Pang!

Another rock bounced off Russia's bedroom window. Russia squeezed his pillow over his ears, trying to block out the sound. No good, he heard yet another pang! as the latest rock was thrown. What had he done to deserve this? A full night of sleep, that was all he wanted. Was it so much to ask? Apparently so, in the mind of his mysterious invader. The trouble had started just a little after midnight; the phone rang. Russia has already turned in for the night and decided that whatever it was could wait until morning. The phone rang again. He ignored it. Another ring. He ignored it some more. The phone continued to ring for what felt like hours until at last it fell blissfully silent. Russia had almost fallen back asleep when someone started banging on his front door with the kind of urgency usually reserved for people being chased by bears. In the present circumstance, Russia wouldn't have minded if whoever was knocking was being chased by a bear, and again tried to ignore it. The knocking, just like the ringing, went on and on. He had been foolish to think that the trouble was over when the knocking stopped, because only minutes after that the invader started throwing rocks at his window.

Even without answering the phone or looking out the window, he had a fairly good idea of who was responsible. There were only so many people he knew who were that persistent...and unable to take a hint. He was tempted to just keep trying to go back to sleep, but unless his ears were deceiving him, the rocks being thrown were getting progressively larger. If the invader was indeed who Russia thought it was, he wouldn't hesitate to break a window. He actually had broken one of Russia's windows while pulling a similar stunt to get the larger country's attention, back when they were...well, back when they were still getting along.

It had been snowing heavily the last time Russia looked outside, and a broken window in the current weather would be a problem. Reluctantly, he drug himself out of his warm bed and threw open the window...just in time for another rock to go whizzing past his ear and land on bedroom floor with a thump. He stared at the rock before turning his attention to America (he had guess right) standing in about a foot of snow and lifting what was more of a boulder than a rock. Where on earth had he found so many? Fortunately the younger country noticed that the window had opened before he could chuck the oversized projectile, and dropped the huge rock harmlessly into the snow.

"Oh th-th-thank God you're aw-w-wake!" Even two stories up, Russia could see him shivering. "Let m-m-me in already, I'm f-f-freezing my b-balls off!"

"I don't really know why I should. I am tired and you woke me up. I am...what is that expression you use? Not a happy camper."

"Y-y-yeah, okay, s-s-sorry, b-but you w-wouldn't answer the ph-phone or d-d-door and I've got s-something important to t-t-t-talk to you about!"

"...At two in the morning."

"I've g-got serious j-jet lag and I'm actually awake r-r-right now. C-come on, man!"

"You could have talked to me about this important something at the meeting with our bosses earlier today."

"N-no, 'cause th-that was serious p-political talk t-time. I d-d-don't like mixing that st-stuff with f-f-fun stuff. P-plus, jet lag. I w-was a z-z-zombie. Sh-shit, it's so f-fucking cold! L-let me in!"

America was right about that, at least. He had been somewhat...groggy at the meeting. Obama had to keep nudging him to keep him from nodding off while Medvedev was talking.

"I will let you in out of pity, da?" he said at last, slamming the window shut before America could respond.

America all but ran inside when Russia unlocked his front door, still shivering. "My g-god, your winter is insane," he moaned, brushing snow off his clothes. "Remind me to never come back until your place defrosts."

"You are welcome to leave. The door is behind you," Russia said with false sweetness. "I can direct you to an airport and you will be home in no time. We will both be much happier when you are gone, da?"

"Do you have to be such an asshole?"

"After you woke me up by calling me in the middle of the night, tried to break my door down and threw rocks at my window, da, I do. The only reason I didn't just leave you to freeze is because I was worried you would break my window again."

"Thought you said you let me in out of pity...and what do you mean, again? When did I ever break your window?"

Russia's mouth closed sharply. He shouldn't have brought that incident up. "A long time ago," he said flatly, hoping America would drop it. No such luck.

"Like how long ago? 'Cause I really don't remember-...oh! Wait, I do! It was...shoot, nineteenth century? Yeah, I was staying with you for a month, and it was really late but I wanted to wake you up because...uh..."

"There was a meteor shower," Russia said before he could stop himself.

"Oh yeah! It was a really great one, tons of shooting stars, and I wanted you to come watch with me...but you didn't answer when I knocked, so I threw rocks."

"And you broke my window," Russia said with a note of finality, trying to stop the story right there. He didn't want to remember the rest of it. America had been so excited about the meteor shower, and Russia had a hard time being angry about the window (especially when America laughed and promised to help him fix it later.) They found a good place to sit and watch under the open sky, and America told him to make a wish on a star (what did he wish for? He couldn't remember that anymore.) They stayed out almost until dawn, but ended up paying little attention to the stars...

Damn. Stop thinking about that right now. Stop thinking.

