A/N: I like Johnny Cash, and Rus/fem!Ame, don't hate. They'd be cute, you know, once they worked through their very serious problems (not going into those in this story though!)

"I find myself alone when each day is through
Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you
Because you're mine, I walk the line."

Amelia Jones sat on the front porch of her sprawling Tennessee home with her best friend, Kiku Honda, sipping on a Shiner Bock and contentedly watching the sun go down. She had homes in several states, but there were few places that she loved more than Tennessee in the summer. "I'm glad you decided to show up tonight," the female nation said, turning her thousand-watt smile on the Japanese man, who sat quietly in the rocking chair next to her. Her bright eyes looked more animated than usual, accentuated by the bright blue of her plaid button-up. She crossed one boot-clad leg over the other and said, "I know loud parties aren't really your scene. But I invited MeiMei," she added with a wink, elbowing him good-naturedly. "And Heracles will be here, too!"

"Whatever you say, Amelia-chan," he replied, flushing slightly. "It was no trouble, really. I don't mind helping you set up your parties." It was almost nine o'clock on a lazy July summer day—her birthday, in fact, July fourth. He smiled, thinking of how excited his American friend had been as she bounced about her sweetly decorated house, talking a mile a minute about the red, white, and blue frosting she had specially ordered for her three-tier cake (she never did anything halfway). Her reaction when he showed up with a not-yet-released video game from his home had been pretty priceless, too. True, not a lot of people understood how such a boisterous girl like America and a reserved guy like Japan ended up friends, but they worked. Otaku friends, they jokingly called themselves. "The others will be showing up soon, I imagine."

Sure enough, a flashy black Mercedes Benz pulled up in front of Amelia's house with an audible screech. "Oh God," she said with a fake groan. "Gil's here." She grinned.

As if on cue, the nations Prussia and France piled out of the German car, followed by a clumsy Spain, who nearly dropped the large gift he was carrying. "Hola!" Antonio called, waving enthusiastically. He bounced up the stairs and kissed her on the cheek, affectionate as ever. "This is for you, from the three of us!" He beamed, thrusting the large gift into her waiting arms.

"Aw, thanks guys," she laughed. "Should I be afraid?"

"You may want to open it later," Francis purred in his seductive voice, sidling up to her and hugging her a bit too tightly for her liking. "How have you been, ma belle? You are looking as lovely as ever."

"Thanks, Francey-pants," she said, pulling his arms from around her waist and placing them firmly by his side. "Go out back, there's some food ready."

"I think I'll be the judge of that," her former mentor sniffed delicately, following Antonio into the house. Gilbert hugged her too briefly before running after his friends, yelling about needing a beer.

"I hope they don't break anything," she said with a frown to Kiku, but she didn't have time to go check on them, because more and more people started showing up—Hungary and Austria arrived almost immediately after Italy and his brother, who was shooting dirty looks at Germany the whole time; China arrived with a giant stuffed cat for Amelia, and his rambunctious younger sibling Korea, along with Hong Kong and Taiwan. And then—

"Toris, I told you not to invite him," Amelia said with a hiss, pinching her Lithuanian friend when he arrived, a pink-clad Poland in tow. The slight brunet man shrugged helplessly.

"You better not, like, be talking about me, babe," Felicks said, tossing his blond hair.

"Of course she is talking about you," the man behind them said in a pleasant bass with a thick Russian accent. "You are rather unbearable at times, da?" He patted the blond man on the shoulder affectionately.

"Hey, Russia," Amelia said stiffly, regarding her former rival uneasily. Yeah, they were allies once, but the Cold War hadn't been that long ago, and from the way his politicians acted, he certainly wasn't over it. Damn, she forgot how tall he was. She was pretty tall herself, but he still towered over everyone in the room. "Aren't you kinda hot, dude? This is a barbeque. It's like eighty degrees out right now. " He was wearing his characteristic scarf and overcoat.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, not moving from the top step on her porch. "This is true. I am not used to your American weather. It is rather nice." He paused, looking at her contemplatively. "Are you going to invite me in?"

