Second try at a Cold War fic. It's surprisingly a difficult topic to write on. I'm such a huge fan of the Cold War…but it's hard not to just write angst about it.

I should really be proofreading my book…wasting time~

Also, i'm still makin this a songfic. so, each chapter will have a song.

This one's 'A Fine Evening For a Rogue- by Lydia' But, you don't have to listen to it while reading. It might give the chapter the wrong tone...i don't know. Just read.

July 5, 2011

World Conference- London, England

America was still in his chair, head cradled in his hands. England was giving some sort of presentation on taxing planes traveling between continents. The American's hair was unkempt, he had horrible jet lag, his coffee had gone cold while left untouched, and his head hurt.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, thinking he was asleep. "This is important, amigo…" Spain said gently. "You should listen to the tea sucker."

Alfred glanced up at England for a second. The Brit was talking economics, taxation, federal debts, and budget cuts. A trembling hand reached out for the mug of black coffee. It was too early for this.

"Are you well, America?" Spain wondered, his accent still sounded thick even on such a short phrase.

America ran a hand up his face, dragging it through his hair. He didn't even have time for a shower this morning. He'd boarded a three A.M. flight to London this morning to be at this conference.

He'd been greeted by England himself, but Iggy was always a bitch around this time of year. Alfred didn't want to deal with it after the night he'd had.

He sighed, setting his coffee cup back down. He vaguely knew what the meeting was about. Europe's economy was in trouble just like his. They wanted to tax tourist airlines to land in their airports. But, if they did that, the taxes would be passed to the passengers and tourism would slow. There were always tradeoffs to these things. Alfred understood this by now.

"I'm just tired…" he said, finally.

Antonio sat back in his seat. "Well, amigo…you should be. Yesterday was a big day in your country, am I right?"

"Independence day…yep. My birthday," America said, his voice lacking its usual luster.

"Was it good?" the Spaniard said curiously. "You do not sound very pleased…"

"Leave the guy alone, bastard!" Romano said, punching his arm. "He's tired!"

Spain winced, holding his shoulder. He glanced over at southern Italy and smiled. "I'm just worried, mi tomate… He'd usually so energetic after his birthday," Spain said carefully.

"It's America, what could be wrong with him?" Romano said incredulous. Nothing was ever wrong in America.

"Exactly why I'm worried, Lovino…" Spain said, tone becoming somber.

"I'm fine guys, just listen to Iggy," Alfred insisted.

"Ve? Something's wrong with America?"

"No! He just said he was fine, listen to England."

"I 'ave never seen him sit still for dis long. Vat is de matter Amerika?"

"Germany just said he was fine, aru! This is important!"

"Why don't we let him answer?" France finally reasoned. "What is wrong mon ami?"

"It's nothing guys. I'm just tired," Alfred insisted. "Oh, but I'm not paying taxes to have tourists come to Europe."

"Whore!"

"Objecion!"

"Ve~!"

"Why?"

The room erupted again. This happened almost every month.

"Why should I pay taxes to have my people come spend their money in your countries?" Alfred reasoned.

"It costs us money to run these international flights!" England retorted.

"Half of which are flown from my airports. I'm not paying to have them land. If you make me pay, I just won't land, and everyone will use parachutes!"

"You're an idiot!"

"Shut up! It would work! Everyone loves skydiving anyway," America said.

"Do you even hear yourself?"

The American rolled his eyes, taking a sip of coffee before standing up. Everyone else already was anyway. But then again, everyone else was already in a brawl. "You want me to get all political up in here? Cause I can think of at least three international treaties and policies that this will break. I'll make this a legal thing!"

"Really?" England said skeptically. "What're you going to do? Sue me?"

"Maybe!"

"Amerika?" a voice said behind him, interrupting their argument.

Alfred turned, almost falling over onto Russia. He looked up about three inches to meet his creepy purple eyes. "What?" he demanded.

"I heard you vill no longer be sending shuttles into space?" he said, flashing what could've been a wince, but Alfred took as a smirk.

America felt the instant need to smack it off his face. He'd run out of money to fund any more shuttles. It wasn't his fault that his economy was in the toilet. The thought of it reminded him how sick he'd felt last year. He still hadn't fully recovered yet.

"Why do you care?" he spat at the Russian.

The room went silent. Everyone grew tense, hoping this wasn't going to be blow out of proportion again. "I do not care, Amerika. I just find it curious," Ivan responded calmly.

Alfred glared. The Russian was many things, but he was not a good liar. "You think it's funny don't you?" he snapped, fists clenching.

Ivan's eyes went wide and innocent-like. He shrunk back, looking frail and harmless. America hated that the most.

Russia and America had always had a…complicated relationship, as Alfred put it.

