Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Chapter 7: Returning

America stared down into the carton of melting ice cream that she held between her overly warm hands. She pushed her spoon in and out of the slowly melting solid, her stomach churning sickening cartwheels as she stared into the goopy mess. For once in her short existence, well short for a country, food did not appeal to her. It only made her feel that much worse.

Sighing, America pulled herself from the couch. She dumped the half melted ice cream in the freezer without putting the lid back on. She made her way back to the couch, dropping back into the spot she'd been for the past two hours.

"Maybe I can just go back to isolationism. That would solve my problems…maybe," America mumbled to herself, staring at the flat screen television playing the Sunday football game. Once again, that did not appeal to her.

She flipped through the channels, stopping on one that was playing the new movie '21 Jump Street'. "Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. I need a good laugh," she shouted enthusiastically, punching her fist into the air and settling in to laugh herself silly. She was just getting into the movie when someone decided to knock on her door. She stopped mid shout, jumping to her feet.

"Dude, you just left like two hours ago. What are you doing back already? I can take care of myself, you know?" America shouted, thinking it was Canada so she didn't think twice about answering the door in her underwear, the pretty kind that Belarus had lent her for the time being, "Don't you have work to do?" She swung the door, a rush of heat washing over her despite the lateness of the day. It should have cooled down, but it was one of those summer nights were the night was just as hot as the day had been. A light sheen of sweat broke out across her skin.

Not so surprisingly for everyone else except for America, it was not Canada who stood outside her door, but Russia staring down at her with his lavender eyes. He wore his usual heavy coat and constricting scarf causing America heat stroke just looking at him. A few beads of sweat hung on his brow.

"No, that is why I am here," Russia said a little confused, his voice strained from the smothering heat. What he wouldn't give to be back in his country where the night were cool and comfortable. "Is America here? It is late now and I imagine he'd be home by now."

America was at a loss for words, the words she recalled sticking in her throat. Her mouth gaped open like a fish on dry land as her brain tried to formulate at least something close to a sentence. "Um," she began brilliantly.

"Maryland, you should dress," Russia commented, unashamedly looking her exposed body up and down. His eyes stopped on the coin sized birthmark protruding just above her panties. His eyes narrowed, staring at the familiar mark, but kept his mouth shut. If he was right in his thoughts, he wouldn't have to say anything.

America glanced down at herself. She had no problem being half naked, and she really didn't care anymore. Though Russia hadn't seen her naked in this body, he had seen her naked as a guy so it felt no different to her. "Nah, I'll be fine. It's hot anyway," she said nonchalantly, taking no notice of the Russian's lingering gaze as she finally regained her speech, "I don't know when Al is going to be home. It'd probably be best just to go back to home."

"No, I'll just wait here for him. He is the host country tomorrow after all so it shouldn't be a problem," Russia began, stepping into the house, but America stopped him, panic flooding her belly.

"Um, I don't know when he's going to be home. I think he's out on a date tonight. He was planning on crashing at her place, or at least that's what he was hoping to do," she explained quickly, hoping that deterred the Russian.

"Then I'll wait here just in case he does come back," the Russian said, stepping past her easily and into the house. He pulled at the scarf circling his neck, reveling in the air conditioned space. He was sweltering. All he wanted to do know was strip off his close just like America had done, but instead just shrugged out of his coat.

He dropped his coat on the back of the couch, watching the movie on the screen with a frown. He turned away from it with a satisfied smirk when the door clicked closed behind him and the bolt lock slid into place.

"So, where exactly has our lovely America been these past few days?" Russia asked, wiping the expression from his face before America could catch wind of what he was planning. At the thought of America, his skin pulsed and heat flooded his nether regions. His body ached to feel the American against him, to feel his perpetually warm skin slipping against his cool skin. Just a few days without touching the American had him not being able to concentrate and daydreaming in his meetings. It was maddening to say the very least.