She flushed in embarrassment. She didn't want to be rude and betray her sense of American hospitality, but he was a freaking commie. "Yeah, okay," she said reluctantly. "Since your freaky-ass sister isn't here. Everyone's out back." But then, someone else caught her gaze, and she practically leapt off the porch to attack her brother Canada, who was awkwardly holding hands with Ukraine.

"BRO!" She yelled, latching onto him like a leech. "I thought you'd never show up! You better have brought me some more maple syrup! I texted you about it last night, remember! Or at least I think I did, I was playing COD with Kiku really late—"

He laughed, gently prying her loose. "Of course I remembered," he said in his soft voice, interrupting her stream of words. "I wouldn't forget your birthday." He looked a little sad as he said that last part. She guessed why immediately.

"Artie's not showing up, is he?" She asked quietly. Just like that, the outgoing American seemed to deflate a little bit. Even her cheerful golden curls seemed to droop.

"I'm sorry, Ames," the Canadian said sincerely, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "He sent a card. He said he had business to attend to in Scotland." He handed her the card, but she didn't even look at it.

"Right," she said in an unnaturally high voice. "Of course. Hey, Katyusha. You look beautiful. Mattie, you can just set your stuff down in the guest room, y'all can crash here tonight."

"Thanks," her brother said, giving her a last concerned look before heading inside.

Amelia took a deep breath to settle herself. So what if England hadn't shown up to a single one of her birthdays yet? It had only been, like, two and a half centuries since she had declared her independence. Even though he irritated the hell out of her sometimes, and she him, she really did care about him, and wished he would be here with Francis and Matthew, just once. Like old times. Whatever. I need another beer, she decided, and headed inside.

"Romano, you need to calm down," Amelia said, trying not to laugh as the irate Italian swung her favorite Louisville bat in rage, trying frantically to hit the rainbow-colored piñata in her backyard.

"This is the stupidest game ever!" He yelled, swinging the bat with such viciousness that nearby China had to jump out of his way. "I am going to fucking break that stupid thing!"

"Keep going, fratello, you're so close!" His twin cried, oblivious to his brother's infantile anger and the other nations' laughter.

He finally hit it with a resounding crack, and candy went flying everywhere. Sealand, who had been waiting eagerly, raced for the candies, nearly knocking heads with Korea, who had also been waiting in anticipation.

"That's my Romano!" Antonio said cheerfully, sweeping up his charge in a rather unnecessary hug.

"Put me down, bastard!" He yelled, struggling with his blindfold, but his annoyance fell on deaf ears.

Amelia smiled as she watched all of her friends goof off and relax a bit. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that they were (sort of) human too. Who said piñatas were stupid now? They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, she thought with a satisfied smirk. Normally, she would have been fighting with the younger nations for candy, but she was still kind of blue about Arthur not showing up. Stupid Englishman, she thought in frustration.

She wondered what he was doing in Scotland, if anything. It was probably just an excuse, but then, he was pretty dedicated to his job. Sometimes, he could be more uptight than Germany, she thought with a sad smile.

"You look kind of blue, cherie," Francis said, taking a seat on the lush grass next to her. "Could you perhaps be thinking of our Angleterre?"

"I don't need that grumpy old man," she said immediately, blue eyes flashing defiance. "Heroes don't need people bringing them down."

"Of course not," Francis said, rolling his eyes. She and Angleterre had that stubbornness in common, at least. They would never admit when they needed someone. "Well, I think that you need another drink. I think Elizabeta set up a game of king's cup in the living room." He helped her to her feet, glad to see that she was smiling again.

"If you're trying to get me drunk, Francis, that won't happen," she warned the blond man, but regally took his arm as he escorted her into the house. "I would never get smashed with you three around," she said, referring to his friends Gilbert and Antonio.

"I would never," he said indignantly, all innocence. "Now come on. It's your birthday. Loosen up a little, Amerique."

