damn cold. He turned to leave, not even sparing another glance at the frigid gargoyle behind him, before scouting out lethargically any decent warm shop with lots of witnesses in case this whole meeting went horribly awry. That familiar pattern of footsteps picked up behind him and he felt the cold tendrils radiating off Russia against the back of his coat making him shiver once more.

When Russia fell into step with Alfred he began to hum lightly to himself. "The weather is nice today, da?"

Alfred snorted and felt himself growing colder, if that was even possible. "Global warming at its finest, I must admit," he grinned sarcastically and instantly regretted it. He felt his skin pull tightly, resisting such a simple movement painfully. Note to self: don't waste any unnecessary energy on Russia.

Russia chuckled beside him before brushing a few loose strands of something or other from his scarf. "The weather is lovely here compared to my homeland. This would be, how you say, 'a walk in the park'?" He giggled once more making Alfred grimace and take two steps away. Apparently Russia found himself to be a very amusing person, which any sane person could say he certainly was not. Alfred grunted in reply and continued to focus on more important things.

Like not talking to Russia and finding somewhere warm.

"And yet here you are wearing such confining clothing. I find myself fairly warm if I must confess," Russia murmured and tilted his head curiously to catch the gawk Alfred sent him. "Do you find something strange?"

"Yeah. You. You were joking when you said it was warm, weren't you?" Alfred definitely couldn't wrap his mind around that. With his skin as hard as a rock, he was almost offended. If Russia thought today of all days was warm, then he must be like some fucking indestructible icebox with legs.

"Nyet. I am being perfectly serious. It is a bit uncomfortable to walk around in normal attire when the weather is anything but blistering hail and howling winds."

Alfred furrowed his brow and sped up his pace. This conversation was getting weird fast. Pretty soon Russia would probably complain about sweating and start removing some of his heavier clothing and –

"Where are you going in such a hurry, America? We do not have to discuss anything for another hour," Russia chimed and jogged lightly next to the blonde who was now gasping for air with a look of panic in his eyes, taking each square of concrete one foot at a time. When his lungs started to sting and protest, the air burning the frozen edges of its interior, Alfred slowed to a stop outside of a Starbucks and thanked God in heaven for creating such a magnificent shop so conveniently close to his panic attack.

Russia eyed the large glass doors when Alfred stood up weakly and opened them, not sparing another glance to see if his partner would follow him inside. If Russia was correct (heaven forbid!) then he still had forty-three minutes to himself, and he was going to do that warming up with some good ol' fashioned American Joe.

It didn't go unnoticed the stares he was getting when Russia stood beside him, towering over him it would seem. Alfred wished he could suddenly shrink if only for a moment. He didn't like these looks the customers were giving him and he certainly didn't like how crammed it was in the line. Russia needed to take two giant steps back and away; his sleeves were precariously close to his lower back.

"Coffee?" Russia inquired and peered down at Alfred who didn't even bother looking at him, his neck and shoulders already filling with copious amounts of lactic acid.

"Yeah. I'm thirsty," he grit out. Russia blinked before smiling again and taking a step forward to get a better look at the drink selection, Alfred sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at the obvious feeling of Russia's side against his back. "Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you just go find a spot somewhere and set up everything we need to discuss in the brief amount of time we'll be here and I'll meet you over there when I'm finished." It wasn't a suggestion, it was more of a diluted demand.

"Thinking ahead for once. My, you are surprising me once again. That is twice in one day," Russia laughed, but to Alfred it sounded nothing more than those creepy children giggles from horror movies. He used to have nightmares about Russia's laugh – that Yeti standing at the foot of his bed with glowing violet eyes and a smile that could rival the Cheshire cat with all his glowing teeth and huge creepiness with long fingers reaching out for him just threatening to pop his head off with one twist and suck his soul out through his neck hole and –

Alfred shuddered just remembering it. That's why his room used to be covered with dream catchers. He watched from the side of his eye as Russia maneuvered around the wall of people and almost out of sight; his head still towered over even the tallest man in the room. When Alfred got to the front and ordered his drink, he waited patiently just letting the feeling of his bones thawing consume him. When he finally got his coffee his eyes nearly rolled in the back of his head in ecstasy. It was liquid bliss.

