After The Storm (Ivan&Toris)

[Lithuania]

27th April, 1958



He couldn't help it, couldn't keep himself from splaying his palms against the window and pressing his nose to the cold glass as the train hurtled through achingly familiar landscape, the steady rocking motion of the carriage taking him closer and closer to that city, his heart. Wide eyed and nervous and sick and excited all at once, his green gaze drank in every last detail of the fields and crops and rambling little houses that spread out before him.

It had been years...thirteen years, eight months and fourteen days, to be precise...since the Red Army had taken his precious, precious Vilnius back from Ludwig. And that had been his last glimpse of his capital, shrouded in smoke, with the dead littering the streets as Ivan dragged him back to Soviet rule, one large first twined in his blood-matted hair as the helpless brunette wept for his fallen children. And over the subsequent decade, whenever he closed his eyes at night, whether it was cold and bloodied in Ivan's cellar, or warm and enveloped in the other nation's possessive embrace, he'd still felt that same nagging pain in his chest, the image of his war-ruined capital burned into his memories.

He knew that things were getting better. Even under Stalin's brutal regime, things hadn't been as bad as the war. Even if his people were repressed and starving, he could comfort himself with the knowledge that they weren't being bombed, that his land wasn't being used as a battle-ground between the Nazis and the Soviets. And now, with Stalin dead and gone, with the “thaw” underway and Nikita Khrushchev's rise to premiership one month previously, there was that tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't ruined beyond all repair.

But still, he hadn't expected much more comfort than the knowledge that his imprisoned citizens were slowly being returned home from the Gulags, from their forced immigrations. He'd thought that really, just knowing that things were starting to get a little better for his children, just the sensation of that sharp pain in his chest subsiding to a dull, plaintive, helpless ache as his heart continued to clamour for a city which he was never allowed to set foot in.

But now...now he was going home. And even though he knew that it was only temporary, that he would be returning with Ivan back to the confines of Russian borders once the trip was over, it didn't matter at all. Because something in his chest was singing out with the prospect of home.

Tearing his quietly excited gaze away from the window, he turned to the man beside him with shining eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Vanya, look...” he urged the larger nation gently, his voice quiet and breathless and slightly choked. “The rye fields...aren't they beautiful? They were all burnt out and dying after the war, but now...”

Trailing off, he reached over and, because the cabin was empty, clasped Ivan's pale hand in his own. Such small, cloying gestures of open affection had begun to seem more and more appropriate since Stalin's death. It was as though the gradual loosening of controls within Soviet borders had somehow rubbed off on the blonde himself. While it could not be denied that the violet eyed man was still...well...Ivan, with all the problems it entailed, the brunette's troubled, messed up lover seemed infinitely happier since his former dictator had died.

There was a tiny flutter of optimism in his chest every time he saw Ivan's boyish features crease into a smile which was utterly devoid of any sadism, a little glow that sang of the prospect of better times, a hope which he'd begun to nurse the moment Stalin's death had been announced, as the visible weight on the Russian's shoulders seemed to ease more and more with each day.

Looking up at the tall blonde, his earnest features creased into a heartfelt, poignant smile and he leaned his head against the other nation's burly shoulder.

“Thank you for bringing me along,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much I've wanted to see...well...” The brunette pressed his other hand to his chest, just above his heart. “...well you know how it is.”

His stomach suddenly lurching with excitement again, he found himself staring out of the window with all the impatience of a child on Christmas Eve, hungrily drinking in the scenery before him.

“Do you think we're far now, Vanya?” He blurted out as he scanned the landscape, and tried to ignore the nagging voice which told him that this was his homeland, and he should know the answer to that question, that he would do, if he hadn't been kept away for so long.

But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered, because he was home, for however short a time. He was looking out across his own land, and there were no fresh bruises on his skin and it was Ivan's fingers that were twined with his, and Khrushchev really was going to undo all the damage that Stalin had done. And for the first time in so very long, there was the very real possibility that things might really be alright.

And so he squeezed Ivan's hand that little bit tighter.

[Russia]

It was hard to imagine that so much could change in such an insignificant span of time. It had only been five years since Russia’s last boss had died, and already the country seemed to be gripped with new ideals. As far as Ivan was concerned, Khrushchev was already turning out to be a much more pleasant sort of leader than Stalin had been. Not just in interactions alone- which had always been rather uncomfortable for Russia during Stalin’s reign- but also in the small bits of freedom he was allowing throughout the Soviet Union. Freedoms that would have never even been considered under his former leadership. Whereas Stalin had metaphorically held Russia’s leash with an iron fist, Khrushchev was far more relaxed and easier to get along with.

As great as it was to have a boss that didn’t make him nervous and on edge, Russia himself was still rather conflicted about his new leadership. As far as he was concerned, there could be little argument that Stalin’s militaristic leadership had been just what the Soviet Union had needed to win World War II. He had been brutal in execution of his strategies and ideals, but they had been effective in the end. In his mercilessness, Russia had seen Stalin as a truly great war time leader. It was the things concerning the deaths and starvations surrounding his sister and himself that had been the main issues he had had with the man. As upsetting as those incidents were, he still couldn’t help but feel a bit on edge with the sudden switch of power. He had known Stalin much better than he knew Khrushchev, and as unsettling as it had been to be around his previous leader, he had still known where he stood with him for the most part. Or where he had imagined he had stood anyways.

Khrushchev showed amazing potential for a leader, but then again, hadn’t Stalin as well when he had first taken to power? They seemed worlds apart in approach, but what if his new leader turned into another Stalin? What if he built up his own personality cult over time and started his own purges? It was the very thing he claimed to be against, wanting to go back to a more Lenin-like approach to their socialist government, but if there was one thing that Ivan had learned over time it was that leaders did not always mean what they said. He had just had one burden lifted with the death of Stalin, he dreaded to think that his next boss would just give him more to be burdened with.

Looking out the train window with the faintest hint of a sigh, the conflicted Russian decided to do what he always did and just not concern himself with these thoughts. No matter what kind of a boss this one turned out to be, he would follow orders as he always did and keep his thoughts to himself. With luck, Khrushchev would have the militaristic aggression of Stalin and more Lenin-like policies for the Soviet Union itself. It seemed of course a crazy contradiction in some ways, but by the delusional Russian’s mind, it would be a nice mixture. Sudden images of Trotsky came to mind, and for a moment Ivan wished that he had gotten into power way back then. Maybe things would have went better.

“Vanya, look...”

Russia turned his gaze at his subordinate, who had a strange look of bliss on his face. At Toris’ remark, the larger nation shifted his gaze to the window again, staring out at the golden rye fields that Lithuania seemed so enamored with. He saw nothing particularly special about them. It was just rye after all; not a beautiful field of sunflowers, or a blood drenched battlefield fresh after another Soviet victory.

When the other man latched onto his hand, he returned the squeeze with perhaps a bit too much strength. His Baltic servant had been almost inappropriately cheerful since the death of their old dictator. A fact that Toris himself did not seem to be able to hide very well. If he was even trying to hide it at all.

“Thank you for bringing me along, you have no idea how much I've wanted to see...well…”

It was completely beyond him as to why Lithuania would be so overjoyed to see his homeland again, when Russia’s home was so much better. But his servant had been exceptionally well behaved recently, so Russia had seen no reason why the other man shouldn’t be allowed to go with him to Vilnius on his little business outing. And as much as he hated to admit it, Ivan didn’t like having to take long trips alone. Though he lacked friends, he did get lonely if left to his own devices for long, and then tended to be more irritable than usual. Besides, for all his weird ideas, Toris was good company. At least he was not trying to look for ways to escape Russia’s presence so much any more; quite the stark contrast in comparison to most of Russia’s subordinate nations.

