Disclaimer: "Axis Powers Hetalia" belongs to its owner, I make no money from this. History, however, belongs to no one so suck it up.

Warnings: Chapter unbeta-ed.

Characters: All countries, but focuses on Russia and Poland.

Notes: "Polsha"- Russian for Poland

"Ty glupyi"- Russian for "You are stupid"

"Rosja"- Polish for Russia

"Polska"- Polish for Poland

"Pieprz się"- Polish for "Fuck off"(yeah...)

"Przepraszam"- Polish for "I'm sorry"

At this point I'd like to apologize to eventual Russian audience that will read this fic for butchering their language. With my limited knowledge, I tried my best- you are free to correct any mistakes (that also goes for English speakers too).

It went without saying that from all the nations out there, Alfred F. Jones was the one who came up with eccentric (crazy) ideas. They all knew it and did their best to ignore it.

That didn't actually mean they didn't participate in them anyway.

America was too persuasive (whiny) for his own good and when he really wanted something, other nations had no other choice but to give in (just to shut him up).

And his last brilliant (ridiculous) idea involved Christmas, specifically: nations spending Christmas together. Such concerns like different religions, dates and customs completely didn't register in his (puny) brain. Everybody blamed America's insanity on his new president, whose favorite words mainly consisted of "hope", "change" and "yes, we can".

Seriously, as if Jones needed encouragement.

Country's reactions varied from enthusiastic ("Yeah! We're, like, totally gonna get wasted!") to practiced indifference ("…"), passing through furious denial ("It's impossible. Do you have any idea of logistics behind this? Forget it!") and finally ending with downright creepy ("Kolkolkol").

After several temper tantrums later, all nations found themselves in America's villa (yes, even those that didn't celebrate Christmas).

Feliks looked with critical eye at the furniture around him. Was it him, or was everything covered with stockings and candy? Not to mention, the only food he could see were various types of hamburger. He was immediately grateful for his tradition of celebrating Christmas on 24th December not on 25th. The others didn't fare better than him: Honda Kiku and his Asian cousins were glancing around with mild interest, randomly asking an exasperated Spain if it's normal for western countries to cover their houses with weed, Hungary and Lichtenstein were trying (in vain) to change the music from the-ever-popular "Mistletoe and Wine" to "Silent Night" with Arthur shrieking something about how "Cliff Richards was British, you bloody…" and he really didn't want to know what Matthew was doing to that tree to make it look more… traditional. Roderich, the bastard, apparently foresaw the disaster, was calmly drinking from his cup, paying no mind to a growling Prussia who took the whole feast as a personal insult and was currently in the middle of a very long rant. Toris and other Baltics were in the kitchen, probably hoping to save what they could, while they still had time- without his awesome guidance, of course.

Feliks scowled. His offer of help was promptly turned down, with a quiet comment from Liet that he better stay out of kitchen at least until everything was done.

"I know you, Feliks- you'll just end up eating all we have!"

"Oh come on, Liet! That was, like, ages ago! And I was only testing it, for, like, everybody's sake!"

"Out. Now."

Poland looked sulkily at Finland and Sweden, who were staring awkwardly at each other under mistletoe.

'Well, at least it can't get any worse.'

Surprisingly, it didn't, at least not right away. Liet, Estonia and Latvia managed to make some pierogi and borsch, which was a nice change from all the fast foods around them. Switzerland surprised them all, producing some white cheese out of nowhere and a cheesecake. There was, however a glitch, when both Feliks and Ivan volunteered to hard-boil the eggs (Łukasiewicz because he was bored, Braginsky to escape from Belarus). Before either of them could back down (kill each other), Ludwig was already on his feet, sleeves rolled up and ready for action.

It was after an hour into the feast that Feliks noticed they may have forgotten about something important.

"Shouldn't we, like, share the opłatek?"

His suggestion was met with blank stares from everyone, except Liet and Italy.

"Share what?"

"Oh, come on, you know, a thin wafer-"

"Em, Feliks?" Toris tugged at his pink sleeve "Only we celebrate Christmas like this."

Poland was baffled.

"Like, seriously? Well, whatever, doesn't matter."

He should have known it would be useless with America in the room.

After a short explanation ("you totally, wish someone a good health, or lots of vodk- I mean money") and Francis' and Alfred's reaction ("Such a youthful and beautiful tradition you have Pologne!"/ "We can share hamburgers!"), it was decided they should totally do it.

Minus the hamburgers. Because that was just weird.

'I never learn.' thought Poland in a rare moment of self-analyze. A calm voice which sounded like Lithuania agreed that yes, he never does. Well, he should just man up and start spouting some bullshit about good health and prosperity (seriously, nations wishing other nations success and longevity? That's some bad joke right here)- after all, it was his idea.