Too bad spending the afternoon with Russia on business was going to take away from the affect. With great regret, he began to search for his political companion amongst the chattering customers and couldn't help but be surprised – why he was surprised he didn't know. It was Russia for crying out loud – when he spotted the pale-haired nation in the back corner of the shop; the darkest most secluded corner of the shop. Alfred blanched and slowly made his way over. Why the hell does Starbucks even have a corner like that? he thought. It looked like Dracula lived back there.

"I have found a spot just as you have instructed. Please take a seat so we can discuss various things of no specific nature," Russia said and motioned to the chair across from him, the only barrier a small rickety table that wouldn't even stop their knees from brushing.

"Yeah…" Alfred murmured with a frown and flinched when Russia's kneecap brushed his own, a slight chill traveling up his skin. He took another large gulp from his coffee before setting it down and rummaging into his coat to pull out a large manila folder. He sighed and started to twist the top pin to get it open, already knowing that this was going to be boring.

"So let's get this over with, I guess. Here's our half of this agreement, the papers already signed by the Vice President and Commander in Chief himself. If you have any questions about it when reading this just ask me and I'll clear it all up (that's why I'm here anyway). All we need is to have you look this over and see if it's approvable so you can pass it back to your –"

Alfred stopped mid-drone, going back into his business mode, when one of Russia's enormous hands shot up into his face to stop him. He leaned back and stared confused at the smiling Russian while Russia proceeded to fold his fingers together and rest his hands atop the table. "What? What is it?" Alfred asked, wondering what could possibly be wrong this early into their discussion.

"I am sorry, but I do not wish to converse this at the moment."

Alfred stared for what seemed like an eternity. "You don't," he deadpanned.

Russia shook his head, bangs fluttering lightly against his face.

"Well. What do you want to talk about then," Alfred inquired, his patience starting to hang by a thread.

Russia settled into his seat and let his face soften at the cautiousness in the form across from him. "Colors."

Again. Another pause. "Colors?" Alfred asked incredulously and furrowed his brows. When Russia nodded again with a patient smile Alfred leaned back into his seat and tried to grasp this. He opened his mouth before shutting it, then opening it again and pulling his hands up to scratch at his hair. "Why do you want to talk about colors? Have you finally just snapped the last of what little sanity you had left and want to take it out on me?"

"No. I was simply just wondering what your favorite color is."

Alfred huffed. "Blue," he uttered quickly before laying out some documents on the table by his coffee. "So like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, you need to look over these papers to see –"

"Just blue? You seem to be very invested in red and white as well. I never would have guessed that you hold blue to a higher standard. How interesting," Russia chirped and looked absolutely pleased much to Alfred's chagrin.

"What are you even talking about?" Alfred asked and made to take another sip of his drink to warm his belly. "Just look at these papers and tell me if the end result is suitable so I can go home and scrub your stink off me."

"I do not smell," Russia commented, although not seeming to have found Alfred's comment particularly annoying. "But as for the forms you have so sloppily laid out before us, I do not wish to discuss them."

"Then why am I even here with you?" Alfred demanded and his eyes grew wild. "I stayed outside in the snow to wait for you to finally decide to get off your ass when my fingers started falling off and come in here to do a favor for my boss who was really starting to get on my nerves when he wouldn't shut up about these papers and now - now. You tell me you don't even want to look at them? Well you can't blame the bad foreign relations on me if you're the one refusing to cooperate!" he huffed and pointed accusingly at the nation who didn't even flinch at his mild outburst. Russia just continued to smile and pushed Alfred's hand away casually from his face before folding his hands neatly once more.