She gave in without too much trouble—she did love a good game of king's cup. She fixed herself a drink of Jack and Coke and sat down on the floor in a circle of nations including Hungary, Prussia, Lithuania, Japan, Taiwan, France, Spain, Belgium, and…ugh, not him, too. But Russia was already comfortably seated next to Lithuania, who looked like he wanted to crawl under Amelia's Ottoman and disappear.

"Aw yeah, Amelia's here!" Gilbert yelled. "Now it's on! I'm gonna take you down," he declared, smirking his characteristic smirk. They were good drinking buddies, and they had about the same alcohol tolerance, so she knew if he started acting weird, it was probably time for her to stop, too.

"In your dreams, Gil," she retorted.

"Quiet down," Elizabeta said, shooting the albino a look as she laid out the cards, face down, in the center of the group, with the king's cup in the middle. "Okay, we'll start with MeiMei."

The pretty Asian girl reached forward and drew an eight.

"Pick a drinking partner!" Gil yelled. "And don't pick a lame-ass like Toris. That guy never gets drunk."

"Not all of us are alcoholics like you," the Baltic nation said tiredly.

"Um, Kiku, I guess," she said with a sly smile, her warm brown eyes landing on the blushing Japanese nation. They both took a hearty sip from their drinks—Kiku wanted rice wine, but someone had forced him to take some kind of green concoction instead.

"Okay, Francis," the Hungarian woman said bossily. She seemed to have put herself in charge.

"Four of hearts," he said dramatically, sweeping a hand through his luscious hair. "That means—putains."

"Hey," Elizabeta said, elbowing him sharply. "Don't talk like that. Ladies drink," she explained to Bella and MeiMei, who looked a little confused.

"That's not what it means," Gilbert said slyly to Antonio as the ladies knocked their drinks back.

Bella, Toris, and Antonio went, and then it was Ivan's turn.

"Eleven," the large Eurasian man said, puzzled, inspecting the card. "I am not sure what this means."

"Never have I ever," Francis said enthusiastically. "Everyone holds up five fingers, and we take turns saying things that we haven't done and putting a finger down for each thing we've done. The first one to get out has to drink, oui?" Everyone nodded.

"Hmm…never have I ever had sushi," he said innocently, and a few nations scowled as they put a finger down.

"Boring," Elizabeta said dismissively. "Okay, never have I ever smoked pot!" More fingers went down this time.

"You so have smoked, Liz," Gilbert said to the Hungarian woman, who flushed slightly before consenting.

Amelia grinned as she said, "Never have I had sex with a chick."

"Not fair," some of the guys grumbled.

"Sorry," she said with a cheeky grin, looking not at all sorry.

"Two can play at that game," Gilbert said from her left, narrowing his red eyes at her. "Never have I ever—"

"Be careful what you say," Elizabeta said ominously, her emerald eyes flashing.

"Um…" He swallowed. "Never have I ever, um, gotten wasted at America's!"
"That's a lie," she cried immediately. "And you said my name, so you have to drink! Toni's rule!" And so on, until MeiMei, Bella, Antonio, and Kiku were looking more than a little buzzed, and Gilbert was not doing much better. By now, a few other nations had gathered to watch.

"My turn again," Francis said elegantly. He drew a two. "Hmm, let's see, who should I get drunk…" He looked to Antonio, his usual drinking buddy, but he was nearly gone, and kept trying to leave the circle to talk to Romano. "I know!" His azure eyes lit upon Amelia, who scowled good-naturedly at him. "To your health, my dear," he said with a grin, throwing back the last of his second glass of wine.

"Yeah, screw you too," she laughed, finishing off her third Jack and Coke.

"I think-I think it's my turn," Bella said, her sweet, cat-like face flushed with alcohol. "Um…I…what is seven, again?"

"Drink," the group commanded.

Finally, the horrific game ended when Germany stormed over and declared that he was going to take away their alcohol if they didn't stop Antonio from belly dancing (no one even knew why he was dancing), so they reluctantly ended it, with Kiku guzzling down the king's cup, a shot of tequila.

Amelia jumped to her feet, feeling pretty buzzed at this point. "That was pretty fun, but who's ready to really drink?" She challenged, planting her hands on her hips. She swayed a little, but rejected Toris' offer of help as she walked over to where China and his siblings were gathered.