Reaching over, the violet eyed Russian ruffled Toris’ hair affectionately. “You know I don’t like traveling alone if I can avoid it.” He reminded the other country. “Besides, you’re caught up on your chores. Think of this trip as a reward.” He beamed at the smaller nation and rested his arm on Toris’ shoulder with a vice-like grip.

“Do you think we're far now, Vanya?”

Looking out the window at the moving landscape, it was hard to say how close they were. He would have thought Toris would know better than he would. They weren’t on Russian land anymore. Since they had been in the train for so long, he assumed they were close. “Нет , I think we’ll be there anytime now. You’re such a small country after all, how far away could it be?”

The train did seem to be slowing down somewhat, and outside the shapes of buildings were starting to become more frequent as they left the golden countryside. No more endless looking fields of rye, or quaint little farmhouses. A wave of familiarity swept over him as he recognized some of the buildings he had seen upon his last visit to this area. Back when he had seized Lithuania from Germany and drug him back to his proper place at Ivan’s house. Many of the buildings had been decimated by war then, but a few of them still stood, looking a bit out of place next to their newer neighbors. It was hard to imagine that the war really had been thirteen years ago. The fond memory of bloodied corpses in the streets, smoldering buildings and the thunderous roar of tank fire was still fresh in Russia’s mind. As was the great feeling of accomplishment and power at having crushed his enemies here in Vilnius. Then again, what was thirteen years to a country?

"Once we stop, you can lead the way, Toris." He informed his joyful companion.

[Lithuania]

With Ivan's arm about his shoulder so tightly, Toris winced a little. The blonde rarely knew his own strength, and he wondered vaguely if there would be a bruise from where the other man's arm snaked around his more delicate form. But the embrace made him smile fondly, despite the momentary discomfort, and he rested his head against the Russian's broad chest and closed his eyes for just a moment with a contented sigh.

But he couldn't stay still for long, and a few moments later, his head popped up again, his eyes darting towards the window with an anxious, feverish excitement. And, as the fields began to slowly fade into more and more residential looking areas, he could feel his heart starting to hammer in his chest. As the train drew into Vilniaus Geležinkelio Stotis with a loud whistle, Toris was struck with an overwhelming, almost painful sense of completeness.

This must be what it feels like for all of the others... He wrapped his arms around himself tightly as they prepared to disembark. The sensation was so alien that he'd almost struggled to place it at first. Actually being on his own soil, setting foot in the city which was, quite literally, the heart which beat in his chest, after being forcibly kept away from it for so long...the feeling of was staggering and bewildering. This must be what it feels like all the time for the rest of them. The ones that are free, and whole.

But then, didn't he have something else that was immeasurably precious? Didn't he have the man who was currently disembarking the train with him, whose large hand was still tightly gripping his own? And wasn't that love worth more than even his freedom?

Maybe this feeling wasn't even normal. Maybe his chest was just singing out so hard because he was here with Ivan?

But then, other nations could fall in love, could even marry, and still keep their own identity, their own freedom. Maybe one day...maybe with Khrushchev's reforms, and enough time and gentle persuasion, the balance of power might shift a little between him and Ivan, and perhaps he could even come home here sometimes and they could...

Dangerous thoughts, Toris. Don't start to think that way...be happy for what you have.

As they stood on the platform and the train pulled away slowly, Toris closed his eyes, and breathed in the air around him. Objectively, they were standing in what was nothing more than a poorly kept, less-than-basic train station, and there was nothing spectacular or wonderful about the run-down poverty which surrounded them. But the Lithuanian couldn't keep the earnest grin from his face. As they left the station, he made eye contact with a few of the pedestrians milling about and found that almost all of them seemed to respond in kind with a smile, or a deferential nod. As small as Toris was, as meek and unassuming and thin and effeminate as his physical appearance seemed, he was still the living spirit of this place, and somewhere, subconsciously, his people couldn't help but recognise that, even if they didn't fully understand who or what he was.

And maybe, just maybe, today the inhabitants of the city...his children...would feel the same kind of wholeness.

As they emerged onto Geležinkelio street, he looked up at his taller companion with flushed cheeks and shining eyes, all aglow in the midst of what was, to all intents and purposes, a perfectly ordinary city street with perfectly ordinary inhabitants. But he was home, and he couldn't help but look around him as though he'd stepped out into the most beautiful place in the world. And all around him, he could hear the chatter of his own native language, and it seemed to him that he'd never heard something so heavenly.

Reluctantly he disentangled his hand from Ivan's and began to rummage through the satchel he was carrying, which held the other man's itinerary for the short visit. After all, as far as the Lithuanian authorities were concerned, Ivan was simply an important Soviet diplomat, and Toris was merely his secretary and translator.

“You're due at the Soviet embassy at three o'clock, Vanya.” His voice was quieter than even his usual soft tones, not wanting any of the passers by to hear him conversing with his companion in Russian. He might have adored Ivan, but anti-Soviet sentiment was still consistently commonplace within his borders.

He pulled at Ivan's sleeve to steal a glance at the other man's watch. His own had broken many, many years ago, and he'd never really dared to ask for another. It was a little before midday, and he looked up at the violet eyed man fretfully. “You must be hungry,” he mused aloud. “We have plenty of time...I'm sure we could go for a walk, and perhaps find somewhere to eat? Or...um...whatever you'd like, really.”

Looking up, he noticed a stray lock of blonde hair falling into Ivan's eyes, and he absently reached up to gently smooth it away. He noticed a group of children had stopped playing at a nearby fountain to stand and watch them, and he returned their wide, curious stares with a bashful smile and a wave. The gesture seemed to delight them no end and they fell to whispering amongst themselves.

“I'm really home,” he whispered under his breath in Lithuanian, putting his papers away again and slinging his satchel over his shoulder. And then, turning back to Ivan, he reached for the taller nation's hand once more and couldn't help but remember so vividly the last time they'd both set foot in these streets together, with all the sirens and smoke. He remembered the tattered military uniform that he'd donned in a vain attempt to hold his capital and protect his children...although from which side, he still didn't know... his appearance so malnourished and weak that he was barely a mockery of a soldier, with a defective German rifle and badly fitting combat boots. He remembered the blonde's predatory smile, his general's uniform spattered with German blood as the Red Army took Vilnius, remembered the Hellish combination of relief at Hitler's rule toppling, and abject terror of what Ivan was going to do to him for defecting in the first place. His free hand moved to his chest, to where the Russian's name was forever etched in the white lines of half-healed scars, and he closed his eyes against a battery of mixed emotions. But when he opened them again, the streets were still intact and free from the rising plumes of smoke he remembered so vividly, the group of children were still chattering happily, and the sunlight still danced warmly over his pale skin and the only hint of the war was the intermittent ruined buildings which still stood crumbling and neglected, where there had been no money to restore them.

Looking down, he realised that his knuckles had gone white with the force of his grip on the blonde's hand, and he smiled apologetically as he relaxed and began to gently guide his companion down a maze of back streets.

“I think that the best places to eat are in the old town,” he said, with a smile and a sigh. “At least...they used to be...”

Before Stalin and Hitler decided to use my capital as a battleground, a tiny voice piped up in his head, and he shook the thought. The war was over, Stalin was dead...and for once, his natural melancholy was going to be chased away by the glorious, heady sensation of walking through his most beloved place in the world, with the person he cared about more than his own sanity. Because this was the closest thing to freedom he was ever likely to taste, and he wasn't going to let anything spoil a moment of it.