Of course he'd had others while America had been M.I.A., but there was nothing like a country who could take the abuse he put out and who dished it just as fully. He didn't make a habit of sleeping with humans. They were simply too fragile.

America shrugged, avoiding meeting Russia's eyes. She was uncomfortable in his presence with how the other men had been reacting to her. So very uncomfortable. "I don't know, I'm not usually allowed to know what he's working on until close to the end of the project."

"Ah," Russia murmured, not really listening to her and instead focused on the fact that the bra she wore was just the bit too small for her. His sister wasn't small by any means, but America, well, she was a different story entirely. "How long do you think your brother will take if he does come back?" He already knew the answer if his assumption about her was correct, and was slowly moving in on her, but slowly so that she wouldn't particularly notice.

She didn't, still staring at the floor. "I don't know. On a good night he won't be home, if he got lucky probably in around three to five hours, and if he completely shot out he'll be home within an hour." She sighed, looking up just in time to see Russia grabbing her wrists and pushing her against the arm of the couch. He pressed his lips roughly to hers, his body humming with lust.

America didn't fight back, she didn't push him away or try to pull her hands free. Instead, she responded by biting his bottom lip like he liked, slipping her tongue past his teeth when his jaw unclenched.

Russia released America's wrists, sliding his gloved hands up and down her sides. The leather smoothed across her skin, eliciting a shiver from the female. He pushed his hand up her back, sliding it under the back of her bra, playing with the spot between her shoulder blades. He grabbed her hip lightly with her other hand, pressing her hips against him.

"The gloves," America murmured without thinking, arching into him, "Take the damn gloves off, Ivan."

Russia smirked, complying quickly with the angry female, returning his hands to their previous places once the gloves had dropped to the floor with a thump. He'd been right. America had been Maryland the entire time. America was the only one who called him Ivan and told him to take off the gloves, especially when he was angry.

"I knew it," he muttered against her neck, forcefully wrapping her legs around his waist. He cupped her ass, holding her against him and walking in the direction of the bedroom.

…..

"Oh my god, the sun is yellow," America groaned as the sun crawled from his bed behind the hill facing his bedroom window. Pure yellow light streamed through the crushed blinds over his window. He didn't remember them being open last night, but he did remember being slammed into them. Yes, he'd been slammed into a good many things over the night. His body was bruised and purple, his muscles aching. It took all of his strength just to sit up and stare out the window, blurry eyed.

Russia gave a contented sigh from beside America, still somehow awake. Honestly, America didn't know how he was still awake himself.

America glanced down at Russia, catching his purple gaze. "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?" Russia asked, wrapping his arms around the pillow and looking up at America. A lazy, sated smile spread across his face, his eyes and breathing echoing the blatant emotions on his face.

"How did you know that I was, well, me? You were calling my name and not Maryland the entire time," America explained, shifting and grimacing as pain shot through America's groin. Even though he was no longer female, he had still retained the soreness from Russia's intrusion. He had never realized just how much it hurt at first for woman when the man was large. He had a new respect for their endurance now.

"Your tattoo, your birthmark, your personality, and the way you called me by my human name when you got angry," Russia explained, hugging the pillow closer.

Dropping his head into his hands, America shook his head. "Was I really that obvious?"

"Yes, but none of the others have noticed because they're dense as doornails," Russia explained, smiling and crossing his legs. "How does it feel to be back to your normal self?"

"Sore," America grumbled, disgruntled, "And bruised." He sucked in a sharp breath as something occurred to him. He ran his hands over his body, first grabbing a chest that was no longer there and them lifting up the blanket. It was true, he was completely male again. Which meant that…

"No!" America shouted before the thought could be finished, stumbling from his bed and nearly taking a face plant as he jumped from the mattress. "No! This can't be! I…I don't love anyone so how could this have happened?" He was shouted at the ceiling, pacing a circle through the clothes scattered across the floor. Pain ripped through him with each step making his knees wobble. Dry cum made it uncomfortable to walk when his thighs rubbed together. He hated the feeling of dry cum on his skin.