It's not like he had bad relations with others- he could muster some nice words, just this once. And even though he was still a little pissed about this WWII business, Ludwig's boss' recent behavior kind of (because, it could never be enough) made up for it. He got used to being sort of nice (come on, he was Poland- he could hold grudges) to Germany, England and France now that they all were in EU- what's some Christmas tradition to him?

But as was previously stated, Poland never learns. So it was inevitable he would face Russia in a room in which suddenly the temperature seemed to drop below zero.

In a room, that he just now noticed was completely empty, save the two of them.

'Traitors!' hissed mentally Feliks 'I'd have expected this from anyone, but Toris and Elisabeta too? Some friends they are.'

Ivan wore an innocent-looking smile, which made Poland want to punch him until it disappeared (preferably together with his face).

'Ok, it's no biggie, right? I can control myself, we're not at war. It's just a few words, nothing more. I can do it.' He schooled his expression carefully.

"Merry Ch-"

"I'm sorry."

It took Feliks a moment to understand that it was Ivan who spoke. He coughed awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He decided he must have misheard him so he continued:

"Um. Right. Mer-"

"Przepraszam."

That one was a lot more difficult to ignore. Feliks laughed hollowly.

"Like, don't start." He had a stupid speech prepared already, why did the bastard have to prolong it even more? It's not like he meant it- it was just another weapon to confuse, hurt him again. Pity he already knew the game.

"Polska, I-I" if Feliks didn't knew better, he would have said Ivan was getting desperate. He wasn't smiling and his eyes were wide, fixed only on him with strange light in them. But Russia was a good actor. "I'm sorry, przepraszam, ja-"

"Just shut up!" How dare he… How dare he speak his language, after… after…

Another trail, another Pole found guilty of treason. How could his fellow kinsmen, his own people, do this to each other? But of course, they weren't his, were they? The woman," the judge", he could tell she wasn't one of them. He was able to tell just as any other nation- it was their special skill. And she was Ivan's. How many good, innocent, brave, noble Poles had she sentenced already? And how many of her kind were hidden in his borders, speaking Polish language with their Russian tongues?

And how many more Poles will die before his eyes because of them?

How many will join them out of necessity and desperation?

He snapped back to reality when Russia gripped his wrists with his cold hands (familiar, so familiar) and whispered fervently: "Please, Polsha, just lis-"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

His punch took Ivan completely by surprise, as the taller man tumbled onto the colorfully decorated couch, clutching his rapidly reddening cheek. Feliks could clearly see a split lip and while this view plus a feeling of bone beneath his fist filled him with satisfaction, it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He pressed the man into the mattress, grabbed the lapels of his coat and raised him so their faces were on the same level. He could smell alcohol in Ivan's breath and see the concern in his eyes. Concern…

"Does it hurt?" Ivan looked at him with mock concern. "Tsk, tsk. Must you always be so stubborn, Polsha? You are just making it worse."

Feliks tried to smirk but with his bruised cheekbone he only managed to grimace.

"Yeah, well, I figured, like, why should I make it easy for you, Rosja. You have to work for it" His face met dirty floor as Russia kicked him. He felt a hand grip his hair as he was forced to look directly at his enemy. The expression on Ivan's ugly mug was unreadable.

"You're leaving me with no other choice, Polsha. But you have to learn, you have to understand-" he smiled in such eerie way that Poland shivered "we can't have children who don't play nice."

Feliks growled. "What's that supposed to mean? You totally have issues. A therapy would do you wond-"

"It'll start soon." Ivan cut him off. Poland noticed that the Russian had a far away look on his face, as if he wasn't really there. He didn't like this.

"W-what?" Braginsky glanced at him with a pleasant smile.

"Now."

It felt as if his entire body was on fire. He gasped and choked, desperately trying to keep from screaming. Voices, he realized, thousands of his people screamed in agony and he wasn't in a dirty cell anymore, but in woods, he felt tight rope dig into his neck and wrists, felt a bullet hit his skull, a surge of emotions: pain, anger, fury, humiliation…

Then he was in a prison cell, but not the one where Germany and Russia kept him, it was smaller, much smaller, there was so much blood on the walls and floor. Someone pressed a hot muzzle into his neck; he heard a shot and the world once again exploded: fear, despair, fury, humiliation…

He didn't know how long he was out, but he nearly felt relieved when he finally found himself in a familiar cell. Then, at once, the knowledge of what happened hit him more than thousand bullets. He didn't notice that Ivan let him go; he curled into a ball and tightly closed his dry eyes, not giving the bastard satisfaction of seeing him cry- tears were useless to him now. He shakily breathed in, gulping the much-needed air.

"W-why?" he finally asked, nearly cringing at his hoarse voice.

There was a moment of silence but eventually Ivan answered:

"So that you become one with me."