[Russia]

A slight feeling of curiosity and anxiousness rose in the back of Russia’s mind as he let Toris lead him out of the train station. The place seemed oddly foreign, even though they were still inside Soviet borders and he had been here many times before in his life. Maybe it was the fact that everyone around was now speaking in rapid fire Lithuanian and he couldn’t keep up with what any of them were saying. Or perhaps he was so curious because under Stalin’s leadership, he had not been permitted to travel abroad very often unless it was on war business. The fact remained that this place was not nearly so familiar and comfortable as his own borders and it was probably for the best that Lithuania had came along.

It looked as though the Lithuanians had not recovered much from the war yet. Everywhere he looked, the sadistic blonde was greeted with more sights of poverty. Of course he himself was very familiar with poverty, having not been in the best of states many times in the past. Seeing it first hand in another country though just made it look all the more grim. Toris seemed to be happy with what they were seeing though, so it must not have been as bad as it looked. His Lithuanian companion appeared as though he couldn’t be happier at the moment; like he was walking on a street paved with gold.

The large Russian paused as Lithuania started searching through the satchel he was carrying around. Violet eyes glanced over the nearby citizens and buildings, fully taking in his surroundings. None of these buildings looked as familiar as some that he had seen from the train. That might have also been due to a lack of debris and smoke, which he had been forced to maneuver through last visit to this city.

“You're due at the Soviet embassy at three o'clock, Vanya.”

Toris’ voice was so quiet that Ivan almost didn’t hear him at first. He had been paying more attention to the people around them. Not speaking more than a few simple words of Lithuanian, Ivan had no idea what they could be talking about. His eyes shifted back to Toris, wondering why the other nation was suddenly speaking so softly. His first thought was that Toris must have had a sore throat, or not be feeling too well. But the other man seemed far too happy to be sick, so he had to doubt that idea. He fixed the Baltic with a puzzled look as the other man pulled his sleeve back and examined his watch.

“You must be hungry,”

Having not had anything but vodka and coffee earlier that morning, it was not an incorrect statement. Toris must have been hungry as well; maybe that was why his voice was so much quieter than usual. How that would change his infliction didn’t really make much sense to the blonde Russian, but it was the most sensible reason Ivan could see for the odd behavior. Lithuania’s spoken Russian was by no means awkward or bad, so why would he be worried about speaking it louder and more clearly?

“We have plenty of time...I'm sure we could go for a walk, and perhaps find somewhere to eat? Or...um...whatever you'd like, really.”

“Да Торишка. Let’s find somewhere to eat.” It was good to hear that Toris had not forgotten who was in command of where they went and what they did, even if he was being allowed to lead the way around the city.

After watching in silent fascination as Toris waved to a group of random children, Ivan came to the conclusion that his subordinate must have known tons of people in the city. How he could have known these children when they were so young was baffling, but he was smiling and waving at them all the same, as if they were personal friends of his. And the children looked happy to see Toris as well. He wondered in brief what it was like to have so many personal friends of all ages. He had never had them and usually did not concern himself with non-countries unless he had to. Even other countries tended to be weary of him most days. Not that he usually let his lack of popularity bother him. What did any of that matter when one day they would all be under his control? What use were friends in the long run anyways when you could just have subordinates? Subordinates were much more useful too. As best as he could tell, friends were free to do all kinds of outrageous things, like disagreeing and doing as they pleased whenever they wanted. Subordinates were not allowed all those annoying liberties.

Following Lithuania and paying no heed to the tightening grip on his hand that was just starting to ache slightly, Russia lost himself in examining the shops and buildings. Had they had all day to wander about, he would have been more than happy to investigate each and every one of them, as battered as they were. Time was a slight issue however, since they wanted to find somewhere to have breakfast before the meeting.

“I think that the best places to eat are in the old town. At least...they used to be...”

“Used to be? Why wouldn’t they still be there? Unless the Germans destroyed them in the war.” Of course the Germans would have been the ones to have destroyed Lithuania’s buildings and people, not the Red Army at all. They had been there to rescue them and pull them back into the safety of Soviet control. So any loss of good things in the area could only logically be pinned on the Ludwig and his men.

“Toris, how many friends do you have in this city? How did you know those young children back by the fountain? They were so young, and you’ve been back at my place for awhile now.” The sound of shouting nearby drew his attention and he paused to watch a man and woman argue from the doorway of a nearby run-down shop. “What are they talking about, Litva?” He looked to his green-eyed companion with burning curiosity, wishing he knew more than a few useless words of Lithuanian. Or, better yet, that everyone in Lithuania only spoke Russian. In fact, he felt that everyone in the world should speak Russian; it would make things so much more simple.

[Lithuania]

“Used to be? Why wouldn’t they still be there? Unless the Germans destroyed them in the war.”

Toris looked at Ivan, with an expression that was almost pitying. Because the Russian probably genuinely believed that, by marching on Vilnius and reclaiming it, he'd been the hero in all of it. Nevermind that the Lithuanian population had wanted liberation, not to be bounced about between different puppet governments. Still, at least under Russia, there had been no more of those hideous ghettos that Hitler's troops had organised.

He had never quite been sure if Ivan's intentions on taking Vilnius had been out of love, possession, a desire to best Ludwig or some unique combination of the three, but he was sure that there had been some kind of wish for the best in all of it. Even if the Russian had beaten him senseless on his return. He gave Ivan's hand another little squeeze and smiled patiently, his expression only a little tinged with sadness.

“Yeah, the war kind of ruined this place,” he said evenly. “But it's coming together again. Slowly...but it's happening.”

As they walked through the old town, Toris was lost in quiet, contented fascination as he watched the thrum of everyday life that was unfolding around them. He found it indescribably joyful, seeing so many people getting by, living normally, wrapped up in their own lives and joys and sorrows, instead of enveloped in smoke and the sound of gunfire. He couldn't help but feel so very, very proud of them, of their spirit and quiet resilience, and that happy little grin never left his lips.

“Toris, how many friends do you have in this city? How did you know those young children back by the fountain? They were so young, and you’ve been back at my place for awhile now.”

Ivan's question caused him to pause and stare at him in puzzlement. He looked up at the blonde and blinked a few times, and then he felt a sudden rush of pity for the other nation.

“Vanya...” he explained gently. “I don't know them personally...” He sighed and stopped in the street for a moment. “This is my capital, and all of these people are...well...mine, I suppose. If it wasn't for Lithuanians, then there wouldn't be a nation called Lithuania. And then there wouldn't be a Toris. Does that make sense?” He cocked his head to one side and looked up at Ivan searchingly. “You really don't feel that when you go out in Moscow? Don't people just automatically know you, even if they don't know exactly what you are...?”

He trailed off as he followed Ivan's curious stare to the shouting couple and rolled his eyes with a little laugh as he listened to their heated exchange. “She's upset because she thinks he was paying too much attention to the pretty girl who works at the bakery,” he explained with a grin. “And he's upset, because he thinks she's too jealous, and she should trust him more.” He shrugged, and then looked at Ivan in thoughtful disbelief.

“I've lived with you for so many centuries, on and off...and you still haven't picked up any of my language?” He made a mock-regretful face, but then smiled again to let the socially-clueless nation understand that he wasn't being serious. He laughed lightly as he steered him towards the entrance of a particularly cheerful-looking cafe. It was busy and bustling, with the hum of voices and the scent of freshly baked bread in the air.

The owner seemed particularly welcoming on seeing Toris, and they exchanged some brief pleasantries with one another, talking with the natural ease of old friends, despite being objectively strangers. But when the smaller nation turned and began to translate the greetings to Russian, the man's smile faded and he shot Ivan a suspicious glare. Russians still weren't considered particularly welcome visitors at the best of times, and Ivan...well, even if they didn't understand it, he was still the living embodiment of everything many of them resented, and it was impossible not to sense that to some extent.