"Sup, homes," she said, throwing an arm around Korea's shoulders, who looked quite pleased.

"Hey, Amelia," Hong Kong said quietly, smiling. "Are you having fun?"

"You betcha," she declared. "Hey, why aren't you drunk? And you!" She accused, poking Yong Soo in the chest. "Have you drunk at all?"

"Yao said I can't have alcohol, daze," Korea replied, looking crushed. "He says I'm too much of a spaz as it is."

"That's right, aru," China said sternly. "So don't think about trying any." He was in full elder brother mode, and kept shooting glances over at MeiMei, who was leaning dangerously on Kiku's arm.

"Aw, lame," Amelia said, pouting. "Come on, Yaoooooooo-"

"Amelia, please," he began, as she moved from Yong Soo to latch onto his arm. "You've been drinking too much—"

"No such thing," she announced.

"Is she bothering you, Yao?" Someone asked cheerfully.

Both nations turned to look at Russia, who had a bottle of vodka tucked under one arm.

"Sputnik," Amelia began, turning on him suddenly. "I told you. It is too hot for your stupid winter clothes!" She reached up to unbutton his coat, but he backed away, startled.

"What are you doing?" He asked, alarmed. "I came over to bring you your birthday present, but now I am not so sure it is a good idea."

"You got me a present?" She asked, surprised, and a little touched. She relinquished Yao's arm to take the bottle of vodka. "Hey man, I…wow. This is really nice. Thanks, big guy." She felt a little hot headed, but she wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or…the heat. It was pretty warm in her house right now.

"Da, but don't drink any of it now," he said, smiling a tiny bit.

"Why not?" She asked, snatching the bottle from his hands. "I'm so thirsty, Ivan!"

She said my real name, he said, shocked. She must be out of it…

"Agh, screw this," she said, after unsuccessfully trying to open the bottle. "Where's Kiku—Kiku! Dude, come take a shot with me!" She yelled in his general direction, but he looked pretty content on her living room couch with Greece. "Pansies," she grumbled. She considered breaking the neck of the bottle off with her super human strength, but Ivan, sensing the direction her thoughts were going, hastily took it away.

"I will take a shot with you, then, Amelia," Ivan said cheerfully, opening it easily. "For your birthday, da?"

"Hell yeah," she agreed, taking the shot glass he offered. He looked like he was about to say something, but she threw it back and slammed the shot glass back down on the counter and was gone before he could make a toast or something.

"She is crazy," he muttered to Yao, who nodded his assent. But he smiled as he said it.

"She is still very young," the Chinese man said sagely. "She will calm down eventually.

But Amelia had no intentions of calming down. It wasn't even twelve yet. She had another two shots with the Nordics, and then Sweden had insisted that he and Finland go home, because Sealand had school the next day. A few other nations left, leaving a group of mostly her closer friends.

"Who's up for some beer pong?" Matthew suggested mildly, but no one heard him, so Amelia yelled, "BEER PONG!" And the adults flocked to the table that Gilbert and Francis had hastily set up.

"Me and Mattie are gonna take y'all down," Amelia declared, bouncing over to the table. "Who will challenge us?"

"I was gonna play with Kat," Matthew said, but his sister didn't hear him, so he sighed and went to join her. She set up the red plastic cups on the table enthusiastically, hastily filling them with some of the beer that Gilbert and Ludwig had brought over.

"We'll take you on," Gilbert declared, pulling Elizabeta to his side.

"No, I'm going to play with Roderich," she protested.

"Nein, not tonight," her friend replied, grinning. "We have to take down Amelia. I promised her. The awesome me insists!"

To his dismay, Matthew was an excellent player, and mostly sober, and made up for Amelia's 50/50 playing. Gilbert left the table in a huff, and four new people took over the game.