Feliks laughed, the sound ugly and insane echoing in a small room.

"You really believe this crap! You, like totally, believe in this!"

He opened his eyes, before raising his hands to his field of vision. He had white palms he realized. White, with few scars and nicely cut nails. Hard but slim hands made for using sabre rather than sword… 'I'd have died with them' he thought. That was how Soviets picked out intelligentsia- those with soft, white palms were sentenced to death, laborers, with coarse, dirty and tanned ones were let free…

"Would you kill me then?"

Russia kneeled beside him, frowning.

"I have no intention of killing you, Polsha. I'm showing you why it's better for you to be with me. Don't fight me, brother." Ivan gently grasped the smaller nation's tightly-clenched fist. "We are brothers, da? We can become powerful, Polsha. Germany doesn't matter, together we will make him pay for what he did to you, moy bratie. You'll even be able to see Toris again. You are friends, da?" He leaned even closer. "Join me, Polsha."

For a moment, Feliks didn't say anything. He took a deep breath and spat into Ivan's face.

"Pieprz się."

Russia calmly wiped his face clean before saying:

"I really don't like that language of yours, Polsha."

Feliks gritted his teeth. "You have no idea… NO IDEA!" he screamed. "You're saying you are sorry?! Nice one, I nearly believed that!" he chuckled, sarcasm in his every word. "Tell me something Ivan; were you sorry when you partitioned me? When you oppressed my people? When you sent them to Siberia? Or maybe when you made that secret pact with Ludwig? No? How about Miednoye? Kharkiv? KATYŃ?" he laughed out loud at that "Oh, right. I forgot. You weren't! SO what about the time after war? About imprisonment of my Home Army? "The trails"? Bezpieka? Corruption? TURNING MY OWN PEOPLE AGAINST EACH OTHER?!" he shook him harder at the last one. He was barely restraining himself from smashing his skull against the wall. "And that doesn't even cover what you've done to Toris! Well?! Were you?!"

Ivan slowly raised his head. His cheek was slowly turning a sickening shade of purple.

"I wasn't."

Feliks let him go. It wasn't that he wanted to- in his shock, he simply lost control of his fingers. He sat down heavily beside Ivan, hiding his face behind his hair- he couldn't believe he actually hoped that bastard would say "yes". The answer hurt him more than he wished to admit. The pain though was familiar, he realized. He felt the same when he was partitioned, when it became obvious that France and England won't come to save him, when he was sold out to Ivan in Jalta…

'Toris was right' he thought bitterly 'I never learn.'

He forgot about Russia's presence until the other stood in front of him. He refused to acknowledge the son of a bitch, however. He wasn't worthy of his attention.

"I know it won't make a lot difference if I say it now, but…" Braginsky trailed off.

What he did next caused Feliks shriek in surprise.

Ivan fell to his knees before Poland and bowed his head.

"I'm sorry, Polska. I hurt you, violated you in a way that nobody should. I murdered your people, massacred your lands, betrayed your trust. What I wanted… I just… No." he said firmly "There's no excuse for what I've done. That's why I shouldn't be forgiven." Ivan raised his eyes. It occurred to Feliks that it was the first time Russia had to look UP at him- his eyes were on the level with Poland's knees, forehead rubbing gently little nation's legs as he lowered his head again.

"For what I've done, can be no forgiveness, I won't ask you for it."

"What do you want?" Feliks whispered, not completely believing what he was seeing. "Why, Ivan?" A question he asked so many times in the past, maybe now…

"I want… I want you know I realize the wrongs I did to you. And I'm sorry for them… God, I'm so sorry for them." Russia's shoulders hunched further as if someone placed an extra burden on them. "And I won't do anything like this again. I'm aware you don't trust my words, and you're right, I wouldn't trust myself either." A hollow laugh. "I'm willing to prove it, if… if you let me…" Ivan hesitantly looked up. Feliks was staring at the pillow next to him, lips pressed closely together. He gave no indication that he registered what was being said to him except for his tightly clenched fists.

"Przepraszam, Polska."

The boy jerked violently, still not saying anything. Those words spoken in Polish… He glanced from the corner of his eye at the Russian who was still on his knees. They've been enemies so long… How much did it cost the man before him to not only kneel to him but spoke in his language? The language of a nation that always defied him, stood in his way?

It occurred to him that Ivan never spoke to him in Polish, only in neutral English with Russian mixed in it. Even when using his lowest tricks to torture him, he never said a word.

He also never lowered himself to apologize to him or anyone, not to mention actually beg for it.

Feliks bit his lip. Ivan was right about one thing. It wasn't in Poland's power to forgive him. The hate and bitterness lasted too long for them to become anything other than distant acquaintances. He couldn't even bring himself to trust him now.

What he could have faith in was his knowledge. He could put his trust in his skills and instincts. Toris said he never leant.

