This is a project I initially thought I would be able to start (as in: post the first chapter) in July/August, but for various reasons, it's already October by the time I've gotten around to it. OTL

Anyway, here's the first chapter of my Christmas fic, which - unlike all other Christmas fics I've written so far, I believe - will not be all love, peace and harmony. I do hope I'll be able to pull this off the way I want to...

Many thanks to my friend thefeistage for giving me great feedback on the drafts of this, and to SkywardShadow for helping me out with some grammatical issues! I really appreciate your support very much!

Warnings: Slash between nations, het (because I haven't written that in forever and am quite unfamiliar with it, lol), grumpiness and French based on what remains of my rusty vocabulary.

Pairings: AlfredxIvan, FrancisxArthur, MatthewxKatyusha, NataliaxToris, one-sided NataliaxIvan

Disclaimer: Nothing about Hetalia belongs to me. This wonderful creation is the work of Hidekaz Himaruya.

Note: I know that not terribly much happens and that some things might raise questions, but please keep in mind that this is merely the first chapter and that I will elaborate in future ones. Thank you. Oh, and I do love Christmas a lot, so all the complaining about it is merely due to grumpiness and stuff :)

When it was time to deck the halls with boughs of holly, it was the season to be jolly. You were expected to be unnaturally considerate towards your follow man, always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone who asked for it – and all the while wearing a cheerful smile. The music was supposed to lift your spirits, and the sound of relatives knocking on your door was meant to make you look forward to a cozy get-together with your family and loved ones, a few days of peace and harmony. Cookies, songs, lights and presents; the magic of it all, a magic that could only be found once a year.

It was a magic Arthur Kirkland could have done well without this year. As he shuffled along the streets of London, he buried his chin into his tartan scarf, muttering obscenities and cursing everything that was annoying him just then – which was pretty much everything.

The onslaught of Christmas music to his ears every time he entered a shop of any kind had reached a level of such obnoxiousness that his mind was plagued with homicidal (and sometimes suicidal) thoughts every time he heard one of those god-awful tunes; if "Last Christmas" by Wham! got played one more time, just one more time when he was present, heads would roll! He couldn't possibly be the only one who felt like this, could he? Then how on earth did everyone else seem to manage walking around looking so bloody happy about it? It was simply beyond him. And as if that wasn't enough, the shops themselves were progressively driving him up the wall too, advertising the most idiotic gifts not only in their windows, but inside as well, thus attracting a horde of shoppers who would stop at nothing to obtain the object they desired. It was like being on an odd kind of battlefield where wars were fought in order to leave the shop. And the worst part of it all? It wasn't even December 24th yet, and everyone knew that that was the one day you should be hell-bent on not needing to go anywhere; Oxford Street in particular was infamous for being a nightmare on Christmas Eve. However, for some reason – despite this knowledge – Arthur seemed to end up in that hellhole often enough because something always got forgotten in the shopping trips preceding Christmas. Go figure…

What topped it all off was this cursed scarf. Arthur didn't consider it fashionable at all, and he was sure that when it had been lying in wait for him beneath the tree many Christmases ago, its only purpose had been to exist as an addition to his wardrobe that everybody could make fun of. While the garment was indeed warming, it looked like somebody had purposely chosen the most hideous combination of colors to make it all the more embarrassing to wear the scarf. Now that Arthur thought about it, what the hell else had he been expecting upon receiving a present from his older brother Scott, of all people…?

"Iggy, hurry up! The stores won't be open forever, you know!" An overly cheerful voice pierced through his musings, and Arthur barely had enough time to refocus on his current situation as a whirlwind of blond hair, blue eyes and earmuffs bearing the colors of the Star-Spangled Banner nearly crashed into him.

"But it's not even 2 p.m. yet…" a voice chimed in, soft as the whisper of a gentle breeze, and that was all Arthur heard before it got drowned out again, its owner nearly getting swept away by the crowd (which seemed to be unaware of that particular presence to begin with).

He barely got a chance to say a single word before a gloved hand grabbed his own and proceeded to drag him along, like a child that was being held on to by its mother who was in a hurry to get somewhere. Arthur hated getting pulled around like this.