"America, what are you talking about so suddenly?" Russia asked, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch the fretting man. Ignoring the man's problems though, he admired the length of his body. It was quite the amazing thing to behold.

America came for a sudden stop, glancing wildly around the floor. "M-my phone. My phone! Where's my cellphone?!" America shouted, turning in circles like a dog chasing his tail.

Russia sighed, pointing towards America's dresser. "There America."

America snatched up his phone, dialing Canada and pacing out of the room. Russia decided it's be best for himself just to pass out. Despite how he acted, he was dog tired and absolutely ready to pass out. He dropped his head down, snuggling into the blankets and pillow, falling quickly asleep wrapped in America's scent.

The phone in America's hand ringed twice before his brother finally picked up. "Canada," America whined the moment the phone picked up, "I don't know what to do." Tears stung his eyes and he was tempted to let them spill down his face.

"What is it America? Do you realize what time it is?" Canada asked in an unusually irritated voice.

"Mattie, please help me. I don't know how this could be? I-I don't love anyone. I don't know how this happened," America cried, sinking to the floor.

"Is that America?" a pair of sleepy voices asked Canada. They were obviously England and France.

"America? Are you back to normal? Who'd you sleep with?" England asked bluntly, taking the phone from Canada who immediately fell back to sleep. They'd tell him what happened later.

"Russia," America groaned, dropping his head to the floor and slumping onto it, "This can't be happening." He could almost hear England rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

"Stop being a drama queen. Don't worry, I got the translation wrong. You just had sleep with someone who had truly compatible chemistry with you so stop freaking out already. Russia's not your true love," England explained with a sigh. The silence was deafening.

America stared at his floor, anger and irritation bubbling up inside of him. "Really? You made me worry like crazy and it was something simple like that?" America asked, the anger coming out in his voice.

"I already explained to you once that Latin is extremely hard to translate-" England began, but America cut him off.

"Yeah, whatever," America snapped, cutting off the line and slamming his phone onto the table. The screen cracked loudly, but he could have cared let. "I need sex." Yes, sex fixed everything. He stomped back to the bedroom, straddling Russia as he climbed onto the bed. He woke Russia with a hungry kiss.

Russia raised his eyebrow at the sight before him, an aroused, angry America. "Yes, America? Is there something you want?"

"I'm talking," America said simply, pressing his lips back to Russia's and threading his fingers through his pale hair.

…..

"America, you need to stop eating, you're getting fat," England told the dirty blonde who sat with his head on the table, slurping at a soda without enthusiasm. He mumbled something around his straw, but didn't look up. "What did you say? I can't hear you. Speak up."

"My chest hurts. I feel like I'm going to puke," America muttered, sliding his drink onto the table. He groaned, moving his hand under his shirt to press it to his stomach. "This suuuuuucks."

"What is the matter, mon ami?" France asked, draping himself over America.

The strong scent of flowers hit America's nose. He retched, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Get… off," he huffed, his stomach rolling as his nose was assaulted by the perfume France seemed to be coated in.

"But why? What is ailing you? Maybe I could help," France said seductively, pressing against America's back. He slung an arm across the other man's chest, running his hand through his victim's hair.

"No, seriously France, get off," America growled as his stomach continued to roll. He could feel his body readying itself to vomit. His muscles tensed, his body shivering with the effort to keep his food down.

France frowned, moving so that he could see America's face better. "America, is there something wrong?" he asked, his eyebrows becoming friends as he spied the American's clenched eyes and the sweat dripping down his face. "Are you sick?"

France's scent hit America harder than ever. His stomach decided to give. "I'm going to puke!" He shot to his feet, overturning his chair and the table in his haste to exit the room. Finding the nearest restroom, he burst into a stall, not bothering to shut the door and finally let his body expel the food in his stomach. He was dry heaving by the time the others found him again.