"T-ty glupyi" his voice and outstretched hand shook but he didn't lower it. To hell with Toris.

"You idiot." He could barely see Russia through his unshed tears.

Ivan's eyes lit up, lips formed a crooked, awkward smile and Feliks knew he was, probably for the first time in years, smiling genuinely.

When the taller man touched his fingers to Poland's small palm, Feliks got a strange sense of déjà vu- of another nation with blond hair and violet eyes, of better times when everything seemed so simple and within his reach.

He could only hope this new future won't end in blood and tears.

It was already more he allowed himself to feel.

Meanwhile

„I still don't think it was a good idea leaving them like this…"

"Shut up Lithuania."

"B-b-bu-u-t-t M-mister R-russia-"

„You too, Latvia."

"Arthur, mon ami, don't be so harsh on them. It's not everyday two nations come to terms with their feelings for each other."

"Eh?"

"Oh, the passion! Romance! Sexual tension!"

"The hell?!"

"What tension?!"

"The feelings they secretly harbored for each other, their positions not allowing either of them to act on them-"

"You mean hate? Disdain? Disgust? I'm pretty sure Feliks's acted on them more than enough."

"Leave him, Lithuania, he's on the roll. And, for God's sake Elizabeth, what the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Taking pictures. And it's Elisabeta. Move it, Alfred, you're blocking the view."

"They're not even- whoa! That was a good punch! Almost as good as mine!"

"Oh, Pologne! Such a fiery spirit."

"OhmyGodhe'sdeadhe'sdeadhe'sdeadhe'sdeadhe'sdeadhe'sdead-"

"Yep, he's dead meat."

"FELIKS! I must save him!" Thud. Crunch.

"Don't you dare. They are just getting to the good part."

"Taiwan?!"

"Photos+Fangirls=Profit"

"Oui, oui! Now unleash it, dear Feliks! The love! The fury you felt because of your unreturned feelings-"

"Seriously? Unreturned feelings?"

"You're still here, cousin? You shouldn't stay up so late-"

"No one asked you, Wang Yao. Go home, if you want. Isn't that right, Kiku?"

"Hm."

"Make him want you, proud Russian! Awaken his inner desire, his lust- yes! Just like this!"

Click. Flash. Click. Flash.

"O.M.G."

"He'skneelingkneelingkneeling-soclosesoclose-!"

"Breath, Elisabeta."

"That's all you've got to say, you Austrian git? Don't you see we have a crisis here?!"

"Is there anything else I can say that won't make the situation worse?"

"Ve, ve, Ludwig, why is Ivan kneeling before Feliks?"

"I-I seriously have no idea."

"Hm. It does look almost like in that yaoi I-"

"You mean it looks like Prussian Homage, right?! Right?!"

"What homage?! There was no homage! I don't remember anything! I wasn't even there! And I certainly didn't look like I was about to-"

"-to consummate your relationship on this neutral territory, on this couch-"

"…Mama?"

"Neutral?"

"Well, they were both screwed over by America, so I guess you can call it neutral, Eduard"

"You're not helping, Roderich!"

"Hey! I didn't screw anyone on the couch! Wait, what?!"

"-hard and thoroughly-"

"On MY couch?!"

"After my dead body."

"T-toris? A-are y-you-?"

"I agree."

"Whoa! Easy there Belarus, now put down the chainsa- bloody hell, Lithuania, what are you doing?!"

"I shall become one with brother."

"He shouldn't have touched what doesn't belong to him."

"…I have no objections."

Step. Step.

Smash. Thud. Yoink.

"!"

"?"

"…"

"-blossoming like a beautiful flower in spring. Huh?"

"M-miss Ukraine?"

"I'm sorry, sister, but Russia/Poland is totally hot."

A/N: Okay, so I didn't include everybody, but I really tried. I was feeling quite patriotic recently so I wrote this- I firmly believe that reconcilation between Russia and Poland is possible (if just Russian Government stopped being such a douche).

Just so you know: I have nothing against Russians as in people, my problem lies with their government (which, let's face it, didn't change much from Stalin years, besides the name) and I know a difference between Russia and Soviet Russia. I know a few Russians (even trained under one), so yeah... No hate mail.

All the strange names you've seen when Feliks was rating can be found in Wikipedia- I encourage you to check them out as they may shed some light on why Poland is the way it is.

"The trails"- in PRL there wasn't really a trail, judges just found you guilty and sent you off to Siberia. Anyone accused of treason was always convicted (save from my grandfather, hehe. Suck on that goverment!) and killed. Also: Wikipedia

The palm checking thing is also true- that's how Soviets picked out doctors, priests, artists etc.

Don't worry about my "Failure"- I'm not dropping it, it just... takes me a while*dead*

Also, lol France.

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