I must be a little buzzed, Amelia thought to herself, watching as both teams seemed to sway in front of her, even though they weren't moving. Damn Francis. She sat down against the wall by the table, so she could watch Felicks and Toris totally destroy Bella and Romano, who kept cussing at them. Damn, her eyes felt heavy. What all did she drink? Three mixed drinks, three…or four…shots…and some beer with Kiku before everyone showed up…

She fell asleep for a moment, and the next thing she knew, someone was pressing a shot glass into her hand. "It's midnight, Amyyyy," Antonio slurred, trying to get her to stand up and take the shot glass from him. "That means you drink! Cause it's your birthday! Feliz cumpleanos a ti—"

"Spain, shut the fuck up," Romano growled. "Don't give her any more alcohol. She's a fucking lady." He took the shot himself, to the Spaniard's dismay.

"Ay, mi pequeno tomate, whyyyy—" The brunet wailed, stumbling over to him.

"Okay," Amelia said with a sigh, leaping up. "I think I'm ready to go to bed." She nearly tripped over Yong Soo, who was dozing at her feet. It seemed he had gotten some alcohol, after all. Or perhaps he was just tired.

"No, you can't go to sleep yet, silly," Feliciano said, brushing past his brother and Antonio to come over and kiss her cheek clumsily. "Luddy and I are going to make pasta!"

"Don't listen to him," Germany said tiredly, pulling the smaller man away from her with a sigh. "We're going home. Are you going to be alright?" He eyed her with a sort of stern concern.

"Aww, I'm fine," she said, punching him in the shoulder affectionately. "I think you might want to check on—hic—Gil though." She waddled over to the living room, where some people were already passed out on her couch—MeiMei, Kiku, and Heracles, who hadn't been drinking but was simply sitting there watching TV, petting her cat Liberty distractedly. "Hey, where's Mattie?" She asked him drunkenly, collapsing on the couch next to him. "Mattieee—"

"I think you've had enough, Amelia," her brother said with a sigh after Heracles beckoned him over, helping her up again.

"Nope," she disagreed, tapping him on the nose. "Hey, where's your giiiirlfriend? Huh? Where's Katyusha?"

"Amelia, how much have you had tonight?" The Canadian replied, looking strained.

"Not enough," she said. She changed her mind. She didn't want to go to sleep. "Where is my birthday vodka? The—the birthday—girl—I demand it!"

"What?" He asked, his mild features concerned. "I'm pretty sure between you and Prussia, there is no alcohol left in this house." He slipped an arm around her, propping her up. "Damn it, Amelia. Oh well, at least you haven't done anything really stupid yet—" He shuddered, thinking of the last time she had been drunk. "Come on, where's your room again? I'll help you upstairs."

But something caught her eye. France, Denmark, and a few of the other nations that were still conscious had started dancing in her living room. Normally, she would be concerned about having those idiots around her badass new stereo, but then one of her favorite songs came on, so she pulled Matthew over, and started dancing with him, to his embarrassment.

"I gotta feeling, HOOOO hoooOOO," she belted , dancing around him. "Come on, Mattie! I know you like the Black Eyed Peas!"

The song changed to some Lada Gaga remix, and when she turned around, she found herself facing Russia, who was watching her with amusement. "You Americans have awful music," he remarked, trying not to laugh. He wasn't dancing, but he instead watched the small group with no small amount of enjoyment.

"This is the music of freedom," she informed him, tossing her head. "You wouldn't know!"

He stiffened and looked angry for a moment, but she was too far gone to notice, so he decided not to hold it against her. Suddenly she stopped dancing, and looked up at him, a worried look in her eyes. "Hey, Sputnik," she said, her voice sounding faraway in her ears. Her blue eyes looked a little glazed over as they held fast onto his lilac ones. What a freaky-ass color for eyes. Oh man, I am trashed, she realized as spots began to crowd the corners of her vision. She felt herself slump down onto the floor, landing on a very soft pair of what felt like boots, before passing out to the sound of Baby Got Back.

"Amelia, I want you to be very careful how you talk to this man," her mentor said sternly, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. "He is not someone to be trifled with." His colony was only a little over a century old—scarcely more than a child, in his eyes, not yet a woman.

