A/N: Holy cripes, this chapter was actually finished ages ago ;_; I'm so sorry. It's been a busy month OTL Well, to be honest, this is pure filler. But I had fun writing it, so I hope you all have fun reading it :) Chapter Five is in progress, but please forgive me if I'm a little slow. I've not given up on this fic, though :D I'm just a little slow :P Happy Easter, to y'all who celebrate it ^_^

Disclaimer: Do Not Own. Except the Story. Which is kind of important, I donno, maybe a little :D

"So," Yao said, leaning against the wall, staring Ivan down.

Ivan blinked back and smiled. "So?"

"Sunflowers?" Yao questioned, crossing his arms.

Ivan nodded. "I like them."

"Have you ever held one?" Yao asked, walking towards Ivan.

Ivan frowned and looked down. "Well…no…but I have seen them."

Yao grabbed a tool and motioned for Ivan to lay down on the table. He peeled open Ivan's shirt and then poked his stomach. Ivan looked around. Yao opened up his abdomen, looking at the circuitry.

"Where have you seen them, Ivan?"

"In pictures. They go through my mind all the time. Images of sunflowers…or of snow," Ivan exhaled. "I do not like snow. It makes me think of being cold."

Yao chuckled. "You don't have any nerve endings Ivan—you have no sensation of hot or cold." He poked at the circuitry, moving a wire over.

Ivan looked down. "You are not going to break me, are you, ?"

"No, Ivan, I'm not going to break you," Yao muttered, poking around another wire. He grabbed a screwdriver and put on safety goggles. He unscrewed one of the covers and carefully placed it to the side, poking around slightly before putting the screwdriver back down.

Ivan cleared his throat. "What do you like?"

Yao glanced up at him and Ivan responded with a smile and a wave. Yao sighed and went back to his work. Ivan continued to smile. Yao reached over to the computer and typed in a few numbers before picking up a cord attached to it and holding it over Ivan's abdomen.

"I'm going to give you a software update…okay?" Yao said, pushing the cord into Ivan's abdomen.

Ivan nodded. "What will be updated?"

Yao smiled. "You'll have more powerful emotions…increased anger…increased sadness….and increased shock..."

Ivan blinked. "Why are they all so negative sounding?"

"Oh, they aren't," Yao said, turning to the computer again. "They're only human…"

Ivan bit his lip. "It won't break my good feelings, will it?"

Yao rolled his eyes and looked over at Ivan, then the smirk fell from his face at Ivan's look of worry. "No, Ivan. Your good feelings will be fine. In fact, I'm trying to write up an update for your good feelings right now."

Pushing 'Enter', Yao cleared his throat. "I like dim sum."

Ivan blinked.

"And…my brother…and my parents…and my friends…"

Ivan closed his eyes. "Family?"

"Yes, my family," Yao said, watching the download bar. Ivan sighed. "I wish I had family…"

Yao smiled slightly. 'That's the sadness talking,' he thought.

"I tried to ask to make me a family once," Ivan smiled, though the smile was far less comforting and far more terrifying. "He refused…I wonder what he would do if something bad happened to him?"

Yao stared at Ivan for a moment. "That's…just the anger talking," he muttered. 'Maybe I shouldn't give him these emotions,' Yao thought. He held his hand over the "delete" button. Ivan looked over and looked worried again.

"Why are you doing that?"

"Hm?"

"You…want to delete me?" Ivan looked up at Yao, shocked. Yao sighed slightly and put his hand in his lap, folding his hands together and smiling. "No, Ivan. I was just making sure that, if the emotions showed themselves to be too strong, I could stop the process."

"Oh…"

The computer let off a small sound and Yao nodded. "Done." He pulled the cord back out and turned off the computer, pushing it off to the side. Hopping off of his chair, Yao grabbed a pen and made a few notes on the file referring to Ivan's comments. Ivan looked down at his open middle and blinked, poking at one of the wires. He yawned. "?"

"Hm?" Yao replied, putting the cover back into Ivan's middle and screwing it in.

"I think I'm running out of power…"

Yao looked up at Ivan. "Oh!" he yelped, scurrying to the cupboard and grabbing a bottle of vodka. He started to open it then stopped. Ivan closed up his middle and sat up. "Uh…do you…need a glass or something?" Yao asked as he walked up to Ivan, still looking around for a cup of some kind. Ivan grabbed the bottle and tore the lid off before shoving the top of it to his mouth, drinking greedily.

Yao's eyebrows rose. "Or that works too."

Ivan gulped it down and pulled the bottle from his lips. Yao blinked and took the bottle, throwing it away.

"?"

"Yes?"

"Could you…tell me about your family?" Ivan asked, a hopeful smile on his face.
"I've just…never had one, and I want to know what it would be like."