"Would it kill you to hold your bloody horses every once in a while, you tosser?" he finally managed to splutter, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lurched forward with the force of the tug. A couple who happened to walk past them just then nearly got bowled over as a result of his brief clumsiness.

"Sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," was the immediate response, and without waiting for the Englishman to issue another reply, his energetic captivator continued to dart through the crowd as if there were a time limit for them to reach the next store, shouting out "'Scuse us, folks!" and "Comin' through!" as they went.

While he certainly was opposed to getting treated like this, Arthur couldn't deny that it also had a good side to it, namely that he didn't need to bother with battling his way through the sea of people himself; so why not take advantage of it while it lasted? Giving in – this time – he stuck close to the unzipped bomber jacket that covered at least the back of one of his companions, keeping pace with him. Next to him, a young man who also wore earmuffs (though with a red maple leaf on them instead of stars and stripes) struggled to do the same, apologizing left and right for every elbow that so much as grazed him, even though still nobody seemed to take notice of him.

Oh well, at least it couldn't get any worse than this: getting dragged along the streets of downtown London on a cold winter's day, surrounded by a horrendous number of other people who barely bothered to look past the tips of their noses… Or at least, so Arthur thought until they finally slowed down somewhat as they elbowed their way to another store. Even getting inside was all but a mini-war – and as if that wasn't enough grief in itself, what was that melody he could hear coming from the loudspeakers somewhere overhead? Oh no, it couldn't be…! The Gods must hate him; what else could explain why they were so cruel as to punish him with "Last Christmas" again? Arthur groaned, wondering if he should feign his death or at least a heart attack to escape this madness before it was too late, but just a split second later, it was too late as he got sucked into the crowd of shoppers within the building. The siren call of a vast assortment of Christmas ornaments had reached the ear of his temporary leader, and until that assortment would have gotten thoroughly rifled through, none of them were going anywhere.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The shrill ringing of the doorbell made Arthur jerk out of his… sleep? No, he hadn't actually fallen asleep, had he? A catnap, perhaps, yes… Once he had returned from the horrendous shopping experience with Alfred, vacuumed the whole house once more and changed the sheets yet again, he felt that he had deserved to close his eyes for a moment. But this was certainly the end of his brief kicking-back spell, he thought somewhat grumpily as he sat up and stretched stiffly. And yet… something wasn't right. His brow furrowed as he listened carefully.

There were no dull sounds from downstairs made by people rushing to the door, and no joyful cries either. Arthur stole a glance at the clock next to his bed; it would certainly be the right time for the doorbell to ring, so either this was the most silent arrival in the history of everything, or –

Just then, Alfred appeared in the doorway, looking severely disappointed. Upon seeing Arthur raise a bushy eyebrow in silent question, he muttered: "Carol singers…"

"Oh, pull yourself together, it's not the end of the world. There has probably just been a little delay."

"You think? Then why didn't Francis call?"

"Do you honestly expect me to know how that frog's mind works?" Arthur asked sarcastically, then rolled over, turning his back to the door, and made a shooing gesture. "Run along now and go back to blowing up zombies or whatever the objective of your rotten games is. A little more patience can't be too much to ask for, even with you."

He would have thought that Alfred would take his advice on the spot, for the American was not exactly known to refuse playing video games when given an opportunity, but not this time. Instead, Arthur felt the other side of the bed dip a bit as the younger nation obviously had chosen to stay for some reason.

"Are you still mad at me?" an unusually soft voice asked.

"What are you blathering about?" Arthur muttered, who just wanted another moment of peace and quiet to gather his strength. God knew he could use it this Christmas…

"You know, because of the ornaments."

Naturally, Arthur had known all along what this would be about, and he tried to hide the fact that part of his blood was boiling again.

"No, of course I've gotten over the loss of those ornaments, some of which had only been several centuries old and older. What do you think?" His voice, sounding cynical at first, turned into a scoff at the last part, and he glared at Alfred.