They had been great friends in the eighteen hundreds. Russia's tsars loved visiting the young America and both countries enjoyed sharing a glass of wine and complaining over England's latest bullshit. They'd gone hunting for buffalo once or twice and Ivan visited often to enjoy America's weather and warmth. It was in America that Russia had first seen sunflowers, and he instantly decided he loved them.

Ivan had been there to comfort Alfred during his Civil War when America was being split in two. It had been excruciatingly painful and maddening. It had left America weak and ill for decades afterward. Ivan couldn't provide military aid to a country fighting with itself, but he was there to support Alfred.

The two countries were as close as allies could be without being…one. Alfred had mixed feelings about this time after everything that had happened. He'd like to believe that they had only been allies during their time of benevolence. But, he knew they'd been more…how much he couldn't be sure of. After everything that had happened between them, he tried to block their whole relationship out of his mind.

Then, World War I came and Russia's Tsar system was falling. Lenin helped lead the government back to some structure in communism, and all was well for awhile until Lenin's sudden death. After that, Russia got a new boss that…America didn't really…like.

The end of World War II brought nuclear power to the United States and Ivan was furious. What had America suffered; what experience could he boast about to claim this new technology? He was a child. He was undeserving. So, Russia created nukes of his own.

The Cold War had been a…bump in their relationship, to put it lightly. Russia was even colder than before and even less trusting of anyone. He'd thought that America would support his new government now that he finally had some structure instead of the anarchy of the Russian Revolution. Russia felt betrayed and America was appalled.

Stalin wanted China to become part of the Soviet Union, and worked with China's boss to hook the two countries up. China and Russia did not just become allies, they 'became one'. Not only did America see this as a threat, with the spread of communism, but he also was extremely conflicted about the entire relationship. China was supposed to be his ally and trading partner. And Russia…just what the hell was Russia to him anymore? He felt oddly cheated, and somehow…jealous. Not of China's new government, but of…something else.

All they'd ever done since then was argue. Bickering and name-calling was a regular. Each country had its own brand of jokes, and the propaganda against each other lasted among both peoples. Americans were viewed as fat, glutinous idiots in Russia, and American movies always depicted Russians as horrible, gritty, uncaring monsters.

In summery…they didn't get along well anymore.

"I do not think it is funny…" Ivan said dismissively.

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest. Of course his nemesis didn't find his current economic failure funny. "Then wipe that ugly smirk off your face," he demanded.

"As soon as you stop making that face at me…" Ivan replied coldly.

"I ain't makin a face!"

"So, you always look that way?"

Alfred was tired of words. He swung his arm up to punch the Russian in the jaw. They could fight it out without words and it would go much quicker. He felt the bones under his knuckles and it was somehow gratifying. He'd wanted to sock him in the face for so long…

Ivan fell back, holding his jaw gingerly. He stood straight, glaring daggers into the slightly younger country. Alfred just smirked, removing Texas from his face to avoid breaking them. This could be fun…

"You are an idiot…" the Russian said calmly, wrapping his scarf looser so he could tuck his bruised chin beneath the folds of it. He turned and left the conference room, staggering slightly on his way out.

"What? No fight?" Alfred said, disappointed.

"Why would you want to?" England demanded behind him. "That man is a giant."

Alfred shrugged. "It's just Ivan…" he said calmly, still staring after the Russian. It wasn't in his nature to walk away from a challenge like that…

China walked up behind Alfred, expression shocked. "Maybe…you should talk to him. I've never seen him make that expression… And…did anyone notice? He seems…weak."

"What're you talkin about?" America demanded. "He was just smirkin at me like I was a kid that tripped into mud or somethin. Cause he's an asshole."

"China is right, America," Lithuania said carefully. "Mr. Russia never turns down a fight after the first punch's been thrown. He didn't look so well… I'll go check on him…"

Toris was trembling as he said this. And, while Alfred might be bad at reading the mood people were in, he could tell that Toris was still extremely wary of Ivan. He'd been one of the countries that had been trapped in Ivan's house during the time of the Soviet Union.

America felt bad, letting the small nation go face his previous captor. So, being the hero that he is, Alfred put a hand on Toris' shoulder, pressing down lightly to still him. "I'll talk to him…" he offered.

Toris nodded in agreement. It was probably best to let the superpowers talk…

So, Alfred grabbed his mug of coffee and followed Ivan out of the conference room. It was a hot, muggy day in London. As usual, it was raining. "God, I love Iggy's weather," Alfred mumbled sarcastically. "Now, where'd that damn Ruski go?" he wondered aloud.

He searched the crowd of umbrellas. Among all the short, bushy browed British people, it shouldn't have been hard to find a six-foot Russian with long scarf-tails. Alfred was starting to suspect that Ivan had already called a taxi when he noticed a tall man in a long black raincoat. He had such pale blonde hair that it had to be Ivan.

