The Secret

Chapter 17

Alfred got home fairly late compared to other days. The door closed with not a sound. He stopped after closing it. Didn't it make noise at one time? He hung his jacket and called through the house. There was silence in the house. An eerie quiet that he didn't like.

He called out to the silence, "Ivan?" No one responded at first.

"In here," came the voice after a moment.

Alfred followed the sound and walked into the bedroom. Ivan sat at the end of the bed. He looked as if he had just gotten home, his coat and shoes still on. His body shook for a moment as he coughed twice.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

His answer was delayed. "I'm not sure." His head lowered, looking at something in his hands.

Alfred put his things down and sat down beside Ivan. He looked in his hands and saw a silver cross on a chain. "What's that?"

"Something I found," he said hesitantly. "I remember giving it to someone. But, I don't remember..."

Alfred put his hand on Ivan's, his hand tensing up. "Ivan." He moved his hand to Ivan's forehead, his skin burning up. "Are feeling all right?"

He didn't answer. He only looked at the cross, his thumb running over the metal.

"Come on." He pulled Ivan up to his feet, helping him take his coat and shoes off. He took him to the head of the bed and sat him down. "Lie down," he said. "Rest." Ivan's eyes were already closing by the time Alfred reached the door.

It must just a cold. At least, that's what it seemed like. He'd be fine in a day or so.

-

The next day, Alfred insisted that Ivan stay home. He didn't complain as much as Alfred had expected. He never let go of that cross.

"Hey, Alfred. Where's Ivan today?"

"He's just got a cold is all," he told Vladimir.

Vladimir nodded. "Alfred, I have something for you."

"What is it?"

They stood outside, just at the edge of the courtyard outside the conference building.

Vladimir looked a bit apprehensive as his hand went to his pocket. "Does the name Rosabella mean anything to you? Rose?"

It sounded familiar, but he didn't know anyone by that name. Did he? An image flashed through his head, gone as quickly as it came. A young girl with silvery hair, blue eyes.

He hesitated before speaking. "It sounds familiar."

Something sparked in Vladimir's eyes. "Here." He put a small bottle in Alfred's hand. "I can't help you remember everything, but I can help some." He nodded to the bottle, clear liquid inside that sloshed around a bit like syrup. Vladimir took hold of Alfred's empty hand. "Drink it."

Alfred looked down to the bottle and up to Vladimir. "What is it?"

"Something to help. Alfred, please trust me."

Alfred inhaled deeply. He quickly uncapped the bottle with his thumb, his opposite hand still clasped in Vladimir's. He gave a nervous glance to Vladimir before tipping the small bottle over his mouth. The bottle emptied before he closed his lips, the plain syrup crawling down his throat.

He suddenly felt dizzy. He thought that perhaps Vladimir had just poisoned him.

Something new settled in his mind. A thought that seemed to have been locked away.

He was in a corridor of a conference building; the one in New York. They'd be leaving in just a minute or so.

"America." He looked up to Romania. "Will you be all right?"

He sighed. "I don't know where Alaska is. I couldn't prevent this from happening."

"What's her name?"

He hesitated. "Rose. Rosabella."

"We will get her back, America. I promise."

He scoffed. He looked up to Romania. "And how do you know that?"

"Because, I know how you feel."

"Really? And you have how many children?" he asked, his voice heavy in sarcasm.

Romania turned to glare directly at America. "Listen here. I may not be a parent. But I have a little brother that I would give my life for. So don't you dare think I can't imagine what you're feeling."

America looked away. "I'm sorry, Romania."

"Just don't make the mistake of thinking you're the only one who has people to protect."

America nodded.

"You've got friends, America. Don't forget that."

"Thanks, Romania."

"Any time," Romania said with a gentle smile.

He was sitting. Romania still held his hand. He could still remember it, speaking with him before this. "What was that?" Things slowly started coming through. He remembered a girl, his daughter, more and more with every second. He heard a gunshot and saw her lying in Dakota's arms.

He looked up to Romania. His cheeks felt wet and his eyes stung. "How could I forget that?" he asked softly. "How could I forget her?" His words turned into sobs.

"It's not your fault," Romania reassured him. "They made you forget. You focus now, though, America. Now that you know. We have to get everything back to how it's supposed to be."

America nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, cutting off the tears. He dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve, ridding himself of tears.

"Can you keep yourself together?"

America nodded, taking in a deep breath that rattled around on its way to his chest. He stood up and met eyes with Romania. "How did you do that? Make me remember. What was that syrup?"

"A sort of formula that I was able to pull together in the last few weeks."

"We need to get more; for the others."

"I can't. I was barely able to get that much without drawing attention to myself."

"We'll find a way. We have to."

Romania smiled. "There's the America I remember. There's my friend."

A/N: Writing this and The American Empire at the same time is proving hard. Particularly because of America's relationship. But, this story is coming to an end. There'll probably be around ten or so more chapters.