The blond flinched slightly at that verbal whiplash. "I just wanted to tell you again that I'm really, really sorry. I honestly didn't mean for that to happen, and I don't know why it did –"

"Really? I'll tell you why: it's because you were being so bloody impetuous again! Didn't I tell you to be careful with that box? But no; as always, you chose to ignore me and make a mess out of everything!" Arthur told him, supporting himself with one arm as he sat up halfway again.

"Well, yeah, I guess I got a bit overexcited, but c'mon, I said I'm sorry, and more than once too!" Now Alfred raised his voice too, but when he noticed Arthur's scowl deepen, he quieted down again. "You do believe me that I'm sorry, right?"

There was no immediate response to that question as the two men just stared at each other for a moment, Arthur with narrowed green eyes, and Alfred tapping into his puppy-eyes-look just a little bit for good measure. Finally, the Englishman tore his gaze away from the other's face and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Outside, darkness had long since fallen, and all of London seemed to be alight with dazzling Christmas lights. Arthur sighed and mumbled something about a "bloody Yank" and trouble as he ran his fingers through his distinctively messy hair in a futile attempt to get rid of his bed head. He jumped a bit when two arms wrapped themselves around his middle from behind and an almost timid-sounding question was asked:

"You're… not gonna chuck me out, are you?"

"Chuck you…?" Arthur began to repeat the question, a wisp of incredulity slipping into his voice. Looking more closely at the window, he saw not only the city beyond it, but their faint reflections as well: Alfred was peering up at him past his right shoulder, the expression in his eyes making him look very much like an overgrown child. Even his temporary grumpiness didn't make Arthur immune to that gaze, and with a crooked smile, he reached out behind him and found Alfred's mop of hair, giving it a somewhat rougher than necessary, yet still fond ruffle.

"You're such a drama queen sometimes," he remarked, "Chucking you out… honestly…"

"You mean I can stay?" Alfred assumed hopefully.

"The better question is: why did you think I would actually throw you out? On Christmas, nonetheless?"

"Because you were so mad. Like, livid. I thought you wanted to tear my head off on the spot… but when that didn't happen, I thought this might be your plan B."

"Alfred, do try and get a grasp on that runaway imagination of yours," Arthur scolded mildly, then continued in a softer tone of voice: "I couldn't possibly throw you out, you silly git. I reckon you'd have to burn the house down first, but then I wouldn't exactly have a house to throw you out of anymore, would I?"

This made Alfred laugh a bit, and he nuzzled Arthur's shoulder with a rapt smile. "I love you too, Iggy," he whispered, for he had caught on to the hidden message that resonated in Arthur's response.

Said bushy-browed man fought to keep a straight face, preferably without a blush of any sort, but that was a rather hard task, considering how warm and fuzzy Alfred's words made him feel on the inside. And Lord, he knew he shouldn't be feeling like this, for he had had his go at the whole relationship-issue with Alfred centuries ago, but it hadn't worked out. Alfred seemed to have managed to move on quite well, but Arthur lagged behind him somewhat, occasionally still slipping into bitter yet wistful reminiscence of those days despite having gotten involved with someone else in the meantime. Actually, it was more like being on the brink of getting involved with someone in a more serious way – he preferred to put it like this even though he was probably the last person on the planet who insisted on that particular phrasing, thank you very much. All the same, part of him thought it just couldn't get any better than a serene, silent moment of togetherness with Alfred, like the current one…

Eventually, the silence came to an end, however, and as usual when it was the two of them, Alfred was responsible for this.

"Hey Iggy, are you sure you don't want to come down and hang out with me and Mattie instead? I mean, it's not as if you're unwelcome or anything…"

"Say, what is he doing, anyway? Isn't he awaiting your return?" Arthur asked back.

"Nah; he's making pancakes. I'm starving, and since Francis isn't here…"

"Now wait just a minute! Why didn't you tell me that you're hungry? I would have cooked something… gladly, even," Arthur pointed out, somewhat taken aback that he had deliberately been left out of this.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I was considering making a platter of scones anyway…"

Alfred barely managed to suppress a wince and shrank behind Arthur to hide the grimace that flitted across his face. "But we already made enough cookies for a whole army – we should eat those first," he said a little too quickly.