"...house always looks so much bigger from the outside," America was saying by the time Russia got his head back to the present.

"Did you have something to talk to me about or not? You did wake me up in the middle of the night, I would hope it wasn't for nothing."

"Yeah, I can tell you just got up. You've got serious bedhead. And cute jammies, by the way. What's that monkey-bear thing on 'em?"

Russia looked down at himself. He had forgotten that he was wearing the Cheburashka pajamas Ukraine gave him for his birthday last year.

"He's a character from a cartoon you've never heard of," he informed America with as much dignity as he could muster. "And he is not a monkey-bear thing, he is an animal unknown to science."

"Whatever, dude. You aren't allowed to make fun of my Mickey Mouse boxers anymore."

"Did you come here to tell me something, or just to waste my time?"

"Nonono, I've got something to tell you. No, actually something to ask you." America, having thawed out enough to be charming, turned on a smile that would have made an iceberg melt. "What are you doing on the 24th?"

"Of December?" Russia asked, trying not to look at America directly when he was smiling like that. That grin had a history of effecting him in embarrassing ways.

"Yep, Christmas Eve, a week from now. Got any plans?"

"How is that any of your business?"

"So you don't, huh?"

"I did not say that."

"You may as well have. Wanna do something with me?"

"That would depend on what the something is, da?" Russia answered lightly, trying to ignore how his heart had sped up a little. America wasn't asking him on a date, was he? No, of course not. It was that stupid smile of his, it was making Russia all confused. That smile should be illegal. It could be more dangerous than a nuclear weapon, if America knew what kind of effect it had on Russia.

"Nope, can't tell you. You have to agree to do it first!"

"Then no."

"Aw, come on! It's something fun! I'll give you a hint; I've got something in my pocket that we'll need in order to do the thing I have in mind."

Did that idiot have any idea how that sounded? And did he have to keep smiling like that?! Russia found himself in serious danger of blushing like a schoolgirl if the younger country didn't knock it off soon.

"I don't know. You'll have to tell me."

"Come on, guess! What have I got in my pocket? And it's not a magic ring." When Russia gave him a blank look, America shuffled his feet awkwardly. "That's England's joke."

"Ah. I always thought British humor wasn't very funny."

"Shut up, okay? Look, you can have another hint; it's got to do with something you like a lot."

"You don't have a bottle of vodka in your pocket, I know that."

"Nope."

"...A sunflower seed?"

"Bzzz! Try again."

"I am too tired for guessing games, America."

"Fine, I'll show you. Man, you're so lame!" America reached into his pocket and pulled out...two slips of paper? No, they were tickets. Russia plucked them out of America's hand and looked closer. Two tickets to the New York City Ballet's production of The Nutcracker. He looked over the tickets at America, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly.

"So what do you think, huh?"

"I did not think you liked ballet," Russia said blandly, not entirely sure how to answer. "Why would you buy tickets?"

"I didn't, that's the thing. I won them from a radio contest! I was the 25th caller and I got free tickets. And at first I was like, 'man, what am I going to do with these?' And then I thought, 'hey! Russia's a total ballet fag-'...I mean fan," he corrected when Russia's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I thought, 'Russia's a ballet fan, so I bet he'd like a free ticket.'"

Russia looked back down at the tickets again. They weren't bad seats, really.

"I could go to the Moscow Ballet, you know."

"Yeah, you could. But it wouldn't be the New York City Ballet."

"The dancers would be better than in New York."

"You better not be talking smack about my dancers."

"And I could get better seats there too."

"Maybe, but you wouldn't be sitting next to me."

"I am busy on the 24th," Russia lied, running out of excuses.

America rolled his eyes. "Bull shit. You're probably just going to sit at home and get plastered on your lonesome."

That was a startling accurate description of how Russia had spent the past few Christmases, and for once the older country found that he had nothing to say. America took advantage of his temporary speechlessness, snatched one of the tickets out of his hand and gave him a hearty slap on the back.

"Just think about it, okay? Give me a call or whatever when you've made up your mind. And maybe...I dunno..." It was America's turn to look a little flustered. "Maybe you can come over the day before the ballet and we can...hang out. Like we used to. Just for a little bit. Either way, really. Only if you want to. W-well, I'll see you later!"

America was out the door and back into the cold before Russia had the time to offer him a coat to borrow. Funny, the house suddenly felt a little bigger and colder. He looked back at the ticket in his hand, and imagined for a second that the thick paper felt warm under his fingers. Maybe, he thought. Maybe.

Notes:

Holy smokes, it's a fic without history! Or at least not much history. I might throw in bits of stuff here and there. Anyway, I'm going back and forth about whether or not to continue this or leave it as a oneshot...any opinions either way? I don't usually write multi-chapter fics, but maybe I'll give it a whirl.