“Would it be possible for my friend and I to take breakfast here?” he asked politely in his native tongue, his hand resting protectively on companion's forearm. His smile was shy and apologetic, but the gesture, along with the way he stressed the word ”draugas” lightly, all served as a gentle but clear warning that this particular Russian was off-limits. The owner seemed torn for a moment, continuing to glare at the violet eyed man who seemed to unsettle all of his customers, and so Toris pressed him softly, with a quiet, firm authority. It pained him that so many of his people harboured such racist sentiments, even if he could very well understand the reasons. “I understand how you might feel. But he's a guest to this country. Please treat him with respect.”

The owner's eyes met Toris' for a few long seconds, and eventually his expression relaxed. “Of course, of course,” he responded, looking almost ashamed of himself, and the brunette gave him a grateful smile as they were shown to a table by the window.

It was strange, he thought to himself as he stared thoughtfully at the blonde opposite him, how protective he could feel towards Ivan sometimes. After all, there was no question that the larger nation could destroy just about anyone who crossed his path, and there was no doubt at all that Lithuania feared him for it. But it didn't stop him from fretting over Ivan's emotional well being, from trying his best to buffer all the little cruel and hurtful realities of life that might cause the mentally-fragile blonde to crack just that tiny bit more.

“Would you like to eat some zeppelins?” he blurted out in an effort to diffuse the still-awkward atmosphere from all the suspicious stares that Ivan was attracting. Besides, he was seized with the sudden longing for something typically Lithuanian. It wasn't as though Russian food was so very different, but he'd still never dared to cook them in Ivan's house. “They're made with potato. It's really nice, I promise.”

[Russia]

“You really don't feel that when you go out in Moscow? Don't people just automatically know you, even if they don't know exactly what you are...?”

Of course when he was around his people, they were pleasant enough. However, Russians -Moscovites in particular- were a different breed of people than the Lithuanians that surrounded them now. When he did go out and about in Moscow, people usually just left him alone. They were never rude or mean spirited towards him, but they didn’t really interact much either. It was far more unusual to wave and smile at strangers in his borders; no matter how familiar they might seem. Ivan himself was somewhat of an oddity there, with his overly friendly appearance and ever present smile. He had probably really made his own people wonder about him on more than one occasion because of it.

He listened to Toris’ explanation concerning the arguing lovers closely. He had no idea why anyone would argue over something so trivial. Why didn’t the woman just grab her lover and physically drag him away from the bakery if she suspected his eyes to be wandering? There was no point in arguing, when physically removing the problem worked so much better and faster. Punishing the disloyal lover afterwards would also be a good idea and help prevent these problems from arising in the future. It was amazing that more people didn’t come to these conclusions and act on them.

“I've lived with you for so many centuries, on and off...and you still haven't picked up any of my language?”

His violet eyes met Toris’ for a moment and he shook his head slightly. “Of course I know some Lithuanian. I hear you use it sometimes.” But his Lithuanian comrade seemed generally playful about the whole issue so he left it for the time being and allowed himself to be guided towards the café.

Once they had entered the active little café, Ivan hung back and watched as Toris rattled off in his native tongue at the man behind the counter. He listened closely to the foreign words, trying to catch any that were familiar. Lithuania finally translated what was said to him, but when he next looked over at the man behind the counter, he looked much less friendly than he had moments ago. Toris must have somehow offended him. It seemed strange to Ivan though that Toris would be capable of offending anyone. He was so mild-mannered. The man must have had really thin skin to be upset by someone like Toris. More foreign words were said, and Russia was really starting to wish he could piece together more than a few random words here and there, such as “draugas,” which was akin to the Russian word “друг” from what he knew.

His clever little Baltic must have placated the older man, as they were eventually led to a table. Sitting down opposite of his servant, he studied the small café and all of it’s inhabitants with keen interest, noting the looks of respect all the Lithuanians seemed to have when they met his gaze. They really were very much like their nation in that way. Briefly he found himself wondering if a place like this would serve vodka. He did not make visiting cafes a habit, and could not recall if the ones he had been to before had served alcohol. It made sense to him that they would. How could they not? His eyes rested on a large balding man with only one arm, who was sitting nearby and just staring at Lithuania and himself. The man did not look altogether happy, which made sense since he had lost a limb somewhere along the line. Russia figured it might have even been in the war. Excited at the memories of the bloody battle that had happened in the city, the crazed Russian country immediately scanned the Lithuanians present, searching for anymore that may have been fighting in the war, and any more gruesome disfigurements and injuries.

“Would you like to eat some zeppelins?”

His attention immediately returned to Toris, and he fixed the other man with a confused look. He had no idea what a “zeppelin” was. Toris must have realized this however, as he was quick to explain that they were “really nice” and “made with potato.” Potatoes were good, so how bad could it be? Besides, if it turned out he didn’t like it for whatever reason, he could always give it to Toris. His green-eyed lover looked all too thrilled at the thought of them, so he figured it was safe to assume he liked them.

“да, очень хорошо.” he agreed quietly, deciding against asking if they served bilinis. Toris had claimed that these “zeppelins” were good, so he would settle for that for the time being.

“Hmm…that would be "neskauda man" in your tongue, yes? When you agree with someone that is. You use that phrase often at my house, that’s how I know it must be a form of agreement.” The obliviously content Russian gave his partner a fond look, hoping he had pronounced it properly. Words like “Prašome,” the word for “please," were easy enough to pronounce, but some of them could be trickier. All the Lithuanian he knew, he had picked up from Toris, so his vocabulary was pretty mixed up and limited.

“Your language is so confusing.” He glanced back in the direction of the café entrance. “Why was that man upset with you, Toris? He seemed rather friendly at first.”
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((Ivan can be so oblivious sometimes. XD And "neskauda man" is roughly "don't hurt me" in Lithuanian.))

[Lithuania]

“да, очень хорошо.”

Toris paused as the cafe owner brought them a pot of tea, and began to absently pour a cup for Ivan. He pushed it towards the blonde with an automatically submissive gesture. The obviously deferential attitude that Toris held towards the Russian stranger in the cafe was met with yet more disapproving stares, and his cheeks burned slightly as he mumbled an order for zeppelins with another apologetic smile and felt quietly grateful that Ivan hadn't insisted on making things even more awkward by asking for blinis or pierogi. Nations or not, he had a suspicion that barging in and demanding Russian cuisine would probably lead to them being swiftly asked to leave.

He was taking a sip of tea when his companion questioned him again.

“Hmm…that would be "neskauda man" in your tongue, yes?”

He'd barely raised his cup to his lips when he choked in surprise. What the...? Covering his mouth and suppressing a coughing fit, he stared at the blonde with wide, startled eyes. Those were really the last words he'd expected to hear from the other man at that moment. It was bleakly startling to listen to such a pitiful expression, in his own language, come from the Russian. He stared in dumb confusion as the blonde continued innocently.

“When you agree with someone that is. You use that phrase often at my house, that’s how I know it must be a form of agreement.”

Toris set his cup down and twined his fingers together anxiously, flailing for the right words to smooth over such an unintentionally upsetting question. “Neskauda man“ was Ivan's crude recollection from memory of the Lithuanian's repeated pleas for the other man not to hurt him, which had so often spilled past his lips in unthinking desperation. The stark reality of their bizarre and unhealthy relationship hit him so suddenly that he could feel the tip of his nose start to turn red, as a lump welled up in his throat. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

And when he opened them he smiled as warmly as he could, reaching across the table to grasp Ivan's cold hand tightly in both his own, as though the physical contact would somehow push away everything that had transpired between them over the centuries, and everything that would no doubt transpire in the future.

“It's probably best not to say that exactly,” he said slowly, absently running his thumb affectionately over the back of the other man's hand. “You could say “be abejo” perhaps, or “sutinku”, if you wanted to...agree with someone...” he trailed off and stared down at the cheap and cheerful tablecloth covering for a moment.