"You misunderstand yet again. I am sorry if my thought process exceeds your own, but allow me to clarify and put you at ease," Russia said making Alfred scowl. "When I say that I do not wish to discuss the detailed topic of foreign relations that your leader has gone through the trouble to lay out for me, I am only meaning currently at the moment." Russia waited for a response but only got a dumbfounded stare. He sighed lightly, not quite used to such an unintelligent conversationalist, before trying to explain once again. "I am sorry if you still do not understand. Allow me to dumb it down once more. But if you do not get it this time, I will have no other means of explaining it."

"Just spit it out," Alfred spat impatiently making Russia chuckle into his hand. Ugh. The man shouldn't be blushing like that when looking at him. It made Alfred want to gag.

"I wish to talk about business at the given time for business."

Alfred stared once more before slumping forward, taking his cup in his hands and silently relishing the feeling of warmth against his fingers. "So…You're saying you don't want to get this figured out until five?" he took a shot in the dark. Russia perked up at this making Alfred believe he had hit the nail on the head. Too bad it was his head the nail plunged into because this was not good information at all. "Hold on. You want us to sit around in here for forty minutes before we're actually supposed to get this stuff straightened out?"

"Correct."

At this Alfred had to laugh. It was an unruly act that caught a couple of people's eyes, Alfred slumping against the table before pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "Haha…You…aha…You're quite the funny guy, Russia. I mean, you're funny looking, but who knew you'd also have that personality down to go with it?"

"I do not believe I told a joke," Russia said, a bit confused but continued to smile politely.

"Oh, but you did. Because you'd have to be a comedian to say that I would sit around on my own free time with you," Alfred said, smile still there, but all humor gone.

"You must," Russia said, and Alfred took note how his lips were hiking up his cheeks, the shadows from the broken light above them that flickered giving Russia a more ominous appearance.

"I didn't sign up for that. I'm only here on business and if you're not willing to do business right now, then I'll just come back when you are. Have a pleasant evening," he said and stood up. He didn't even get two steps before a vice-like grip tugged at his wrist and made him wince in surprise. Alfred shot his eyes down at the cheerful Russian whose smile looked awfully strained.

"It is rude to leave in the middle of a conversation, Amerika," he reminded, Alfred's name rolling off his tongue in sharp clumps that did nothing but snag awkwardly against the blonde's ears.

"You just said you didn't want to talk," Alfred growled, pulling at his arm to get Russia to let go. No such thing happened.

"Another misunderstanding. I am not sure how many I can overlook in such a short amount of time. But you are going to test me on this anyway, are you not?" Russia grinned and quickly yanked Alfred back down into his seat. He retracted his hand and looked cheerful again. "I will cooperate and discuss what is needed to be discussed when the little hand is there, and the big hand is there," Russia pointed out and pointed at a clock trying to show Alfred what he meant with visuals.

"I'm not an idiot. I know how to read a clock," Alfred grunted and rubbed at the base of his spine. Russia sure had some power packed into those arms of his. Russia giggled at that and propped his chin in his hands, leaning towards Alfred who tried to hold back a disgusted tremble.

"In the meantime I wish to talk about your absence from the conference back in July."

…Conference, huh?

"Why?" Alfred couldn't even seem to comprehend why Russia would want to know something like that.

"I am merely curious. It was very quiet, if I recall correctly. I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy it, but it was also unnerving," Russia said and his eyes glazed over lightly with something that Alfred couldn't put his finger on. "Were you ill?"

Alfred wiggled in his seat uncomfortably before mumbling almost forcefully into the rim of his cup, "It was my birthday. Where the hell have you been to not know that?"

Russia looked anything but intrigued. Of course he knew that; Alfred had made it his unwritten duty to make everyone know that. "Oh! That does seem to make sense. But you have never missed a conference for you birthday before, am I correct?"

"No."

Russia tilted his head and fiddled with the frayed edge of his old scarf. "I am wrong?" he said this time, taken back. He was certain that he'd had that right.

"I go every year," Alfred said and preoccupied himself by looking at some people walking by outside.

"Then I was correct. Why did you say no?"