Alfred jogged up behind him, rehearsing what he might say in his head. Most were just witty insults, but there was an apology or two thrown in there somewhere if he really searched. He laid a hand on the man's arm to get his attention, but the moment he touched him, the Russian sunk to the ground.

"Ivan?" America said, crouching down and lifting the taller man's arm. He didn't respond, so Alfred rolled him over onto his back, leaning in close to make sure he was breathing. People were already starting to stop and ask questions.

Ivan's breath was slow and soft, but it was still there. Alfred acted quickly, pulling the Russian up to a standing position by both arms. He lifted the taller man over his shoulder, fireman style, still holding his mug of coffee in one hand. Thank God that America was still strong despite his bad economy.

Alfred quickly considered taking him back inside to the other countries, but for some reason, he got the feeling that would end badly. The other countries seeing Ivan in a moment of weakness would ruin the Russian's image to the others. Alfred had already seen Russia at his weakest before, so this was nothing for him.

Crossing the street quickly and pushing the unconscious Russian into the passenger seat of his car, Alfred rushed into his Honda Civic. People who had seen the collapse were already crowding around the car curiously.

America floored it out of there, speeding through traffic and out of London. What the hell was wrong with Ivan?

He'd been out cold for ten minutes already. Alfred glanced over at the silent Russian. If the situation hadn't been so iffy, he would have taken some time to just laugh at how cute Ivan looked when he was sleeping. Something as ominous and darkly omnipresent shouldn't be cute…it was just wrong…

"Okay, focus…" Alfred reminded himself aloud. He was still exhausted, and staring at someone sleeping was going to make him fall asleep himself if he wasn't careful. He took a sip of coffee and turned on his radio. It was still sort of dark outside. Despite how early it was, it was hot, even in the car, so he turned on his air conditioning.

It was one of those grayish purple mornings, Alfred noted as they drove through English countryside to get to the airport. It was an hour drive to the airport where Al's jet was landed, but Ivan was out for the entire ride.

As Alfred pulled in to the airport, he parked his car for a minute to call his pilot on the cell phone and tell him he was leaving early. The ramp lowered from his jet and Alfred drove his car directly up into the back of the plane.

The pressure locks sealed and Alfred opened his door, walking around to the passenger side to unbuckle the unconscious Russia. He carried him over his shoulder into the loft.

A flight attendant was waiting for him, not expecting her country to walk in with the unconscious Russia slung gracelessly over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She stared at America.

"Well?" he demanded. "I'll need a thermometer, a blanket, some tea, and…um…what else do you do for a sick person? Do we have a medic on board?"

She stared at her host, unsure what to make of this situation. "I'll be right back," she replied, giving up.

Alfred shifted Ivan over his shoulder and set down his coffee to free his other hand. As he dropped the taller man down into both arms, holding him bridal-style, he realized how wet the Russian had made his shoulder.

"Goddamnit, Ruski!"

He stood the Russian up to remove his long black raincoat before letting him fall limply back into a plush leather recliner. The Russian's head lolled off to the side. Alfred sighed and shucked off his own coat. He folded it up and tossed it indolently into the corner.

The flight attendant came back with a medic who immediately went to Ivan and began taking out tools to find what was wrong with him.

"We're going to take off in just a minute, sir. So, if you'd take a seat…?" the female attendant suggested. Alfred nodded and obliged, sitting across from Ivan in an identical recliner, buckling a strap over his lap.

The doctor strapped Ivan down and stood up. "His heart rate is normal and his breathing is slow because of inflamed sinuses. So, I'm going to say his weakness and fainting are because he has the flu. He'd probably had it for a day or two, but the symptoms haven't been bad yet. I doubt he's noticed it. It'll only get worse from here though so, I would keep him quarantined from people for awhile to be sure… Also, he's got a nasty bruise on his jaw. Do you know anything about that?"

"Ah, um… I'm not really the one who takes care of him," Alfred said, diverting that last question. "So…um…is he okay to be flying? I wanted to take him back to Russia…"

"He should be fine to fly, but we don't have clearance to go to Russia right now. We have to take him back to the states."

Alfred hesitated. Ivan…in…America? Oh…God, help us. "Alright, fine…" he replied finally.

The doctor exited the loft, taking his briefcase with him. Alfred glanced over at Ivan again. What was he going to tell the other countries? Ivan had obviously been feeling sick all day, now that he thought about it. For one thing, he hadn't fought back when America had punched him in the jaw. That was proof enough. And, he'd been pretty placid at the meeting…

But, Ivan hadn't said anything about any discomfort, so he obviously hadn't wanted anyone to know. So, Alfred couldn't tell everyone that he was sick if he didn't want it to be public. But, he'd have to tell them something…

The plane shook a little as they speed down the runway and took off. Alfred barely noticed the turbulence of it anymore. It was the jetlag afterwards and the changing time zones all the time that got to him.