“What you said means...” his words were barely a whisper, and he tried to keep his tone as light as possible, as though it really, really didn't matter, as though it was just a simple, amusing misunderstanding and not an innocent reminder of years of continued abuse. His voice faltered for a moment. “It means “don't hurt me”. So um...it's probably not really the most useful phrase for you to know...” He forced a quiet, insincere laugh and met Ivan's curious violet eyes with his bravest attempt at a smile and tackled the second awkward question that the other man had thrown at him.

“Why was that man upset with you, Toris? He seemed rather friendly at first.”

He winced and shrugged. This little outing was rapidly proving to have the potential for complete social disaster, and everyone was still staring at them. He'd almost forgotten how difficult it could be to take Ivan out in public, with his startling appearance, strange ways and child-like naivete. Letting go of the Russian's hand, he feigned ignorance.

“Who knows, Vanya? Who knows? People here have some strange ideas since the war. I must have said something that sounded out of place to him. Perhaps it's because we're not from this neighbourhood, he was a little suspicious at first.” There. It hadn't exactly been an outright lie. He looked out of the window for a moment and sighed. “I've been away from here so long, that I'm almost as much a stranger here as you are.”

He turned his gaze back to the blonde who sat across the table from him, and it struck him how oddly, painfully fragile they both were, in their own uniquely separate ways.

“You know...” he said quietly, fixing the other man with his intent green gaze, “If you ever really want to talk to me in Lithuanian, you could maybe...sometimes...say...” he looked down shyly for a moment. “Aš myliu tave.”



-------

AN: Toris is such a jessie. *hides*

[Russia]

Initially, he assumed Toris was choking on his tea out of surprize that Russia had known enough Lithuanian to piece the sentence together. A feeling of pride swept over him as he looked into those impossibly wide green eyes. No doubt Toris had realized that he had made a mistake with his earlier idea that Russia had not picked up any Lithuanian after having Toris living with him. Often he had heard all kinds of Lithuanian forms of agreement while taking the whip to his servant back home. Usually when Toris started to resort to his native tongue, it was a sign that he was starting to see the error of his ways and was ready to be done with the punishment and get back to work without a fuss. But it had been such a beautiful day so far, and Toris had been relatively happy the whole trip; it was hard to imagine him as the same Toris who cringed and cried in the cellars when he was facing discipline.

Taking a sip of his tea, the overly cheerful Russian waited eagerly for Toris’ confirmation that he had been correct. The other nation seemed almost upset at the phrase for some reason, and Ivan was starting to question whether or not he had pronounced it correctly. Maybe he was missing a word? Or maybe his Russian accent was too heavy and he had simply mispronounced things? It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened when he was speaking in a foreign tongue. Although he knew English to a decent enough level, he still could lose people with his accent from time to time.

“It's probably best not to say that exactly.”

Russia stared at Lithuania in slight dismay. He couldn’t have gotten that wrong. He clearly remembered the words leaving Toris’ own lips before.

“You could say “be abejo” perhaps, or “sutinku”, if you wanted to...agree with someone...”

“Be abejo…” the blonde nation repeated softly, trying out the strange new words and adding them mentally to the list of Lithuanian sayings he had at his disposal.

“It means “don't hurt me”. So um...it's probably not really the most useful phrase for you to know...”

He gave the other man a look of surprise, feeling rather silly all of a sudden. He had always just thought Toris was agreeing with him when the other nation would say that. He had been clueless as to the fact that his beloved servant had in actuality been pleading for the blows to stop. Not that knowing that would have changed anything. It was a shame that he had to do it sometimes, but when a servant stepped out of line, physical punishment was the only sensible answer. No matter how much he cared for his little Baltic subordinate, he couldn’t go easy on him. Hopefully, Toris would be well behaved from now on, and Ivan would never have to hear those words from him again.

His Lithuanian companion’s explanation of the man at the front’s behavior seemed logical enough to Ivan. That had to be it, he was suspicious of them because they were not from around here. But wasn’t Toris the very spirit of his country? Didn’t Toris have that connection with his people that made him seem so familiar? Why had the man not felt that? Russia decided to just let the whole incident slip by without any more questions. The man didn’t matter anyways, so wasting thought on him was useless.

The ever curious Russian turned his gaze out the window as well when he noticed Toris staring out it. He scanned the cityscape to see what the other nation could possibly find so interesting. Nope, no riots, fights or disagreements going on. Just people wandering about and the occasional animal here and there. He focused on his tea again, cupping his hands around the heated mug in an attempt to warm them.

“You know...if you ever really want to talk to me in Lithuanian, you could maybe...sometimes...say…Aš myliu tave.”

The hesitancy with which Toris had said the last part made Ivan wonder if it was a proper thing to say in public. The smaller man seemed almost ashamed of saying it. He fixed the Baltic with an intense stare for a moment, trying to remember if he had heard any of those words spoken before. They were familiar, but not so much so that he could piece together their meaning. “Aš myliu tave, Toris?” It sounded like some type of a greeting for sure, although he was certain that it was not “hello.”

“Is it a greeting? It does have a pleasant sound to it. But why speak to you in Lithuanian when you are perfectly good at Russian, да?” Reaching over the fair-haired man grabbed a simple looking container of sugar and started pouring a generous amount into his tea. If he didn’t have vodka to add flavor to it, he needed something. At home he usually had honey to sweeten teas with, but since this place did not have that at the tables, he would just have to settle for sugar. After drowning the tea in sugary goodness, he pushed the container towards Toris.

He drank his overly sweet tea in silence while staring at the man across from himself. As fond as Lithuania was of his land and people, he wondered how the other country would react once it was time to jump back on that train and go back to the Moscow area. He was hoping the slender brunette would not try anything foolish like insisting in staying in this ruined city. If he did, Russia would be forced to pick him up and carry him onto that train home, probably making a scene doing it. But Litva was a clever country and probably already knew trying to resist would be pointless.

[Lithuania]

“Aš myliu tave, Toris?”

Although the blonde blatantly had no idea what it meant, and although it was obviously phrased as a question, not a statement, those words, coming from Ivan's mouth sent a lurch through his stomach and an ache through his chest. And he already knew that he would store the memory, the sound of Ivan speaking Lithuanian, the feeling of being home, and that he would hold onto it forever, to recall to himself when things were less sunny between them.

Under Ivan's inquisitive stare, Toris could feel his cheeks burning a little, and he immediately cursed his own awkward sentimentality. Sometimes, he really wished he could be more of a man about these things, whatever that entailed. He was willing to bet that Ivan, all wrapped up in his own impenetrable, innate self confidence, didn't lie awake at night analysing things to death and fretting about whether or not Toris loved him, and in what way, and if he would lose interest. He watched the Russian dump a sickening amount of sugar into his perfectly good cup of tea and found himself involuntarily wondering if nations could get cavities, as the other man continued to speak softly.

“Is it a greeting? It does have a pleasant sound to it. But why speak to you in Lithuanian when you are perfectly good at Russian, да?”

“It's just something you say to people you care for,” he told the larger nation, keeping his tone as defensively casual as possible, as though he'd just made a minor conversational point earlier, instead of inappropriately blurting out his feelings in a public place. Shaking his head, he shrugged and then, with a patient smile, he continued evenly. “But you're completely right. I speak your language, so there is no need for you to trouble yourself with mine.”

I'm here so rarely that there's barely any need for me to know Lithuanian, he thought to himself with a tinge of sadness. But no, he couldn't start thinking along those lines, couldn't start letting those seeds take hold in his mind. There was no sense in letting the deceptively equal tone of their interactions today give him a false hope of autonomy. Politically, he had no power and, as much as it pained him to be kept away from his own land, the harsh reality was that he was Russia's servant, before he was anything else.