"Yeah yeah, Artie, I can take care of myself," the much younger nation said loftily, toying with the hem of her gown restlessly. She didn't like balls or formal engagements of any kind, really, but she did like meeting new people.

She saw the man that England was talking about—he was dancing with his older sister, Katyusha Braginsky, on the other side of the small but lavishly decorated London dance hall. He cut a very imposing figure in his finely tailored black overcoat and silk cravat—he looked surprisingly Western. She hadn't met a country as far east as Russia, and somehow she thought he would look more like the way Arthur described China. He was easily the tallest in the room, even taller than her gawky brother Matthew. She wondered what he looked like up close. She had so many questions to ask! He had a great empire, she knew. She wanted to be a big country one day, too, so she thought she should talk to him. She also knew Arthur would throw a fit if she went to ask him to dance though, instead of being asked to dance like the proper lady she was supposed to be. Stuffy England, she thought crossly.

Her wish was granted only a few moments later, however, when she saw him cross over to talk to Arthur. He bowed slightly, his round features slightly curled in a smile as he said, "Privet, England."

"Evening," Arthur said coolly, regarding him cautiously. "You are enjoying yourself, I hope." Amelia shot him a look—he was being awfully distant. She knew that England was not very fond of other empires, and the one before them had grown quite powerful very, very quickly.

"Da," the large Eastern European nation said lightly. Amelia looked up at him then and saw that he was smiling at her. "Is this the colony that I have heard so much about?"

"Yeah! I'm America, Amelia F. Kirkland!" She said enthusiastically, sticking out her hand for him to shake.

"Amelia," Arthur hissed next to her. She knew ladies didn't shake hands, but she was so used to doing it, she paid him no mind.

"I know," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I am the Russian Empire, Ivan Braginsky." But instead of shaking her hand, he took it in both of his gloved hands and kissed it lightly. His scent, a sort of chilly pine scent, wafted over to her. "You will have to keep an eye on this one, England, hm? She knows her own mind."

"Not just England," she declared, sticking her chin out. "I'm going to be a great nation some day, you know. Maybe even greater than you," she challenged, raising her eyebrows.

He chuckled, not looking offended, although she could practically feel England writhing next to her at her lack of decorum. "Is that so, little one? I will have to be on my guard, then." The strains of a waltz began to play, and he held out his hand. "Would you like to dance?"

England tutted slightly, but she pretended not to hear him. "I would be honored," she said, her characteristic cheeky grin in place. He led her over to the dance floor and guided her through the steps of a waltz. She didn't really like being led, but he was such a good dancer, she didn't mind as much. She couldn't help but notice the way the other nations in the room regarded him—it was something akin to fear. She looked up at her partner, but he didn't look especially frightening to her. It wasn't his fault that he was a giant man bear. He certainly didn't scare her. Heroes weren't afraid of anything or anyone, and that was what she aimed to be! And for a country with so much snow, he was surprisingly warm…

It was the overpowering warmth that woke Amelia up the next day, along with her pounding headache. She opened her eyes blearily. She didn't remember throwing up and still felt a bit dizzy, so the alcohol wasn't completely out of her system. What a random memory to dream about, she thought sleepily. That happened forever ago! She had to chuckle at the memory.

She tried to sit up, but became aware of someone's warm arm wrapped around her waist. Her eyes widening in horror, she peered over a mound of covers and saw to her horror that—oh, fuck. Did she sleep with Russia?!

Now, she would be lying if she said that she didn't find him attractive, sort of. He wasn't lean or conventionally handsome, but he looked surprisingly sweet now, with his mouth slightly open, still holding onto her. Back when she was a much younger country, she even had a tiny bit of a crush on him, partly fueled by the fact that England and France didn't want her talking to scary nations like him. When she went to his home to negotiate the price of adding Alaska to her country, she had been impressed, even a little intimidated, by him. And he was a hell of a fighter—she knew that from the past two world wars. She had to respect him, even if he still made her a bit uneasy at times. And he had brought her a birthday present. Maybe that meant that he was moving on. Maybe. She gently tried to unfasten his hold on her, but he just muttered something and pulled her back down to him.