Jeez, less than twelve hours ago, he'd been breaking up a brawl that had started during his birthday fireworks. For some reason, his people couldn't be patriotic without getting violent. It always had a way of ruining the fun of his birthday; yet for some reason, he still looked forward to it all year.

When he got home, he was supposed to have a meeting with his boss to discuss this new stimulus plan. He had very little faith in it. It hadn't worked at all since it had been passed. What he needed was more jobs and fewer taxes…that would be great. Where was Roosevelt when you needed him?

"Amerika?"

Alfred's head snapped up. Ivan was awake, fiddling with the straps of his belts. "Hey, leave those alone…we're not at the right altitude yet…" Alfred said calmly.

"Why am I here?" Russia demanded.

"Cause you passed out in the street. You're lucky I saved your ass."

"So heroic," Ivan said sarcastically.

"Damn right!" Alfred snapped seriously. "I just tossed ya over my shoulder all fireman style and carried you to my car!"

"Dat is vhy we are on a jet?"

"Oh… no, that's cause I drove us to my jet…" he glanced at Russia carefully. Maybe it would be easiest to just tell him. "I'm taking you back to America…"

"What?" Ivan said, unbuckling himself completely and standing up, going for the door.

"Sit down! We're already in the air!"

"Turn de plane around!"

"Why?" Alfred demanded. "Look, we can't turn around. You're sick and you should be kept away from people for awhile. I think you caught the flu in England. That…or…?"

"My economy is fine!" Ivan snapped.

Often times, countries would only get sick when their people, economy, or government was suffering. But, they could also catch viruses without affecting their country.

"Alright! I believe you!" Alfred said defensively. "But, we can't take you home. We don't have clearance to go to Russia and I wouldn't have been allowed on your plane…"

Ivan was glaring again. Alfred winced. Sometimes he wished that Ivan would just put on that happy mask for him too, but when he considered seeing Ivan wearing a façade all the time and lying to him…it seemed worse. So, he smiled at the glare.

"I'm sorry, man… But I couldn't just leave you, okay? The doctor says that you'll only get worse from here, so I'll take care of you for awhile…"

"I would rather die," Ivan snapped coldly.

"Alright…I'm…sor…I'm sorry for…punching you," Alfred choked. Oh, God how he hated apologizing.

"You are a fool."

"I thought you were picking on me!"

"Vhat vould de point of dat be?"

Alfred shrunk back an inch, realizing how tough it was not to point out Ivan's obvious accent. "Well, I do it to you all the time…" he admitted.

"And you are an idiot. Vhy vould I try to be like you?"

Alfred winced and tried to restrain himself from exploding over minor insults. "Okay…" he ground out. "I know we hate each other…but, let's just try to get through this without killing each other. I'll help you if you just…let me."

"I vill not," the Russian said stiffly. "I am not sick. I vas simply tired. I just decided to take a nap."

"In the middle of the street," Alfred finished skeptically.

"Exactly."

"Bullshit."

"Nyet! I am not sick," Ivan insisted, but his body rebelled against his lies and he was suddenly overtaken by a dry fit of coughing.

Ignoring his earlier instructions to stay seated, Alfred unbuckled and rose to his feet. He knelt next to the Russian and put a palm up to his forehead. Ivan shivered under the touch. "God! You're burning up…" the American mumbled.

"Vat do you mean?"

"You've got a fever, Ruski," Alfred answered. Ivan never caught on to the American's hyperboles.

"Dat is impossible. It is freezing in here."

Alfred stared at him incredulously. "You've never had the flu before, have you?"

"Nyet…when I get sick it is much worse than your petty flu," the Russian replied coldly, trying to clear his throat which was suddenly very sore.

"Well, I had a fierce flu back in the 30s when I had that depression. You've got all the symptoms. But, I know what ta do, so don't worry!"

"Vhy does dat make me vorry even vorse?"

Alfred just ruffled his hair, straightening up and snatching his coat off the floor. He leaned over the Russian, tucking the corners under his arms and fixing the buckles he'd undone. "First thing is to sweat out the cold fever," he said, smiling. "We'll get you some antiviral medication when we get to my home."

"I still hate you," the Russian grumbled.

"I hate you more," Alfred assured him. "But, what kinda hero would that make me if I just left you? If the other nations saw you like this…"

"I vill not thank you for this…"

"Don't expect me to accept it if you do."

"I vill not make this easy," the Russian continued sleepily.

"It'd be no fun if you did…" Alfred said, grinning. He stood up and sat back down in his own recliner. Ivan's head lolled off to the side again and his breathing slowed. The rest of the flight went by pretty silently…

Soooo…I think I'm going somewhere with this one, but I don't know yet. It somehow feels like i'm coping that story, Blue Lips. I swear, I don't intend to copy anyone.

I didn't plot this one out like I did my South Park fic. I hope I can do something with this.

Review Plz?