"Because you're annoying, now shut up. I can't hear myself think," Alfred glared and thought about all the different ways he was going to bug his boss for the next four years.

"You think?" Russia asked, looking positively flabbergasted. Alfred scowled at him.

"Haha. You're so funny," he rolled his eyes making Russia chuckle in delight.

"I could not help myself. Perhaps I am a bit of a joke teller, as you have pointed out." Alfred chose not to say anything and glanced at the clock painfully. It had only been five minutes. Damn. He heard Russia shifting in front of him and got a waft of whatever it was that clung to his coat; it smelled something of vodka, coal, and frost. "But in all seriousness, you have yet to tell me why you missed this particular conference when you have never skipped before."

Alfred stilled and stared intently out the window, wanting nothing more than to bust open Russia's lip with the chair he was sitting in.

"America?"

He still ignored him. Good job, Alfred. You can do this. You're not in over your head. You can outlast Rasputin over there. He's nothing more than a solidified form of all your fears and doubts that has somehow come into being and wants to know more about you for some unknown reason.

It was then that some sort of pressure was applied to his forehead and Alfred froze. He looked with wide, horrified eyes to see Russia placing his hand against his forehead with his lips pursed. "Are you ill?"

He shot back with more force than a kangaroo, his heart beating a mile a minute. REDALERTREDALERT You can't do this, you can't do this, you can't do this! He touched - he was - oh Lord, it was with a glove but he still touched your sensitive face!

Alfred stared with a hand to his face like a frightened little bunny below a growling lion. If the lion was on steroids and had skin like icicles and the dead eyes of a shark. "W-wha - wh-wha…wh…"

Russia craned his neck at the expression he was receiving before giving a reassuring smile. "What is wrong? You look like you have just seen a ghost."

For the first time in his life, Alfred might have actually preferred a ghost to this. Russia he was used to. The red bastard had always hated him as much as Alfred returned the sentiment. But never in his life had Russia gone out of his way to touch his fucking face. That was just unheard of. It had to be illegal for someone like that to touch someone like him. Where were the police or secret service when he needed them most?

As Russia watched Alfred sputter in disbelief he began to make a pleased hum from the back of his throat. "Are you sure you are fine? Your face is awfully pale, comrade."

Alfred shook in his chair and glared at the nation across from him in confusion. There was something strange about the way Russia was acting today. And his eyes…What was up with his eyes? Russia leaned back into his seat and let his eyes dance across the stitching at the base of his scarf.

"It has been on my mind for some reason for a while now, and I can not seem to help but wonder. The conference was July first which makes your reply all the more strange. Why would you miss it when you would be back in time for your over-exaggerated party on the fourth?"

Alfred managed to regain his voice enough to gape at the curious Russian. "I've never invited you to my party."

Russia blinked. "No. I have never received an invitation. But you Americans really know how to get intoxicated on large events so I guess it is reasonable for you to have never noticed before."

Okay.

That was freaky. Russia showed up to his birthday party?

"Plus it is also common sense that you would throw your party on the exact day of you Declaration, right?" Russia's eyes twinkled with amusement at the way Alfred was squirming around in discomfort at these new findings.

"H-how long have you been coming to my birthday?" Alfred asked, almost dreading to hear this answer. But he needed to know. It was like watching a bad movie that, even though it was horrible enough to sell half of your soul to the devil (or known by another alias as Russia) to get back those two hours wasted, you needed to see the ending. Not wanted; needed.

Russia pretended to mull this over. "Fifty-two years now."

Oh, there it was. That spiraling vortex of unimaginable repulsion pulling at his gag reflex. Alfred placed his hand over his mouth and forced himself to breathe. Fifty-two years…Fifty-two years and he hadn't noticed someone as big as Russia lumbering around his backyard? Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to get smashed every year.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Russia flung his scarf away, smiling but not letting it reach his eyes. "Not over here, please."