Before he could politely decline the sugar, the cafe owner came with their food, two plates of the delicious potato dish that he'd missed so very much. Toris thanked him so warmly that the initially suspicious man seemed almost taken aback, and even mustered a small smile and a grudging nod for Ivan. Elated, the brunette shot his companion a grin and grabbed a fork.

“I hope you like them. I mean...I really hope they're ok for you,” he cheerfully informed the taller man in between enthusiastic mouthfuls. Normally, back in Moscow, he would probably have respectfully waited for Ivan to start eating first, but today he felt so much more relaxed that he barely gave it a thought. “If you do, I can surely make them for you back ho...” he paused, frowning a little at the unconscious use of that word, and then relenting with a tiny sigh. “...back home.”

Was Ivan's house really his “home”? Or was it here, in Vilnius? Was it better for him to be with his lover, or his children? Was it possible to divide up, with such brutal compartmentalisation, the heart that beat in his chest and the blood that it pumped through his veins? Should he have more pride?

Besides, even if he wanted to, rebellion was useless. It would only lead to more restrictions being imposed on his children, on precious resources being drained and Ivan being so very upset. And there were worse things than being at Russia's feet, since Stalin was dead and Khrushchev wasn't a total mentalist and the war was over and his blonde keeper was showing marginal signs of sanity. Considering all those variables, and his own personal feelings towards Ivan, it was surely far, far more sensible to hold on and hope for better times.

[Russia]

The arrival of the café owner averted Russia’s stare away from his slightly blushing subordinate. The man was carrying a dish of what appeared to be simply peeled potatoes covered in a sauce at first glance. Potatoes were used a lot in traditional Russian cuisine as well, and at first he thought they must be stuffed potatoes of some sort. He had no idea that his Baltic companion harbored such an intense love for potatoes. He had never insisted on making these while in Russia’s house, yet the smile and thanks that the other nation gave the server was so heartfelt that he acted as though he had just been handed the best dish in all the world; not simple potatoes smothered in sauce.

“I hope you like them. I mean...I really hope they're ok for you,”

For a moment he merely watched Toris start in on his plate with an air of amusement. It looked like he wasn’t the only one who had skipped breakfast that morning. He experimentally poked one of the zeppelin shaped potatoes in front of him, noting that it did not seem to be simply a solid potato at all. Upon trying a mouthful of the foreign dish, he decided that they were not half bad. He lacked his partner’s enthusiasm for potatoes, but they were perhaps even a little better than the stuffed potatoes of his homeland; which were probably the closest things he could compare them to.

“If you do, I can surely make them for you back ho...”

Looking up from his "zeppelin", the Russian noticed the frown suddenly cross his subordinates face. Technically, they were in what should have been Toris’ home and Ivan almost laughed at the other man automatically associating Russia as home instead. It was a good sign of course. If Toris was so eager to call Russia “home” then maybe he wouldn’t try for independence or any of that complete nonsense. Maybe this meant that his Baltic subordinate really would stay with him forever and he would never have to fight to hold onto him again.

“You really love potatoes, Toris? You didn’t seem as enthusiastic with them back home.” Ivan fixed the smaller nation with a curious stare once more, eating at a much more leisurely pace. He was never one to quickly devour meals; he had been through many famines in his time, and eating at a slower rate was a useful trick for making even small amounts of food more filling. Not that the Lithuanian zeppelins were small, but old habits certainly died hard.

“I give you permission to make these back home when you want to. They are not nearly as good as many of my native dishes, but they are not bad.”

He went silent as he finished off his pathetically late breakfast, wondering what else they would have time to do before going to the Soviet embassy. Sight seeing sounded fun. There were plenty of interesting old buildings and monuments to look at around the city, if his memory served correctly. Then there were the parks that he had never really had much time to explore on his last visit. He would love to see Lenin Square, or as the Lithuanians still liked to call it, Lukiðkës Square. Not long ago, many enemies of the Soviet Union had been interrogated and executed there. Or more appropriately, in the NKVD Palace right next to there. Being too caught up with other things going on in his own borders, Ivan had not personally had the pleasure of helping to punish those enemies of the state, but he had heard about it. His boss had told him that the chief commander of the "Union of Lithuanian Freedom Fighters" had met his fitting demise in that place. He wasn’t so sure that Toris would like to see it, but he would be all too happy to explore the park and Palace.

Finishing his tea, he looked eagerly to Lithuania. “Toris, I want to go see Lenin Square. It’s near the center of the city, yes?” He gave the other nation a hopeful look as he fished around in his coat for rubles to pay for the food. He was not sure as to whether or not Litva had money, but he assumed the answer was “no” since he didn’t recall giving him any recently. Pulling out a few ruble notes and a handful of kopeks, he shoved the currency towards Lithuania to give to the server. He pulled his sleeve back and examined his silver watch, before turning the face of it to Lithuania to display the current time.

[Lithuania]

“I give you permission to make these back home when you want to. They are not nearly as good as many of my native dishes, but they are not bad.”

Toris grinned happily and nodded as he finished his meal all too quickly. As he shovelled down the last mouthful, he felt an absent pang of worry that eating too quickly might set off one of the crippling stomach aches which had always plagued him, but decided that he was far too content to care.

Silently, he watched Ivan eat, staring intently at the blonde as he finished his meal with a much more refined restraint than Toris was personally capable of. Even if the food hadn't seemed like the best thing in the world at the time, he would probably still have thrown it down as quickly as possible. Keeping up with Russia was a full time job at the best of times, and it was always prudent to waste as little time on eating as possible. After all, there was always something to do, always chores and pressing matters and Ivan's constant demands to keep on top of. Toris could scarcely remember the last time he'd taken time to enjoy a leisurely meal.

“Toris, I want to go see Lenin Square. It’s near the center of the city, yes?”

The small brunette was unable to keep the momentary look of dismay from his face. If there was anywhere in the city that he wanted to avoid, it was surely Lukiškės Square. While he had no real personal memories of the attrocities commited there, he could recall all too well the night that word of Adolfas Ramanauskas' demise had reached him. He remembered the delighted tone in which Ivan had imparted the news, so child-like and thrilled. He remembered how he'd struggled to keep his cold, angry tears from falling into the tea that he'd been preparing, how he'd buried his face in his pillow that night, while his Russian lover slept, and sobbed silent, bitter tears for his very own Forest Brothers.

It was the last place in the world that Toris wanted to visit; especially not on a day as bright and hopeful as this.

“Of course,” he found himself saying, with a small, tight nod. Ivan handed him some money and he felt his cheeks grow warm, slightly ashamed that he had none of his own for which to pay for their food. He was used to being hopelessly dependant on the larger nation, but being on his own soil had stirred a little of his lost pride, and he found himself ardently wishing that he had the means and ability to pay his own way. “Whatever you'd like, Vanya.”

He blinked at Ivan's watch and mentally calculated the amount of time they had left for sightseeing, wondering if he could come up with an excuse and dismissing the possibility almost straight away. He paid for the food, politely over-tipping the cafe owner and thanking him enthusiastically. He wondered absently if the man would ever realise just how much that simple meal had meant to him, that one dish which tasted so very poignantly of home.

As they left the cafe and made their way back onto the street, he smiled up at the taller man sadly. “Lukiškės...I mean...Lenin Square is barely fifteen minutes walk from here.” He reached up and slipped his hand in Ivan's, giving it a slight squeeze and forcing some brightness to his tone. “It's been a while, but I think I still know all the shortcuts.”

Leading him gently through the myriad of winding streets, he soon found himself focusing, in spite of it all, on the overwhelming sensation of homecoming. Perhaps today, he would be able to just compartmentalise it all. Perhaps he could sit in the square and admire the beauty of a place he'd been long kept from, and banish all thoughts of the Lietuvos Laisvės Kovotojų Sąjūdis and his own feeble and failed attempts at autonomy.

