Tea time with a commie - Countryhumans SovBrit

Chapter 5 • A little gesture of trust

Overly-tall-Russian-guy's POV:

My children have already cleared up their plates and ran off to do whatever children do. I've finished my food, too. But Britian? He's only finished half his food.
"Are they all of your children?" I hear the shorter man eep out, confused.
"Of course. Why would they not be?"
All of my children are just like I. Well behaved, well disciplined and know how to keep quiet. It creates a great peace in this home.
Britain turns his head, "there's no wife..?" I hear him mutter. He thinks he's quiet, which he is, but he's not noticed that this room is also quiet.
"Dead." I've never had a wife before. But, maybe if I pretend to have had one, I can relate to this man more.
He gently gasps, "I– I'm so sorry to hear!"
He keeps stuttering out apologies to me and for a woman that's never existed. How would one woman even have fifteen kids exactly? It sounds quite hard to do, in all honesty. It was easy for me to have fifteen kids, though. But I'm not a woman—
"Don't apologize, it was awhile ago," I keep a straight face and wave off Britain's remark. "That's why I invited you here. I felt bad after hearing about your divorce."
I don't. I don't care what this man has been through.
"Oh? Really...?" His eyes widen and light up at the comment. It's hard to notice, but I've a keen eye for this. It's good to have a keen eye.
"Of course."
Britain is believing every word I throw at him. It's clearly desperation. So, he'll take anything, won't he? He wouldn't have come here if that weren't the case.
"By the way," I start, "would you like me to take you around Moscow for a bit? It's beautiful at this time of year."
Britain nods, "of course, I'd enjoy that."

~~~

I hand Britain a spare coat – it's one of my own actually, so it's comically large for him, but he still appreciates it. Only an hour or so has passed and we're ready to head out to the streets of my country.
Surprisingly, I don't actually live in the capital at all. I live just a few miles away, closer to some woods. It's just as good a view. Because of this, I have a servant drive me and Britain there.
"I don't actually know that much Russian," Britain says shyly, and out of the blue.
"I'll teach you some," I'll have to if he's staying here for a few days. "Or I can get you a phrase book instead," that sounds easier to do.
"That would be nice," he looks tense.
His legs are crossed and his arms are stiff. It might be the temperature, but Britain is shaking. As much as I love this, to see someone behave this way around me, I need Britain to be comfortable. I lean forward and lower my head to his level. Before I could even utter a word, I hear him ask, in a shrill voice,
"Why did you ask me to come here, again?"
Has he forgotten? I told him earlier, didn't I? Ignoring that, he has such a tiny voice; a little squeak, like a mouse. It's funny to think that he, of all people, could sound (and arguably look) like a mouse.
"You said you wanted to see Moscow," was what I first answered with. "And... I felt bad."
Britain stares at me in confusion. I continue,
"I felt bad after hearing about your divorce. I thought you needed someone."
He still doesn't respond. I sit comfortably, watching as we drive past countless trees. I hear a small stutter,
"I... I don't know what to say – thank you... No one... No one's even checked up on me since the divorce."
A hiccup rose from his voice and his breathing gets heavy. Is he crying?
"Elaborate." I know he will.
"It– well... I don't know here to begin," Britain puts his head in his hands.
This car ride of going to take thirty minutes. We're five minutes in. I have twenty-five minutes to speak to this man in private (and hopefully to stop him from crying).
"Mind if I ask questions instead?"
Britain shook his head, an internal 'no I don't mind'. Wonderful. Now I can let my curiosity wonder freely.
"Why did you and France divorce?"
Britain first gathered himself, taking in a deep breath,
"She... She cheated on me," he can't even look me in the eye, "but I'm getting the bloody blame for it!"
"Blame?" At first, I didn't care. I just wanted to see how far Britain would open up to me. But I'm invested now.
"Everyone thinks that if I were a better husband then she wouldn't have cheated! That's not how this works though!"
I can barely understand this man's accent half the time. It's harder when he's upset. Also harder since it's English. From what I can make out, I reply,
"You seem like you'd make a good husband. Besdies, France is сука. She's always been annoying." That is as honest as I've been so far in this car ride.
"Uh... Soo-kah? What is that?"
"Bitch."
He paused for a second,
"I still love her. I don't want to hear people talk about her like that yet."
How sweet. How can he still love her after what she did – or allegedly did. He could be lying for all I know, but he seems too upset to be doing that.
"You have a lot of love for her? Still?"
Britain nods.
"Then you are a great husband! With or without wife." I can see Britain light up at the comment.
"Thank you..." He uttered, "I needed to hear that."

Way-too-small-British-guy's POV:

I clear my throat and control my breathing. Not a single tear came out but it felt like I'd been crying for hours. I'd never think Soviet, of all people, would say such a thing. He's much different then how he acts during meetings. And he's much more different than how America describes him. My lip still trembles.
"No one else has talked to me properly – like this – in a while," I repeat. I am truly grateful to have come here.
"No one? Not even your own sons?"
I shake my head, hesitantly. I'd hate to bad mouth my own children to their enemy.
"Not even your allies?" He asks further.
I shake my head again. No one has reached out to me. Only Soviet has. And he's meant to be the enemy! Maybe I'm on the wrong side? No, I can't just betray my own friends and family like that. They need time too, don't they?
"They're just thinking it over. It was a sudden change," I say that more to myself than him.
"Of course," he nods.

No one's POV:

Britain and Soviet finally arrived in Moscow. To the British one's surprise, it was very beautiful. The architecture, weather, people. It was lovely to see. Soviet led him to all sorts of places, explaining the history behind it. Such things may bore an ordinary person, but for Britain it was quite enlightening. He enjoyed learning about history (ironic) and other cultures (even more ironic), and spent hours back at home reading about different histories (or stories). So to have Soviet himself explain it – in passion, too – very much intrigued him.

They had only been out for an hour, but the weather was already trying to pick up. There was snowfall (or that weird kind of snow which is closer to light rain than actual snow). The littke flakes started to build up in Britain's head. Had he brought his tophat with him, then maybe this wouldn't be an issue. Soviet, on the other hand, re-adjusted his ushanka, which kept his head perfectly dry. He peered his eye down to Britain, who had began to shiver and shake his head at the snow rapidly. It'd be a good thing to give him the hat. A sign of trust, maybe. So, without further thought, Soviet placed his ushnka onto Britain's head.
"Oh! Thank you," Britain looked at Soviet in a strange delight.
The shorter man adjusted the hat, finding it quite comfortable. It was perfectly soft, warming his head right up. Britain didn't get it, his son – America – always complained when someone wore a hat even similar to this type, yet it was comfy to wear.
He began to smile, a small amount of blush appearing on his cheeks (though that may be due to the cold).
Soviet looked at Britain with a keen eye. He knew, just by the other's reaction (small or big), that Britain enjoyed the gesture very much. And maybe even enjoyed the hat he's now borrowing. Soviet took a mental note of this.

When night began to fall, the two started to head back to the manor. Britain felt glad he had visited. He was even more glad when he remembered he would be here for most of tomorrow, too.