Arthur frowned at his reflection (all that could be seen of Alfred now were his hands). "I daresay you're exaggerating quite a bit. Besides, I don't consider pancakes a proper supper."

"You're just saying that because you've never had Mattie's pancakes for dinner. He makes the best pancakes in the whole wide world!" Alfred enthused about his brother's cooking skills.

"Oh, put a sock in it already," Arthur grumbled, secretly wishing that Alfred would rave about his cooking like that, just like he had done as a boy.

"Is that jealousy I'm picking up in your voice?" Alfred asked mischievously.

"Don't make me laugh!" Arthur retorted defiantly.

"Say, now there's an idea…"

Arthur tensed up, fully expecting the first of what might be many pokes, but just in time to spare him of another merry war with Alfred, a Christmas jingle could be heard (though faintly) from downstairs, accompanied by the announcement of:

"Bonjour, mes chers amis! Nous sommes là~!"

Someone could be heard walking around, then a female's voice cried out: "Matvej!"

The surprised look on Alfred's face quickly turned into one of utmost excitement. "They're here! Iggy, they're here! Finally…!" The bed bounced and jiggled as he scrambled to turn around as fast as he could, doing a fine job of messing up the sheets in the process, then all but leapt of the bed with a whoop and dashed out of the room, making a noise like a horde of elephants as his footsteps thundered down the hallway and charged down the stairs.

Arthur remained behind a moment longer, his head still turned to stare blankly at the doorway at Alfred's rash departure. His eyes flickered down to the now once again messed-up sheets, and a rather heavy sigh escaped his lips as he looked back at his reflection. This was where the fun would start, as Alfred had put it – though one's mileage might vary in this matter…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Alfred took a flying leap and jumped down the last three steps, his heart racing with anticipation. He had been looking forward to this day for weeks, and now that it had finally come, he was sure this would be the best Christmas ever. Even Arthur, stubborn as he might be, would have super-fond memories of this Christmas; yes, even though his mission had been off to a rocky start so far, Alfred was far from losing his determination.

Like a bat out of hell, he bounded around the corner, finally adding to the one-man welcoming committee.

The corridor, as opposed to being previously empty and silent, was now filled with a jumble of voices.

"Oh Matvej, I'm so happy to see you again! Please forgive me if I'm squeezing you too tightly…!" As if on cue, the embrace tightened even more.

"N-No problem, Katyusha… really…" All the same, a gasp followed this response.

"Chère Biélorussie, do allow me to take that coat of yours…"

"Only Brother may take it! You'll take it, won't you, Brother?"

"O-Only if it will make you stop clinging to my arm like that… but why not let dear Toris take it instead? He is asking you so nicely…"

"I really wouldn't mind taking your coat as well, Miss Natalia… only with your permission, of course…"

Matthew was being held prisoner in a bear hug from Katyusha, her huge breasts saving him from being squashed, and he was busy murmuring sweet nothings into her ear whenever he could, as she already seemed on the verge of tears despite having only just arrived.

Francis was talking to her younger sister Natalia, trying to take her coat for her like a gentleman, but she waved it aside with what looked like growing impatience, her pretty face rigid and sporting the usual sinister look she shot at anyone who wasn't her brother. Next to her stood Toris, flanked by two heavy-looking suitcases, but while he too was trying to be nice and offer the same act of courtesy as Francis, she paid no attention to him at all.

It had only taken Alfred the fraction of a second to lock on to his target, which stood between the two women. Wearing his usual long, brown coat, his light pink scarf wrapped firmly around his neck and looking uncomfortable about how close his younger sister was standing to him – in other words, no personal space whatsoever – was Ivan, his eyes sweeping back and forth between the hearty welcoming of Katyusha (which he seemed to regard rather wistfully) and Natalia, as if wanting to make sure that she wasn't going to snap and try to become one with him on the spot.

He looked like he was in desperate need to be saved from that situation, which was just perfect because Alfred had been planning to get his attention anyway, and that was exactly what he proceeded to do:

"Ivan!"