If he was able to so very earnestly separate his two distinct viewpoints of Ivan as both his oppressor and his lover, then he could surely manage the same for Lukiškės Square.

“It's a beautiful day,” he murmured distractedly as they neared their destination. “It should be a really lovely place for a walk.” He looked at Ivan hopefully, his eyes wide and a little pleading. “Perhaps, though, we might not have time to tour inside the NKVD headquarters. Perhaps...we could just stay outside and enjoy the good weather instead?”

[Russia]

“Whatever you'd like, Vanya.”

Toris’ enthusiasm to serve shone through yet again, and Ivan was reminded as to why he was so fond of the smaller nation. Such a willingness to please. Russia was very much the type who did not like being told “no” or having people disagree with him in any way. He wanted those around him to do exactly as he said, for no other reason other than to please him. It was a trait that he shared with many of his most infamous and power-hungry leaders, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of it. But of course, Ivan was completely oblivious to his own shortcomings, especially concerning the treatment of his servants and unfair expectations. So long as they continued to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, all was well and everyone was happy.

He silently watched Toris pay the café owner, wondering what Toris was going on about so enthusiastically in Lithuanian. Whatever it was, the owner appeared to be rather happy to hear it. Ivan was quick to assume that his Lithuanian companion was complementing the man on the potato dish. When in doubt, it gave him a sense of satisfaction to put words in people’s mouths. That way, there was no awkward confusion and no agitation from not understanding what was being said. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the Lithuanians should just speak Russian.

“Lukiðkës...I mean...Lenin Square is barely fifteen minutes walk from here.”

Despite the place’s history, Lithuania sounded surprisingly okay with going to the square. Russia had expected his idea to be met with more negativity, but judging from the smile that the other nation wore, that was not the case. Toris was a good servant though, so he figured it should not have come as such a surprise to him that the skinny Baltic would not have supported the rebellious Lithuanian Freedom Fighters. They had been Lithuania’s own people, but they had still been enemies of the Soviet Union, and therefore deserving of death. As patriotic as they had been to their country, Toris must have realized and understood this. The brighter, cheery tone with which the other nation used for his next words was all the more proof to Ivan, that the deaths had not affected Toris in the least.

Following the green-eyed man through the dingy streets, Ivan let his gaze wander to their surroundings again, taking in the impoverished area. If this was Toris’ heart city, he felt sorry for him. Moscow had its fair share of problems, but it seemed so much more grand to him when compared to places like this. Ever a nationalist, he couldn’t imagine why Toris would be so elated to come back here, even for a visit. A fair number of the buildings looked like they could use repairs, or simply be torn down and replaced. Not that he imagined there was money for any of that. There were too many more important things still needing to be re-built after the war.

“It's a beautiful day, it should be a really lovely place for a walk.”

Russia turned his eyes away from the red, green and white Lithuanian SSR flag he had been studying, glancing to Lithuania himself before focusing ahead of them. He honestly had no idea how lovely of a place to walk it was, having never been in the actual square before. He would have to take Toris’ word for it for now and see for himself once they got there.

“Perhaps, though, we might not have time to tour inside the NKVD headquarters. Perhaps...we could just stay outside and enjoy the good weather instead?”

“You don’t want to tour the NKVD headquarters? I am sure we would have time, how long could it take?” One of the red pathways that led through the square came into view, and the curious Russian all too eagerly took the lead and pulled Toris along towards it. “Although, the weather is nice today, and once we get to the embassy we will be stuck inside for awhile.” He considered the options as they entered the square, holding onto Toris as though the other nation would try to run off at any moment. Finally deciding to agree and avoiding the building -for now at least- he released Lithuania‘s hand. “I suppose you’re right, Toris. We’ll stay outside while we can. It’s not like I haven’t seen similar buildings back home anyways. And the exciting things that happened there are long over with now.”

[Lithuania]

“You don’t want to tour the NKVD headquarters? I am sure we would have time, how long could it take?”

Toris wondered to himself just how Ivan could possibly think that he would want to spend his only day back in his home city touring the place where his people had been murdered for their patriotism. Yet he offered no resistance as the blonde grabbed his hand and dragged him along. Ivan would get what he wanted, when he wanted it, and Toris would be indulgent to a fault and nothing would change in their dynamics just because they were on the brunette's home turf.

The way the Russian held his hand, with such a desperate, controlling tightness, made Toris wonder if Ivan was feeling insecure about something. It was as though he was almost physically restraining him from going anywhere. But eventually he seemed to relent and let go of his almost painful grip on the Lithuanian's hand.

“I suppose you’re right, Toris. We’ll stay outside while we can. It’s not like I haven’t seen similar buildings back home anyways. And the exciting things that happened there are long over with now.”

Toris exhaled a little sigh of relief, and smiled gratefully up at the other man. “Exactly, Vanya,” he said levelly. “And you've been so busy lately that you've been missing out on all the good weather we've been having lately. Perhaps an afternoon in the sunshine is just what you need.”

As they walked on towards the large statue of Lenin, the Lithuanian narrowly avoided wrinkling his nose in distaste. It wasn't as though he had any particular grudge against Lenin, and he certainly didn't hold the same vehement disgust towards him as he did to Stalin, but Toris certainly did not approve of the Soviet decision to rename the area, and would privately never refer to it as anything but Lukiðkës Square. He looked up at Ivan intently, wondering if the Russian had any inkling of how it must feel to have your national identity systematically stripped away, piece by tiny piece.

Perhaps he did. After all, he'd lost his monarchy, had gone from imperialist to communist in the bloody blink of an eye. He sometimes wondered if all the pro-Soviet propaganda that was hammered home to the point of insanity was because really, he just wanted to feel a sense of identity. He often thought that Ivan's insane wish for a global Soviet dictatorship was really just one big cry for acceptance from someone with the emotional fragility of a lost child.

He reached up tentatively and took Ivan's hand again, interlacing his fingers with the Russian's pale, cold digits. As they stopped in front of Lenin's image staring down at them, he leaned his head gently against the other man's arm with a sigh. He wasn't terribly bothered about any attention this gesture might attract. They were both strange figures anyway, in their own respectively odd ways. Ivan was massive, with violet eyes and sporting a coat and scarf in the middle of spring, accompanied by a small man who wore clothing that was thirty years behind fashion and was frequently mistaken for a woman. If people were going to stare at them, then they would do so regardless of whether Toris was openly affectionate towards him or not. But the park was all but empty anyway, and the Lithuanian continued to stand there, resting his cheek against the rough fabric of Ivan's coat and closing his eyes to the gentle warmth of the sun and the scent of freshly cut grass which hung in the air. Everything seemed so very peaceful and hopeful that he almost forgot about the scars which littered his back. It was so very easy, he realised, to forget about everything and get caught up in happier moments when Ivan was in his saner moods. On a day, like today he could almost convince himself, in a spark of bright, naïve hope, that one day things could be like this all the time, instead of holding on and hoping for those days which caught the light and injected some brightness into a life of walking on eggshells.

If I was free, would I still stay with him?

The question troubled him for a moment and he found that he honestly couldn't answer. It was generally something he thought it best not to think about. Obviously nobody would choose Toris' life for themselves, nobody would want to be an overworked servant, to be constantly subject to another's demands or to live with the constant threat of violence. But he knew that, at the same time, being apart from Ivan would break his heart. He'd longed for the other nation all through the war, despite his crippling fear of the other man's insanity and the certainty of brutal punishment which would accompany his return. He was drawn to Ivan in a way that he couldn't quite rationally comprehend and he suspected with some sadness that he probably always would be.