Alfred crumbled over and took large gulps from his coffee in a desperate attempt to burn away his stomach lining. Maybe if his stomach sack wasn't held together his sick would leak all over his insides instead of up his throat and through his nose where it was heading. And to think. His birthday used to be something enjoyable to look forward to.

"Please do not be such a drama queen, America. Although you usually are, I find myself not in the mood to deal with it today," Russia said and watched Alfred shoot him the deadliest glare he could muster. When his stomach was under control, Alfred sat back up and focused on the scalding burns on his tongue from his coffee rather than the remains of nausea that Russia left over.

"Don't do that anymore."

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean. Don't come to my parties anymore. If you're not invited then you're not invited!" Alfred huffed but paused when thinking it over. He looked at Russia with his deep, blue eyes before shrugging. "Actually, next year I want you to drop by. I always wanted a piñata. Although I don't think I'll want what falls out of you, it would still be a fun gesture."

Russia chuckled darkly and continued to busy his hands with his scarf. "Perhaps I will take you up on that offer."

Alfred continued to drink his coffee to preoccupy himself and dared another glance at the clock. Yet again it was not quite a "sufficient" time for Russia to work. He scowled and glanced at Russia who was watching him with intrigue. A smile tugged at his lips replacing nausea with dread. "You are very skilled at evading questions."

Alfred took a deep breath and settled into his seat, hands actually starting to sweat under his gloves. Only a moment ago it felt like he was in a blizzard, now he felt like he was on the sun. "Why do you want to know so much? I don't see the big deal, or why I should tell you for that matter. If you were so curious why did you take two months to bring this up, or is your memory so bad that it becomes blotchy after binge drinking that cleaning detergent you call alcohol?"

Something stirred beneath Russia's eyes and his face tensed teasingly. "It is a secret."

The shiver that traveled up Alfred's spine and the nervous swarming of hornets in his gut wasn't something unexpected. It did, however, piss him the fuck off. Very much so. Alfred scowled and plopped back against his chair with a smugness that was half forced. "Well mine is a secret too."

Russia sat up and outwardly laughed, eyes dancing with something akin to glee. Alfred felt uncomfortable and didn't see what was so funny about this situation but just watched his creepy business partner hide behind his fist and chuckle. "I am thrilled," Russia finally announced.

Alfred paused before narrowing his eyes cautiously. "Why?"

"Because you are much more enjoyable than I remembered," Russia explained loving the shocked look he received from the blonde.

Alfred opened his mouth to say something before closing it. He looked like a gasping fish out of water before he shook his head and grimaced. "You're fuckin' weird," he settled on.

Russia traced the pattern of his scarf against the table, eyes lighting up. "You are full of secrets, America. I have a slight itching to crack them."

Alfred frowned into the rim of his cup but didn't say anything. This conversation was strange. It shouldn't even be happening. He shouldn't be talking to Russia like they were some old friends catching up about freaky things. At most they were colleagues (unfortunately) but even colleagues shouldn't be talking this much in such a puzzling way. He looked up curiously to see Russia watching him. "What?"

Russia shook his head before stopping his ministrations with his scarf. "Will you tell me one thing, America?" Russia asked and dipped his head in that childish manner that did anything but make him appear that way. When not given an answer, he continued delicately, almost as if trying to remember something himself. Something he could no longer recall. "What was it like when you sang your first happy birthday?"

Alfred stilled and stared at the hem of Russia's scarf intently for a moment. Russia was no longer smiling that cheerful, amused smile anymore. He wore a dry one, one that didn't reach his eyes and actually sent ice down to his very core. Alfred felt like someone had stuck a syringe in him and filled his chest up with heavy lead. The small sting of anger burned around his already worn stomach lining and he felt his throat constrict. From Russia's tone he knew he was playing with him. Like some sadistic cat with a mouse before it devoured it. Alfred slowly pulled the cup away from his face before smiling back at the Russian with all the control in the world.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It looks like you're out of time."

Russia paused to look over Alfred's shoulder at the clock on the wall to see it was past five. He didn't say anything a moment before straightening up with his usual perkiness, it wrapping over his face like a mask. "How very true. Let us get to business then, shall we?"