Yao was about to answer when his phone let out a series of cute "meow" sounds. Going red, he dug into his pockets for his phone, and finally got to it. The screen said "NEW TEXT FROM: Arthur-Do not answer during or after Happy Hour." With a sigh, he looked at the inbox, then at Ivan. "Just one second, sorry," Yao muttered, glancing at the text.

"GET. HERE. NOW. HURRY. AGH!" it read. Yao sighed and looked at the clock.
"Uhm, I am going to have to talk to you about that tomorrow," Yao replied, motioning for Ivan to lay down.

"Oh?"

"My…friend…he's not really my friend, but, anyway, he's asking for me and my shift's up anyway," Yao said. Ivan smiled, disappointed. "Oh…"

Yao grinned in reply. "But you got new and improved emotions—that's good, right?"

"Da," Ivan muttered.

"Well…good night, Ivan," Yao said, reaching for the off button. Ivan nodded and closed his eyes. "Good night, ."

Yao pushed the off button and sighed heavily before looking at his phone again and rolling his eyes.

"I came as fast as I could," Yao panted as he ran into the bar. "What's wrong?"

Alfred looked over and groaned. "You called HIM?" he called to the back.

"Texted, but thanks. I feel so welcome here," Yao muttered. "You still owe me twenty dollars…"

"That's why I didn't want him to call you—ARTIE!"

Arthur came out from the back, with an uncharacteristic grin on his face.

Yao's eyes narrowed. "Who died?"

"No one. I got something amazing," Arthur said, almost too quickly to understand. He ran to the corner of the room where a conspicuously shaped…thing was covered by a sheet. Arthur grabbed onto the sheet and turned dramatically to Yao. "Ready?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the sheet off of the object.
Yao blinked.

"It's a chair," he said.

Arthur grinned. "Not just ANY chair!"

Yao walked over to it and looked at it, tilting his head to the side. After opening his mouth a few times, he snorted and said, "No, I'm pretty sure it's just a chair."

Alfred hopped behind the bar and grabbed a beer. Arthur sighed. "It's….Busby's Chair," he said, eyes shining. Alfred and Yao both gave him a disinterested look. Arthur cleared his throat. "All right," he said. "So it's….a replica of the chair."

Yao tapped it. "A cheap replica?"

Alfred laughed and opened his beer. "Nowhere NEAR cheap," he muttered, taking a swig.

"You didn't seem to mind spending a truckload of money on that ridiculous scale model of Captain America," Arthur snapped.

"That has way more sentimental value!"

"You bought a scale model of Captain America?" Yao asked, amused.

"You have a Hello Kitty suit in your closet, so you have no say here," Alfred said, smirking.

"I…most certainly do not," Yao laughed nervously. "You're…stupid. I'm the manliest man in this room, right now."

"Keep telling yourself that, dude," Alfred replied.

Arthur gazed at the chair lovingly. "I think I might put it on display…just under my English flag," he mused, pointing to the flag on the other side of the room.

"It's a chair," Yao said again.

"IT'S BUSBY'S CHAIR! ALFRED! TELL HIM WHAT BUSBY'S CHAIR IS!" Arthur cried, crossing his arms and staring down Yao.

Alfred looked between the two and took another swig of his beer. "Why would I know?"

Arthur spluttered. "You…are a history major!"

Alfred was in mid swig and he made a small noise, holding his finger up. After swallowing, he said, "U.S. History. Not English."

Arthur seethed. "And here I thought you might have some consideration for my culture."

"Good beer and bad food?"

Arthur seethed more. Yao looked awkwardly at the chair. "Uh…why don't YOU tell me?"

Arthur stopped seething and looked at the chair again. "Busby's chair," he began. He stopped and looked up at the light. "Alfred, mood lighting please."

Alfred went to the switch. "Which setting?"

"Poetry Readings, Religious Rituals, and Witchcraft Meetings."

"That's so fucking creepy," Alfred muttered.

"Shut up, it is not."

The lights came down and Yao looked around. Arthur and the chair became doused in spotlight.

"Busby's chair," he said again. "Thomas Busby was hanged for murder…and this chair—"

"CHEAP KNOCK OFF," interrupted Alfred.

"SHUT UP, I'M TELLING THE STORY, YOU TWIT!...ahem…this chair…was his favorite chair. Before he was hanged, he put a curse upon it," Arthur looked creepily at Yao, who looked at Alfred for help.

"Anyone who sat in the chair…DIED…so that's why I wanted it."

"You want to kill people?" Alfred asked, turning the lights back on.

"I want people to THINK I can," Arthur replied, moving the chair under the English flag. "Maybe then people will tip me. You'll make them tip, won't you? Won't you, Busby's chair?"

"My boyfriend's going to leave me for a chair," Alfred muttered.

"Better than a Frenchman," Arthur snapped back.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, THAT WASN'T ME!"

"Okay, so if this is REALLY all I left work for, I'm going to go," Yao said quickly, sneaking out the door as the American and the Englishman continued to argue. With a small smile and a chuckle, Yao closed the door to the bar and walked down the street.