Fuck, she thought, starting to panic. But she looked down and saw that she was wearing the clothes—jean shorts and a plaid button-up— from yesterday, so obviously they hadn't…um…her cheeks colored at the thought. But the question was, what the hell was he doing in here? And how did she get in here? She didn't remember walking to her room last night. She vaguely recalled her brother trying to get her to go to bed, but then she started dancing, or something, and…dammit. She peeked over at Ivan—no, Russia. It was hard to tell, because he was partly submerged under her Wonder Woman coverlet, but he looked mostly clothed, too, although he had taken off that stupid overcoat he always wore.

She studied him for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. She didn't really want to wake him, but on the other hand, this was getting uncomfortable. And what if someone walked in on them? That was enough to make up her mind.

"Hey, um, dude, can you let go of me?" She half-whispered, trying to shake him awake as gently as possible.

He mumbled something in Russian before those lilac eyes flickered open, and he smiled. "Morning," he said sleepily.

"Hey," she said awkwardly, running a hand through her curls, which were sticking out at various angles. "Uh. Mind telling me why you're in my bed?" She winced. She was pretty honest, but that came out blunt, even for her.

He sat up, finally unwrapping his arm from around her. "You passed out," he said, rubbing his eyes blearily. "And I was worried that someone was going to step on you, so I carried you upstairs."

She closed her eyes in embarrassment. The others were sure to give her hell for that. "That was nice of you," she mumbled, toying with her coverlet. "Uh, sorry, I guess. I don't usually drink that much."

"Nyet, it was amusing," he said, chuckling lowly. She turned to frown at him, but he didn't look like he meant it in a mean way. "I have seen you do stupid things before, little America."

"Don't start with me, commie," she warned, and felt a flicker of regret as the smile faded from his face. "And if you carried me up here, why did you stay here?" She saw color rise in his face and felt her face flush a little as well.

He tilted his head to the side, a lock of silvery blond hair falling into his eyes. "You do not remember?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

"No," she admitted. "The last thing I remember was dancing…" And practically grinding on you, she thought, internally berating herself. Stupid!

"You asked me to stay," he said shyly, looking away from her. "You said you didn't like sleeping alone."

"Oh, God," Amelia groaned. She couldn't look at him. It was too embarrassing. "Aw, fuck…" It was true, she didn't like sleeping alone. She had always slept with Mattie or Arthur when she was younger, and even now, she preferred to fall asleep next to someone. Despite her bubbly, loudmouth personality, she was actually pretty lonely sometimes. But still! Heroes didn't act like that! Heroes also don't hide from stupid stuff they did, she reminded herself. Sighing, she turned to Russia and said, "Look, I'm really sorry you had to deal with me last night, man. Just don't…don't hold it over my head, okay?" She wasn't exactly asking, but her blue eyes plead with him to just forget it.

Ivan chuckled again. "You know, I might have done that a few years ago, but now…well, I slept better than I have in ages, actually. You are very soft." His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Fucking commie, she thought, trying desperately to think of something to say—wait, did that mean he wouldn't tell anyone else? She breathed a sigh of relief. "I am not soft," she said, pouting. "I work out like a champ! I am one hundred and thirty pounds of lean muscle!" She declared. Other girls might be sensitive about their weights, but she sure as hell wasn't (most of the time, anyway). She did eat a lot of junk food, but working out with Elizabeta made her pretty strong.

"Nyet," he disagreed, reaching over to poke her in the side. "Soft."

"Gah! Don't touch me!" She yelped, whacking him with her pillow. "Now get out, before someone finds you in here."

"Fine," he conceded, stretching out his arms lazily. Damn, he had big arms. No wonder she couldn't just shrug off his death grip last night. He noticed her staring and she gave a huff of irritation and clambered out of bed.

"I'm going to find Mattie and have him make me pancakes," she declared hastily, before he could comment. "You coming, Sputnik?"