Alfred couldn't help but feel more comfortable slipping back into their normal banter. He liked this political Russia more than the free time talker Russia. It was something predictable; something he was familiar with. There were no curve balls or distant smiles that made his head spin with this Russia. And especially little to no (preferably no) physical contact with this Russia. Yes, he liked this Russia much, much more.

Not to say that he liked Russia at all.

Goodness, no.

He'd sooner give up eating burgers forever than get along with Russia.

Alfred was on his afternoon stroll. The weather had been icy all October, but that was nothing compared to November. He walked briskly down the tepid snowy streets with a phone in his hand, jabbering away at his insistent caller. He would have been in a better mood but this particular person had decided to call him while on his way to the doughnut shop and nag him about the upcoming meeting.

Alfred sighed for what felt like the millionth time that morning. "Uh-huh. I got it, Arthur."

That low and nagging voice that sounded very much like a whining mosquito in the back of his ear emanated throughout his speaker with more words to nag him about. "And I don't want you forgetting that again. It was almost impossible to continue the last time you didn't bring it. Because of your daftness I had no choice but to go without my own the whole time."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Be sure to pack it beforehand. I know it's only three days but you somehow managed to screw that up last time. I'm surprised you even showed up on time. How was it that you managed to show up on time but you couldn't even remember your folder?"

"I don't know," Alfred said on a reflex, so used to zoning out when England started to badger him that he just subconsciously knew where to throw in a brief response. Light spools of white fluttered from his lips into the frozen air but the calmness of the street made him enjoy it this time. This was the good kind of cold; the kind that didn't splash in your face when someone took a turn too fast with their car.

"It surprised us all. But I guess if you get one thing right, you could possibly be getting another wrong to make up for your correction."

"Uh-huh."

"Alfred - are you even listening to me?" England asked on a sigh.

"Of course I am," Alfred responded with a cheeky grin.

"Then what did I just say?"

"Uhm…" Alfred turned onto another street and could see the doughnut store coming into view. He could already feel his saliva glands kicking into overdrive like a Saint Bernard. "Something about plane tickets, right?" There was a distinct blow of air against the receiver of his phone and he could practically see England rubbing at his face in frustration.

"Alfred, how you manage to tie your own shoes is beyond me."

He gave a hearty laugh at the drop in England's tone. "That's why I switched to Velcro. Less complications."

"Alfred –"

"I got it, I got it. Don't worry. I've already been packed since last Tuesday and my plane ticket and passport are snuggled neatly in my underwear drawer between the socks and my briefs. I'm trying out briefs for a while because someone I know told me that they're actually quite comfortable, unlike when boxers can ride up the center if you're running around too much. It's only day six but they seem to be working quite well with me. Oh, and all of my folders, binders, notepads, and graphs are all tucked away in my briefcase which has been sitting by my front door for two days. Is that enough to get you to stop worrying?" he asked and opened the door with a snicker.

England remained silent a moment as Alfred made his way up to the counter and grinned at the woman behind it. She already knew what he wanted; he was a regular. "I didn't need to know that part about the underwear," the Briton finally answered, as if he just managed to regain organization of his brain cells. Alfred stood back as the woman began filling a pink box with doughnuts and just allowed himself to be engulfed in the smell of the freshly baked goods.

"So is that enough?" Alfred asked and gave a hefty yawn into his palm. It was waaaay to early to be thinking, especially when it was about being prepared to go to a convention where massive world thinking took place. Just thinking about it made Alfred's brain hurt.

"You make it sound as if I'm bothering you," England responded with an airy wave of sarcasm. Alfred snorted but could already tell just by his tone that England was smiling. He knew that tone. He knew all his tones.

"Never," Alfred gasped dramatically. He looked over at the woman to see her smiling at him, box ready to be picked up. He strolled over and balanced the phone between his face and his shoulder as he fished out his wallet and began scrounging around for spare bills. "Hey listen, I gotta let you go now. I'm a bit busy at the moment."