"Jesus Al, are you alright?" came Canada's quiet, concerned voice from the doorway, his footsteps tapping lightly against the tiled floor as he approached the stall America was in.

"Yeah, I actually feel lots better," America called back in a high-pitched voice. It was not the kind of high-pitch that you get when you're scared. It was more the high-pitched voice of a female. "Honestly, I do feel better," he said as he exited to stall, his shuddering and nauseous feeling having disappeared.

Canada gasped along with the rest of the bystanders who had followed him into the bathroom at the sight of America. "Maryland?" France asked bemusedly for the entire group.

America frowned, glancing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and laughed. "Dude, I'm a chick again," she said, grinning. Now that she knew how to get back to being male, she didn't mind so much. She could have some fun now. She looked down at her abdomen hidden beneath her shirt, thinking about the little bump between her hips that was being hidden.

"Um, hey, guys, uh, do any of you know if a nation can get pregnant?" she asked slowly, looking up at the gaping group, a little horrified. It wasn't four months after that question that America was in the hospital screaming her lungs off in pain.

…..

"And that's how you were born!" America finished with a dramatic sweep of his arms and a huge grin that stretch from ear to ear.

Anya, his daughter, stared up at her mother with wide, shocked eyes. She had no idea how to respond to that. She'd know that her birth had revolved around a magical spell by her Grandpa Iggy gone wrong, but had she expected this. Definitely not, she thought to herself, ignoring the pancakes that slipped of the end of her fork.

"Uncle Mattie, is that true?" she called over her shoulder, following her voice and swinging around to face her uncle who was cooking more pancakes seeing as her father was a complete pig when it came to food.

Canada sighed, turning to his niece with an apologetic smile. "Unfortunately, yes, every word of it, though he probably could have phrased it better and not given you so much detail," he said, shooting his brother a glare that just bounced off his thick skin without causing any damage.

Anya dropped her head into her hands, trying to decide what to think of the whole thing. "So you're telling me that I was conceived during my mother's quest to become a man again? How… romantic," she muttered sarcastically, shaking her head in denial.

"What are you guys talking about?" Russia asked as he entered the house without knocking, coming into the kitchen and immediately going to give America a long, intense kiss.

Anya watched her parents, pursing her lips. "I will never be able to look at you guys in the same way ever again," she said, sitting straight and propping her elbows up on the table, fork still held in her hand.

"What do you mean?" Russia asked as he and America pulled apart.

Canada sighed and answered for her. "Your husband just told your seventeen-year-old daughter about how she came to be in existence."

Russia looked between his daughter, who looked like a female version of himself with America's nose, and America. He grinned, taking a seat beside her. "Well, it's about time you found out, da? It'll happen to you one day too, don't worry, but remember, I will destroy any man who touches my daughter, especially the one who gets you pregnant." He grinned wickedly, his aura going the same lavender of his eyes.

"Dad! Jesus H. Christ! I'm seventeen! I'm not going to get pregnant any time soon! And I will never get a spell put on me that turns me into a dude!" Anya cried, jumping from her chair and imbedding her fork in the table, cracking it down the middle. She'd inherited her mother's strength. Her face burned with embarrassment.

"You never know!" America and Russia chirped, and Canada said. Her parents grinned, loving that fact that they'd been able to make their daughter uncomfortable. It was a game they loved to play, and often they won it.

Anya let out a frustrated groan, turning from the two men and stomping back to her room. "I can't deal with you two mental cases!" she shouted, slamming the door behind her. Honestly, she loved her parents though, and she was happy she'd been brought into this world by them. She wouldn't have it any other way.

THE END

I hope you guys enjoyed my little story. I sure had fun with it. I hope I don't need to do much explaining. I also needed a way to end it and just thought the last part would be perfect. I could completely see America and Russia messing with their daughter all the time. Review please!