"Why can't you just call me by my name?" He said with a sigh, but he followed her out of her room anyway. She almost kicked down the door to the guest room where she had directed Matthew and Katyusha yesterday, but a split second before she did, she realized it might not be a good idea if Russia found his sister in bed with her brother. He knew they were dating, but still…in a rare moment of good judgement, she turned to him and said, "Eh, screw it. I make better pancakes than him, anyway." Without looking to see if he was following, she skipped down the stairs to her kitchen. She didn't even look in the living room—she wasn't sure if she wanted to see just how hung over her friends were.

Soon, the smell of pancakes filled her small kitchen, and she plopped herself down at the breakfast table across from Ivan. "So? Good, right?" She asked, between mouthfuls of chocolate chip pancakes.

"They are," he said thoughtfully, looking almost surprised. "I guess England did not pass on his bad cooking to you."

She laughed. "No, he did," she admitted. "Mattie helps me out a lot though, and pancakes are pretty hard to mess up." They ate in companionable silence before he checked his cell phone and let out a low curse.

"What's up?" She chirped.

"I only have an hour before my flight leaves," he said, groaning. "I did not realize how late it was getting."

"Oh, okay," she said, trying not to feel disappointed. "Alright." She stood up and helped him gather the few belongings he brought, and walked him to the door. "Uh, well, thanks for coming, I guess," she said, smiling up at him. He isn't too bad, in small doses, she thought to herself.

He smiled back at her before awkwardly hugging her good bye. "Thank you for letting me stay," he said, looking a little rueful. "I know that was not your original plan."

She laughed loudly to cover up how awkward she felt. "No problem, dude. I mean, it's…it's whatever." What the heck is wrong with me today? She thought.

They stared at each other for another minute, before he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Take care of yourself, da?" He said finally, his hand lingering on her face. "I will be seeing you at the World Meetings."

"Right," she agreed, her face burning. "Okay. Yup. You got it, Big Red."

"You and your nicknames," he said with a slight smile. "I am thinking that they are a sign of affection."

"What? Dude, don't be weird," she disagreed, slapping his hand away. "I'll see you around." Before she could do anything more stupid, she hastily closed the door, and sighed. Thank God he's gone, she thought, but her usual dislike towards him felt sort of empty now. Maybe it was just because she had been really smashed and he had been nice enough to take care of her, but she couldn't help but feel—what? Were they friends now?

"It's too early for this," she grumbled to herself, and went back upstairs to sleep it off. She flopped down in her bed with a groan—her head still hurt something fierce—but she found herself wishing that she had Ivan with her again. Damn commie, she thought with a sigh, before falling asleep again. I think I might like you.

Too cheesy? Yeah, I'll probably edit it later. Uh yeah, I wasn't sure how to handle the nations' human names...I feel like nations that aren't good friends would refer to each other by their titles, America, Canada, etc. but good friends would call each other Amelia or Matthew...which is why Amelia calls Ivan Russia, Sputnik...what have you. Because to call him Ivan would be intimate, aww my precious babies~

If I didn't explain King's Cup too clearly, you can just google it. It's just a drinking game, but some people have different rules for the cards.

Yeah, I once read a fic about fem!America having a crush on Russia back when she was a colony, and it was really cuuuute! I mean, why wouldn't she admire him back then? He was a really powerful empire (this dream would've taken place in the early 1700's when Russia was under Tsar Peter the Great, and just becoming Westernized) and her mentor didn't trust him, so that's incentive enough right there! (England and Russia have always been kind of at odds. England was a really big naval power at this time and Russia's tsar was roaming Europe studying their navies to build his own, and it made everyone kind of uncomfortable...become one with Russia, da?) Oh yeah, and I think she would've gone by 'Kirkland' back then, before she changed her names to Jones and BROKE ENGLAND'S HEART no I'm not conflicted about the American Revolution, not at all!

Uh, some words in case you aren't familiar:

French:

Putains-whores. An ugly word, in my opinion, which is why I had Hungary call him out on it.

Spanish:

Feliz cumpleanos a ti- Happy birthday to you.

Ayy, mi pequeno tomate - Ah, my little tomato!

I don't think 'daze' is an actual Korean word-he says it a lot in fics I've read, it's just a catchphrase of his.