"Doing what?" England sounded almost offended, as if he wasn't done bothering his dopey ex-brother yet.

"Important things that need my full and complete attention," Alfred said and handed the lady his money. He eagerly took the box from her and peeked inside, being hit with a tidal wave of glazed and diabetic goodness. Yes, his mouth was definitely getting a first class trip to sugar town.

"My guess is that some sort of food is involved."

Alfred paused before shutting the lid with a frown. "Noooo," he faded off and heard the scoff.

"Honestly. Are the only things you think about food and television?"

Alfred pouted and pushed the door open with his back and continued back the way he came from the icy Washington street. "No. Sometimes I think about spaceships." He laughed when England groaned at his childishness. "Well I have to go now. I have a lot to do and I can't get it done if I'm wasting my time talking to you."

England bristled. "I merely call to have a pleasant conversation with you and you –"

"What's that, Arthur? Krrrshhhh…I can't hear you that well…Krrrshhhh….'osing…'ignal….Krrr…Krrrssshhhh…."

"Alfred," England warned on the other end, thoroughly unamused.

"See you in a couple days! I'll remember all my stuff this time, promise. Adios." With that, he hung up his cell phone and trotted down the snow before England could start getting all over his case for hanging up on him. Halfway down the street his phone began to ring his national anthem. He looked down to see England's name appear and smiled, shoving it back in his pocket. He'd just let that one go to voicemail.

"Now. Let's get you guys home so I can finally give you the attention you deserve," he chuckled down at the box before picking up his pace. He had a lot of work to do.

For starters, that pesky world conference had creeped up again, and this time it happened to be taking place in Germany. Alfred knew, and it didn't take a genius to know, that if it was a brutal winter in the good ol' U S of A, then it was going to be one monster of a winter in Germany. The country was practically at the top of the flippin' world. It was bound to be cold in the winter. But aside from the fact that Alfred hated going to those stupid conferences, it was in two days. Two days and he would have to go from one cold place to an even colder place to talk about boring things with even more boring people who fought and spat and never ended up solving anything, only to go back and do the same thing again the next month. It really took a toll on a fella, truly it did.

But in terms of dreadful things, something managed to outweigh the conference, only just a day before his flight. Alfred had been checking his mail and one particular letter stood out from the rest. He had stared at it in the hallway for nearly an hour before the words from the sender finally sunk in.

Russian Federation.

How odd. He rarely ever got mail from other countries; usually it was for his President. A thought came to his mind that it could have possibly got mixed up and sent to him, but that was impossible because his name was neatly written in solid black ink on the front.

Alfred F. Jones.

How odd, indeed. With a shrug Alfred had opened it just for the hell of it to see what was inside. But he came to regret it with each word his eyes skimmed over. A mixture of disbelief and horror had pulled at him making him so confused that he just sat in the middle of his hallway and stared at the paper in his hand.

Dear America,

Or should I say Alfred? Is it impolite to call you that? I would prefer to call you America but I never know what kind of people you have wallowing around and peeking through the mail. No matter, I will simply call you America, for it is what I want to call you. Anyhow America, I am sure you will be surprised in getting this letter. I wish I could see your face when you open this but sadly I am on near the other side of the planet. Although, if you scream from getting this I will probably hear it since you have such a craterous mouth. Perhaps one day it will be the ninth wonder of world, yes?

But I am getting off topic, am I not? I am not entirely certain of why I am sending this. I think it is 'spur of the moment' as you Americans say. Yet another American phrase from my lips. You have truly snuck in like a virus! I was sitting at my desk doing my work when I found myself remembering that exquisite evening at the coffee shop. It was just a passing thought but then I began to dwell on it. Oh, how embarrassed it made me. I am glad for our distance because of this. You would surely poke fun at me if you were to see me now.

As I have enjoyed our spontaneous conversation before, and the world gathering is coming up in a few days, I would like for us to get together and chat about various things that suit our fancies. I hope that is alright with you because I am looking forward to it. Please try not to get yourself too excited and overlook your duties. I know that is a large and impossible thing to ask, but I will still voice the suggestion none the less.