The one in question looked up at the sound of his name, and as he did, he promptly dropped the two suitcases he had been holding onto insistently as an excuse to not give in to his sister's demands. Each and every trace of discomfort ran away from his face, getting replaced by boundless joy.

"Alfred!" he exclaimed and stepped forward, ignoring the disappointed noise Natalia made when his arm got yanked out of her iron grasp. Alfred came hurtling toward him, and he only managed to take three steps before they collided, the American flinging his arms around his neck and laughing heartily when Ivan spun around himself once to avoid getting bowled over.

No sooner had Alfred's feet touched the ground again when his and Ivan's lips met in an enthusiastic hello kiss. The Russian's arms wrapped themselves even tighter around the shorter man's body until he was squeezing him as equally tight as his older sister was hugging her boyfriend, though one of the American brothers could benefit from enormous breasts that served as handy cushions in such a heartfelt greeting.

However, Alfred turned a blind eye to the stab of pain in his spine as a result of Ivan's embrace, instead indulging himself completely in the kiss, which was heaven-sent after what felt like ages of being deprived of these affectionate touches. The kiss could have lasted longer, but he figured that there would be plenty of time they could devote to this in private, so he drew back and was pleasantly surprised to find that Ivan had apparently been thinking among the same lines, judging by that small, knowing smile he caught sight of when they parted, their eyes meeting instantly.

"You're finally here… it was starting to feel like time had conspired against me," Alfred sighed happily, smiling in a way that Ivan adored to no end, for it always took his mind off any worries that were plaguing him; in moments like this, there was no world around them, and all that existed and mattered was them and what they shared.

"It felt no different for me. Words cannot describe how much I have longed for your presence, my sunflower," Ivan replied in a low murmur and held Alfred close to him again, whispering the term of endearment into the blond's ear. A sound akin to a content purr escaped his throat when he felt his back get rubbed comfortingly, and he was nuzzled tenderly before getting assured:

"I missed you like heck too, big guy…"

"Oh, get a room," a somewhat dry voice said behind them, and they drew apart to find that Arthur had finally made it downstairs as well.

"Good evening, Comrade Arthur," Ivan said in his most pleasant-sounding voice.

Arthur sucked in his breath audibly, bristling upon being addressed like that. What unnerved him even more was the fact that Ivan was completely unfazed by this obvious vexation, staring at him innocently.

"I beg your pardon; what the bloody hell did you just call me?"

The words had left his mouth before he could consider biting them back, with instant results: Ivan's smile faltered, and he looked downright confused as he shot a nervous glance at his older sister, who seemed to be holding her breath. Meanwhile, Alfred all but slapped a hand to his forehead and frantically tried to signal to Arthur that it wasn't too late to save the situation.

"For the love of God, Iggy, no!"

In the background, Natalia glared daggers at Arthur's back, and Toris shuddered as if the temperature around him really had suddenly plummeted to Antarctic degrees.

Arthur got the message and quickly added: "I mean: evening, Br- Ivan." He had only given in to Alfred's silent hints for the sake of showing his former protégé that unlike him, he was able to remember his manners, even though his additional remark couldn't be classified as friendly and therefore appropriate for a gentleman.

All the same, Ivan's smile returned, and this time his gaze flickered to Alfred, silently asking if everything was okay again. In response, Alfred merely squeezed his hand and muttered: "I believe I haven't said hi to your sisters and Toris yet. It's high time that I made a start on that…"

After shooting one last quite reproachful glance at Arthur, he whirled around and swept over to Toris, whom he promptly trapped in a hug and greeted loudly. Natalia showed no interest in this and certainly would have tried to latch on to her brother again instead, had it not been for Katyusha's interference as the older sister joined the small group after Matthew had excused himself to finish making the pancakes.

"My, my, Angleterre, that wasn't exactly your warmest welcome," Francis commented, ambling over to him.

"You know that we're not the best of friends, so don't you dare say that you expected me to fling my arms around him like that fool Alfred did," came the snide response.

"Bien sûr que non, but to think that you basically swore at him right away… Russie was just being nice, after all, and I thought a gentleman always treats his vis-à-vis with politeness."

