Wine Woods

18. Power Complex.

Alfred muttered curses under his breath, glaring around the room. He was in France for two days for some crappy meeting. He wasn't even involved in this war, he didn't care. This was for Europe to duke out, none of his business. The year was 1807.

America looked around the room. This was all very formal and stuffy. France was bleeding from his mouth, and glared at England a whole bunch. Austria and Prussia were still being toddlers over the past. Damn, all this was annoying. 

And yet he stood there, his wine glass high and his head higher as he watched the movements of the country's around him, the empires, the prisoners, the occasional immortal human that followed behind their nation with a smirk on their face, praising and gloating to the other immortal humans.

Samuel and Marco would never do that. If they were here they'd be laughing their asses off at these idiots. And insulting him for funsies.

He walked away. The real meeting would be starting soon. 

Truly, the only thing he noted throughout the entire three hours was that he was bored. He wasn't even supposed to speak at this meeting. He didn't know why he came.

Right, appearances. He had to keep up appearances. They were how he stayed alive, how the other nations realized he wasn't something to fight, something they couldn't win against.

A few nations praised him for the pirates, but he didn't really care. They were being annoying, so he got rid of them. It's not very complicated. He was surprised they hadn't already done it.

He was let out, and he was the first person out of that room. He was tired, and he was kinda pissed off. He felt a hand grab his arm and he spun around, his hand poised to strike.

It fell, slapping against his thigh.

"Hello, dorogoy," Ivan said, leaning down to peck him on the lips. Alfred's eyes were closed when he pulled away, his mouth still open, his hand wanted to reach up just to touch- to feel something, but he knew.

"Not here." he whispered, his voice stern, "There's a place near the outskirts of town, Bella can lead you there."

"Bella? Who is Bella?" Ivan asked, and Alfred whispered what she looked like, getting awfully close to his ear, his lips practically grazing it.

"Russia? America?"

They both pulled way from each other quickly, Russia turning around to see Italy. The boy went still like a rabbit, staring at the Russian.

"Hello," he said, tilting his head before smiling, "Um... what were you two doing?"

It was Ivan's turn to still, and he felt Alfred's hands pressing into his back, felt him mutter, "Go, now, I'll deal with this."

Alfred stood high as Ivan walked away, his eyes dull. Italy watched him carefully as he left, before looking at the American before him. America bowed, and Italy followed, before walking up to him. In the back of his mind, he could feel wariness. He had never been alone with Italy.

"France killed him," was all he said, "he finished him off really. My love was so sick, in so much pain. But your remedy, it worked. He's alive now."

Alfred gulped.

"He doesn't remember me. Not at all. My betrothal has been broken in his death, and will not be remade in his resurrection," Italy said, nonchalant as he could manage, tears welling in his eyes, "I guess it's better than him being dead. His eyes are still the same. His face is still the same."

"You're still in love with him."

"Si, si," he replied, looking over at the wall, studying the architecture. He sneered, not exactly liking the pattern on it.

"I'm glad it worked, I'll be going now," Alfred said, before feeling his arm get grabbed. It was different. Ivan's hand was bigger, and stronger, and sturdier, while Italy's hand was thin with long fingers. He could have shrugged him off if he wanted too.

But he had to keep up appearances, so he just looked over.

Italy hummed, reaching up to trace his jawline. America almost cringed back, but stopped himself. He just didn't move.

"Come with me," Italy cooed, his eyes going from prey to predator. America couldn't back out of this. He had to get in good with as many countries as possible, and if this was the only way to get in good with Italy...

But Ivan would be waiting for him. He wanted Ivan. Only Ivan.

He didn't believe he came.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He walked through the town, glaring straight ahead. People walked around him quickly, running around like headless chickens- heh, get it, headless, French?

It hadn't taken long. His neck was covered by a thin scarf, covered in only one noticeable hickey, dark purple and angry. The place wasn't too far away.

It was a bakery, newly built.

One of his humans, one of the ones he raised, stood behind the counter. Her head was high. Her cousin- posing as her husband, somehow seemed prouder.  They smirked at him, and he walked up to the counter. Bella was in the corner of the shop, and there were a few random people.

"Hello, Alita, Nichol," he said, softly. They smiled, Alita pointing her finger too the hidden staircase, signifying that Ivan was up there.

He nodded, looking to her again before she whispered: "I'll send a letter and parcel every three weeks, just as planned."

"And I'll send a letter and parcel back, every time," Alfred replied, leaving the counter before she went back to talking to Nichol in loud French. They were going to act like they weren't Americans. They were going to act like spies, when really they were just a safe zone. He was planning on putting one in Russia too, but just hadn't had the chance yet. He was going to ask Ivan before he did it too, unlike when he just did it for France.

He went up the staircase, wavering a bit. He got up to the door, and walked in.

He panicked when he felt Ivan push him against the wall, felt his thigh go between his legs- and he pressed his hands against his chest.

Ivan immediately stopped, pulling away to take care of him, kissing his cheeks and whispering sweet nothings too him, before he got to the question Alfred didn't want to answer.

"What's wrong?" Ivan asked, petting his cheek.

"I'm a cheater. A lying, cheating, whore. A good for nothing-"

He felt Ivan's hands wrap around him, and his chin rest against his head.

"You're breaking my heart, darling."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Indiana," he whispered to himself, hearing the other baby start to cry, before hearing Illinois start to whimper again. Samuel stood in the doorway, staring in at the scene.

"I'm sending for Ivan, there is no way you can handle this," he said.

"No," Alfred replied, "the war is picking up steam again. Things are happening. It's unfair to take him away from his country, not now. Not anytime soon. Not unless this war changes very fucking fast."

Samuel stopped, before standing in the doorway again, "Anything you need me too do, sir?"

"Make dinner, get someone to help you," Alfred said, and Samuel nodded, and left.

Alfred sighed, petting both of the babies brown hair before kissing their foreheads.

"I love you, so much." 

He didn't know who he was saying it too anymore. Was it Ivan, across the ocean? All his children? All the humans who lived here? His siblings? His parents?

The only thing he did know, was that he wasn't saying it too himself.