Sincerely,

Russia

How very odd, indeed.

It was a beautiful day in Germany. The icicles hung from the rooftops like little daggers set precariously to impale random passerbies with no such luck gracing them. The streets were shielded over with ice that could make a car lose control and slam head-on into a business building inconveniently placed next to such a hazardous intersection. And the snow sat in sparkling piles in the sunlight that could blind anyone choosing to ride a bike today of all days and make them have a run in over a squirrel or with a fellow biker.

Yes, if today in Germany was described as any day, beautiful would certainly be it.

Ivan hummed an old Russian tune under his breath as he walked down a corridor of the building Germany had decided to host this month's conference in. He smiled at the various countries walking by him, giggling when a few turned around and headed down a different hallway. Such amusing people that attended this gathering. He tucked his chin into his treasured scarf and took a sniff with his large nostrils to soothe him over before the squabbling that usually took place once these things commenced would start.

Most of the time it was enjoyable to watch, but other times it bothered him to no end. Why the leaders of their respected countries sent them off to fight amongst themselves for three days was beyond him. But Ivan never complained. He was merely given a three day vacation every month enough to see the world that lay beyond the vast emptiness of his arctic tundra.

He pushed open the doors just in time to see a boot fly past his face. Ivan blinked and followed the boot until it plopped against the hard tiled flooring. He turned around curiously to see a sight that wasn't unfamiliar to his violet eyes. That England fellow was fighting with the Frenchman about something or other that he really had no interest in. And judging from his left half being shorter than his right, Ivan was clear to assume that it was England's shoe. He ignored it and shut the door, the shoe going out of sight.

He began to pick up his humming once more when passing by the two nations pulling at each other's hair before sitting down in a seat along the long table. His eyes scoped out all of the faces in the room and – My, oh my! – what was this? Ivan sat up in his seat to see that America had actually made it in before the key speaker had started. Well, what were the odds of something so wonderful happening upon arriving his first day in Germany?

Germany certainly was beautiful.

The American looked half-dead, eyelids drooping like wet umbrellas over his blue eyes – as blue as the ocean or the sky, Ivan wasn't sure. He was fiddling with a pamphlet that he'd taken from that Japanese nation and was making it into some sort of paper airplane. Ivan watched in slight fascination that he actually looked like he knew what he was doing. Well that shouldn't have been a surprise, he supposed, because of America's strange enthrallment with airplanes.

Ivan smiled to himself before taking his own pamphlet on the course of the conference and began to attempt folding it himself. He hadn't made many paper airplanes but after a moment he got the gist of it. Holding it up to see how satisfactory it was, Ivan carefully took out a pen and wrote in big bold letters on the inside of the plane: DOBRAYA UTRAH.

He giggled with excitement and let the plane take flight, it fluttering ungracefully due to the disproportionate wings. To his surprise – and slight delight – the front corner stuck right in America's eye, evading the glasses and all. He watched as America shot back with a yelp, Japan looking up curiously to see what was the matter now. He watched America remove the plane and look around, America's eyes landing right on Ivan. Ivan smiled politely and gave a small little wave which wasn't returned. Well, not with a wave, anyway. It was returned with the one finger salute and a glower.

America didn't even bother to try reading the message inside. He just crumpled the plane and threw it over his shoulder, going back to his own project as if the whole incident never happened. Aside from his irritated red eye.

Oh, America. When he was interested in something he tended to stick with it, didn't he? The thought made Ivan's smile a bit broader as he twiddled his thumbs patiently for the meeting to start. He was eager for the meeting to start today.

Because once the meeting could start, it could end. And when it ended, he could go and get some terrible tasting coffee.

Something that was becoming his new drink as of late. His new drink for his new hobby.

Oh, how he hoped America would last longer than the last one.

A/N: Read and Review if you would even though it is a pointless story with a very broad plot.