"He knows ruddy well that I don't take kindly to being addressed like back in those days. What's your explanation for that, other than he apparently really likes to crush my patience instantly?" Arthur retorted defiantly.

"Your patience isn't great to begin with, mon cher; it seems that crushing it is a rather easy feat at this time of year," Francis chuckled.

"Don't change the subject, frog!" Arthur hissed, cuffing him.

Francis only laughed, but didn't push the situation: "It was probably just a slip-up. I daresay it's not worth… what's that lovely saying in English? Ah yes: it's not worth getting your feathers in a bunch over that."

"Bah! How would you like it if he addressed you like that?"

The Frenchman shrugged casually. "He did."

"Great, just great. Next you'll tell me that you kissed him on the cheek three times…" Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms like a moody child.

"Exactement!"

Arthur looked aghast. "I thought you were wary of him! What is it with you kissing everybody in sight, friend or foe?"

"Friend or foe… come now, it's Christmas and not a fitting time of year to be using such expressions. He greeted me in a friendly, dignified manner, and I simply returned the favor as it is done in my country." When he noticed that Arthur was not warming up to his words, instead uttering things under his breath (most likely profanities), Francis put a hand on the other male's shoulder and said in uncharacteristic seriousness: "Do give him a chance, Angleterre. It would make things so much easier, not only for us, but especially for Amérique."

A low growl emitted from Arthur's throat. "Don't remind me."

"Ah, but we must not stand in the way of l'amour, my friend! That would be most disastrous!" Francis proclaimed, momentarily slipping back into what Arthur called the overdramatic-French-mode before adding in little more than a whisper: "It would mean the world to him if you could accept his decision. Think about it…"

Arthur roughly shook off his hand, but Francis took no offence to this, having gotten used to the Englishman's at times brusque ways; instead, he sauntered off to finally take Natalia's coat while she was distracted by Alfred greeting her. Staying behind with no one else to hear it besides himself, Arthur huffed and let his eyes sweep over the hallway, not allowing the small talk to interrupt his musings save for a few snippets.

He watched Alfred laugh and say something, only to stop mid-sentence and flail as Natalia nearly crushed his hand which he had offered her for a handshake, her cold blue eyes reflecting no regret whatsoever about her actions. A small squabble ensued as Toris and Katyusha joined forces to help Alfred get out of this unfortunate premise.

There was absolutely no doubt about what had driven her to treat him with something far worse than indifference, and dark thoughts resurfaced in Arthur's mind as he let his gaze wander to the door.

On that door hung an atrocity that Arthur may or may not have deemed somewhat cute the first two or three times he had seen it in action, but now it really got on his nerves. It was a wreath, but not a conventional wreath of holly or fir branches like most other people had, no; it was a plush wreath, red with tiny depictions of holly, a green frilly around it, two little bells hanging from it and a stuffed Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer head in the middle. But what topped it all off for Arthur was that the wreath was actually equipped with a sensor that reacted to movements, and on such an occasion, the wreath would burst into song, playing a short instrumental part of three different Christmas songs. "Jingle Bells", "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" and even "Silent Night" were quickly advancing to the top of the list of Christmas songs that Arthur would ban for the remainder of the holiday.

Perhaps he had simply strayed over there to stay out of reach of his younger sister and discovered it by chance, or perhaps it had attracted his attention from the moment he had lain eyes on it, but whichever the case, Ivan was standing in front of that wreath, which had started to play its songs for him as he had approached it. Unheard by anyone else, he hummed the tune under his breath, bobbing his head slightly while the wreath's little red lights which blinked in time with the rhythm were reflected in his violet eyes.

"Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" came to an end, and from where he stood at the foot of the staircase leading upstairs, Arthur watched the tall nation's broad shoulders shake with a giggle, followed by several claps of still-gloved hands to express his childish glee over the decoration. The wreath apparently took this as a request to give an encore and rewarded him with its simple yet charming rendition of "Jingle Bells". Ivan laughed again, this time a little louder as he realized how to set off the wreath. The laugh could not have sounded any more pure and innocent, but still it failed to soothe Arthur's resentfulness. He saw no reason to let his guard down, Christmas or not: too often had he needed to chase Ivan away from the south again, Busby's Chair had sustained considerable damage from the Russian's apparent evilness, and he always seemed so damn nonchalant and gleeful when watching others arguing or even fighting with each other. Arthur was determined not to let himself get fooled by the other's innocent façade; Ivan would have to do a lot better than that to stop the signs from pointing to "psychopathic manchild"…

Just then, Matthew's soft voice drifted out of the dining room: "Guys, the pancakes are ready!"

"Très bien! Well then, let's make haste for the dining room, shall we?" Francis invited the new arrivals, starting to herd them out of the hallway.

"That sounds lovely, but what about our luggage? We can't possibly just leave it there in the way of everything…!" Katyusha worried, straining against the hand that tried to gently push her along.

"Leave it all to me!" Alfred told her and pointed proudly at himself, "The hero will handle this! Wanna give me a hand, Ivan?"

"Of course, Alfred…"

If anything, this made Katyusha strain even more as she called over her shoulder: "Oh, but Vanya, you've already carried them around for the entire journey, you certainly don't need to bother yourself with them any further –"

"It is really not a bother, dear sister," Ivan replied reassuringly, already picking up his own suitcase and the one of his older sister.

"Alfred, that's very kind of you, but –" Toris began, but Alfred would have none of it:

"No buts! You're a guest, so it's your job to kick back and relax. Hey, Mattie!" he yelled, "Save a couple of pancakes for us too, will ya?"

"Like I ever forgot you…" his brother retorted, though his somewhat sarcastic emphasis on the personal pronouns got lost in the overall mildness of his voice.

"Good ol' Mattie!" Alfred grinned and grabbed the suitcases of Natalia and Toris before somehow managing to make just as much noise going back up the stairs as he had during his descent. Ivan followed him as closely as he dared to, which meant maintaining a safety distance of at least two steps between them, for Alfred was quite prone to stop and spin around without a warning – and there were certainly better kick-offs to a Christmas holiday than getting knocked back down the stairs by your sister's suitcase getting swung around.

Arthur was the last to disappear into the dining room, but before he did, he cast one final, mistrustful glance back at the duo. By chance, he caught Ivan's eye, and another of those thin-lipped smiles (sometimes it was really hard to tell if they were fake or not) danced on the other man's lips. Still feeling anything but reassured by what would usually be considered an expression of friendliness, Arthur narrowed his green eyes to slits before finally joining the others.

A scrutinizing look was shot at the old-fashioned grandfather clock in the room. He would give Alfred no more than three minutes time to appear in the doorway, preferably unharmed, before he would send out a very personal, one-man search party…

Translations:

Bonjour, mes chers amis! Nous sommes là = Hello, my dear friends! We're here.

Matvej = "Matthew" in Russian, albeit not in Cyrillic letters (I just like the way it looks, okay?)

Biélorussie = Belarus

Angleterre = England

Bien sûr que non = Of course not

Russie = Russia

Mon cher = my dear

Exactement = Exactly

Amérique = America

l'amour = love

Très bien = Very good

(Feel free to correct me if I got anything wrong, especially the French!)

You might be wondering why I made Francis use country names instead of human names... Well, the reason for that is simply because country names had always been my favorite part about learning French, and I really like the ring to them. If this rubs you the wrong way, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna stick to this.

Choosing the genres was not easy, and perhaps it's a bit early to judge if they're really fitting, but if you ever feel like it should be something different, you may certainly tell me.

I hope you enjoyed it somewhat, and if you did, I'd be all too happy to hear what you think of it! And if you didn't... please be nice, because writing this wasn't easy.

Although this is a Christmas fic, I most certainly won't be able to finish it by the time it's actually Christmas. The reason for this is simply because college will be keeping me quite busy till then, and I mustn't screw it up. However, I'll try to get this done as fast as I can and post another chapter (the second one? the third one?) right around Christmas because hey, that's when people are in the spirit the most, right?

Okay, enough of my rambling! Over and out! XD