And there was some small part of him that he knew responded to Ivan's possessiveness, some aspect of his personality which seemed to crave the feeling of belonging, not just with someone, but to them. Whenever Ivan held his hand that little bit too firmly, or embraced him just slightly too tightly, when he kissed him in that overly dominant way of his, or referred to Toris as his, it sparked something in the brunette, made his chest tighten in a sort of cloying, needy way which he was sure was not at all healthy.

He opened his eyes after a few seconds and looked down at his hand in Ivan's, realising that he was almost holding onto the other man for dear life. Relaxing his grip, he smiled at the other man before looking up thoughtfully at the statue's unyielding and austere expression. The way the sun fell behind it gave Lenin's figure a looming, joyless air, completely at odds with the beauty of the rest of the square.

“I don't think that Vladimir approves of me, Vanya,” he said with a soft laugh, and resumed resting his head on the other man's arm, passively waiting for him to decide if he wanted to walk on or not.

[Russia]

His subordinate seemed content with the decision to not tour the NKVD building, even going so far as to offer a smile. Though he had came to the conclusion that Lithuania was fine with what Ivan saw as the “justified killings"that had went on there, he figured the slender brunette must have something against touring places where violent executions had been performed. Odd, since he was perfectly content to stroll the streets of Vilnius, despite all the people who had been killed on them during the war. They were perhaps opposites though in many ways, so Toris Lorinaitis was one of the hardest individuals for Ivan to understand. Being rather self-focused, generally the more like Russia a person or nation tended to be, the easier it was for him to understand them, and the more accurate his assumptions concerning them would be.

“And you've been so busy lately that you've been missing out on all the good weather we've been having lately. Perhaps an afternoon in the sunshine is just what you need.”

It was of course true; he had not been out to actually enjoy the nice weather for awhile. His new boss had been keeping him busy with running errands. Now that they were off the poverty-stricken city streets though, it was easier to see just how beautiful of a day it was. There was something almost calming about the sight of the sunlight filtering through the leaves on the trees, and the much cleaner, more refreshed scent that hung in the air over the square. It was not nearly as nice though as it would have been if they had been in a field of sunflowers instead. Looking around, Russia was faced with the stark reality that there were no cheerful looking sunflowers at all out in the square. Nothing but trees, grass and a select handful of different small flowers here and there. The Lithuanians really should consider re-decorating the place. Maybe they could put a bunch of sunflowers over by the Lenin statue. It could help counter his seemingly serious and somber expression.

Nearing the large statue, that serious, fixed expression became all the more apparent. Ivan came to a halt in front of the large likeness of his former boss, feeling Lithuania lean against his arm. It was almost amusing how all the important leaders had a tendency to insist on large, noble looking statues of themselves. Many of Russia’s leaders had their likenesses made on larger than life scales, yet Russia himself had no statues. Well, not of him as he was anyways. There was a few statues of what was supposed to be “the spirit of Russia,“ but these never resembled his physical form in anyway and were usually smaller and less impressive. Most of these smaller scale figures were female too. The fact that most of the population did not know about the spirit of their nation as having physical form really showed through sometimes. His people had a habit of thinking of him as a more motherly figure, which he supposed was fine for creating a sense of unity in times of war.

The Lenin statue itself was very well sculpted and it seemed to Ivan that-had the statue been on a more realistic scale- it might have been Lenin himself staring out with that powerful gaze. With his hand held out as though he were speaking to a crowd, even his former leader’s mannerisms were perfectly caught in bronze. He could have very well been giving one of his famous speeches to a surrounding group of Bolsheviks. Looking up at the old Soviet leader, Russia couldn’t help but feel that Lenin would be turning in his mausoleum if he knew what his appointed "General Secretary" would go on to do to Russia’s own people after his death.

“I don't think that Vladimir approves of me, Vanya.”

Russia pulled his mind away from thoughts of Lenin and the contradictory way that the man had both destroyed and helped him at the same time. Bosses and their policies could be such complex and confusing things sometimes. It seemed they were always destroying one aspect of his culture, only to replace it with something else.

“Nonesense, he looks like he approves to me.” His violet eyes focused on the stern, unyielding expression again. “For him, that is a happy expression.” Pulling Lithuania along, Ivan made his way past the statue and onwards along the path. “Why is it that they never make statues of leaders smiling? Or very rarely, anyways. Lenin should have ordered a statue to be made that looked more happy. Maybe have him holding a sickle too, instead of just holding his hand out.” Completely oblivious as to what kind of an image a smiling Lenin with a sickle in his hand would make, he continued on thoughtfully. “Better yet, if I were Lenin, I would have had my statue holding a pipe in one hand and maybe a bottle of vodka in the other. That would have created a very powerful image I think.”

[Lithuania]

“Why is it that they never make statues of leaders smiling? Or very rarely, anyways. Lenin should have ordered a statue to be made that looked more happy. Maybe have him holding a sickle too, instead of just holding his hand out.”

Lithuania looked up at Ivan for a moment and tried to picture the Russian's idea. He wasn't sure if the idea was hilarious or just simply creepy. He'd met Lenin a few times, but he struggled to recall if he'd ever seen the Bolshevik smile. Perhaps once, a strained and small acknowledgement while thanking him for the tea he'd been serving. Toris had never disliked Lenin, though. The man had been serious and intimidating but there had been no cruelty about him. He remembered once seeing Ivan's former boss frowning in disapproval at the sight of the Baltic with a split lip and a black eye that Ivan had given him the evening before. He could remember feeling embarrassed as he kept his head down and continued to clean, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall the reason for the injuries in the first place. Things like that tended to blur a little when he thought back over his life with Ivan thus far.

“Better yet, if I were Lenin, I would have had my statue holding a pipe in one hand and maybe a bottle of vodka in the other. That would have created a very powerful image I think.”

At this, Toris let out a snort of laughter before he could stop himself. He covered his mouth with his hand, but already the image had taken hold and he choked into his own palm with suppressed giggles. He could only imagine how his people would react to a bronze casting of Lenin with a smile, a pipe and a bottle of hard liquor.

“I think...” he managed to stammer diplomatically as he struggled to keep his composure, “I think perhaps that image might have been too powerful for the people of Vilnius. Lithuanians tend to be quite...mild.”

He looked away, trying to hide the urge to laugh from his companion. After all, knowing Ivan, it was unlikely that he'd been cracking a joke and probably would not be pleased at being giggled at. A large patch of tiny, delicate yellow-green flowers caught his attention and he tugged Russia's sleeve insistently.

“Vanya, look,” he said with a small, shy smile as he subtly tried to steer the larger man in the direction of the tiny plants. “It's rue.” He let go of Ivan's hand and excitedly knelt down to brush his hand over the small, fragile and bitter flowers.

“I haven't seen this for years,” he murmured. After all, in Ivan's garden, there was little room for anything to grow, save for his monstrously huge sunflowers. Looking up at the blonde, he cleared his throat and smiled self consciously. “It's my national flower,” he explained, before the other man thought him completely mad. “These are...as lovely to me as sunflowers are to you.”

He felt a sudden pang in his chest as he looked back down at the achingly familiar plants. There were so many things here that he had missed so desperately, without even realising it. He'd gone through so much of his life with a repressed sense of longing for a home that had started to become little more than a memory, and now he was here, in his own capital, eating his own food and listening to his own language, and looking down at the little rue flowers seemed to cause everything to hit him at once and he knew then and there that getting back on the train and leaving behind this feeling of completeness would surely break his heart. Staring back up at Ivan, his eyes widened in a sudden, pleading distress and he couldn't stop himself from blurting out his next words.

“Do I really have to go back with you to Москва tonight?” He bit his lip and clasped his hands in front of him. “Couldn't I stay here...just a little longer?”