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hetalia2010-02-03 01:51 pm
=My first attempt at Hetalia Fanfiction=
Author: meeeeee
Characters/Pairings: America/Russia. Clinton and Foreign Minister Lavrov pop in and out as well.
Length: Just under 2,00 words
Rating: very light PG-13, maybe even PG
Warnings: Butchering Russian language, and KISSES.
Summary:Anyone remember the embarrassing moment when, in an attempt to "restart" relations between Washington and Moscow, Secretary Clinton gave the F.M. a button that said "restart" in English, and "overcharge" in Russian? Yea. That was Alfred's Fault.
A/N: Um...first Hetalia fic, ever. Period.
“Are you sure, Alfred?” Clinton wasn’t Alfred’s boss, but she was Secretary of State. As such, she tended to deal with the nation when it came to fielding diplomatic meetings. And she was supposed to believe in him! The blonde took another bite out of his hamburger and tried his best to look competent.
“Yea, I remember plenty of Russian!” he replied. Luckily, most of his own people could understand him with his mouth full of cola and hamburger. In the back of his mind, he wondered if they had made that a qualification for citizenship yet. They should. “We spied on each other for almost fifty years; I think I can remember one little word.”
‘Reset.’ The Russian Foreign Minister was on his way to Washington D.C., with Ivan in tow. The instant he found out that the other Nation was going to be at this meeting as well, Al wanted to do something. They were resetting their relationship, but that that didn’t mean the old hint of rivalry had completely disappeared. The blond could just see him standing behind Lavrov with that infuriating smile on his face. ‘And Alfred did not help, da?’ So Al had been given the simplest task; take that bright yellow and red button and slap on the Russian word for ‘reset.’ He’d barely had enough time to convince Secretary Clinton to let him have the job when she and her aides left him to his own devices.
He stared at the button. It stared back. Shoving the rest of his burger in his mouth for safekeeping, Alfred traced a fingertip over the red circle. They’d survived decades of not-war, and now they were going to stand together and push a button. The Button. There’d been so much talk of The Button in America’s house, especially once Ivan had finally gotten the bomb. It’d been so imposing, and now it this…it was just a toy, really. “Reset…reset…” he muttered to himself. Damn, now that he was combing through the Russian he remembered, the exact word eluded him. It hadn’t been a word he’d used very much during the Cold War era. If they wanted him to write “there is a bug in the flowerpot,” he could have that down in a second. Damn it, he was not going to call Clinton back in here and tell her that he couldn’t do this by himself.
“…peregruzka?” he offered the thin air. “Peregruzka! Yea, that sounds right!” Alfred’s face had fallen into a tense, faraway look as he reminisced, but now it brightened up. The American took a celebratory gulp of his cola, halfway finishing it in one drain. For once, he forced his large tanned hands to cut the sticky letters out with care. By the time the Foreign Minister had arrived, Alfred was just gluing down the final “a.” It was a good thing, too; as an unofficial resident of the White House and a not-quite-human, his bosses didn’t like him onscreen during press releases. As the horde of American and Russian politicos entered the room, Alfred passed the button off to Clinton without any explanation. Hillary (who should have known better after living with him for eight years ) accepted it without any questions and set it aside for when she and Lavrov were on camera.
The blond was so busy finding a seat with a view that didn’t line up with the camera lens, he didn’t even realize that Russia was in the room until they were sitting right next to each other. Each of the nations sat completely still, rigid in their chairs as they tried to assert their own presence and simultaneously painfully aware of the other’s. The White House media crew was quickly closing off around the two statesmen; Al looked to the side. There was Ivan, as cold and icy as he’d remembered. For the past eight years or so their relationship had been…flat. Russia had sent him small tokens of support in Afghanistan, but the boss had kept Al so busy, there had been no real time for them to sit down. They hadn’t enjoyed something like the sweet days of the 1800’s, nor the manic mutual obsession after WWII for a few years now.
“Hey.” It wasn’t a very diplomatic greeting, but it was Al’s. Ivan did not respond, just sliding violet eyes over towards the source of the noise. Alfred continued, talking under the buzz of reporters and shutter flashes. “Our people say that they want to ‘restart’ our relationship,” he whispered. “What do you think that actually means?”
“Has our relationship actually stopped?” Russia answered a question with a question. The query stopped Alfred for a moment, but didn’t dissuade his conversation.
“…I helped out with the button,” Al volunteered. If he couldn’t answer Ivan’s question, starting up a new line of thought was just fine with him. “It says ‘restart’ in English and Russian.” The last language was emphasized; an obvious bid for Russia’s attention and, hopefully, some mean-spirited form of approval.
Ivan actually turned to look at him. The suggestion that Alfred learned and retained a foreign language was bordering on the ridiculous. Sure, the American had an entire organization that needed to speak many different languages, but the blonde always seemed to lose interest in them as they came and went. “Russian, da?” the older nation asked carefully. “What, exactly, did you write on that button?”
“Peregruzka!” Al said the word proudly, not skimping on the bad accent. Ivan winced…and then froze. And then laughed. It started off chuckle, just a slight shaking in his shoulders that grew till the Russian tilted his head back and practically giggled. “Even when you are trying to push the right buttons with me, you are labeling them wrong!” This was it, Al decided, the Russian had finally snapped while in his house. Even worse, he was starting to draw the attention of one of the cameramen hanging back in the crowd. From what Alfred could see of the Foreign Minister, he seemed to be repressing the same reaction Ivan was currently enjoying.
Al groaned, grabbing Ivan by the coat sleeve. The American was not about to let footage of himself being ridiculed on the cable networks. It was a short stumble and dash before they were outside alone in the hallway. Here there were no cameras…and no angry Secretary of State. Oh god, she knew all of his hiding places, too.
“What’d I say?!”
“Perezagruska is reset, da,” Ivan said, still chuckling into his scarf. “What you say, it is ‘overcharged,’ or ‘overload.’” Truthfully, Ivan was surprised that Alfred remembered enough Russian to make such a nuanced blunder. It was too much fun laughing at him to acknowledge that fact, though.
“The button, though, I saw them push it!” Alfred said, not letting the hopeful smile fade from his face. “So it can’t be that bad. Our relationship is still reset.”
“Nyet, our relationship is overcharged.” Russia had meant it as a taunt, but he could feel the truth of the words as they came out of his mouth. Alfred seemed to recognize the weight as well. The shorter of two moved away and leaned against the wall, silent. He stared up at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity, then asked—
“Where are we resetting to?”
“Hm?” Russia leaned against the wall next to Alfred, their shoulders almost touching. Alfred was, as usual, talking nonsense. “What do you mean, where?”
“No, like when you reset a computer, you have to choose what time to go back to…” Al trailed off for a moment, trying to work through things in his head. “Where would you want to go back to?” Still leaning against the wall for support, the blonde turned to stare up with question marks in his big blue eyes.
Ivan blinked in surprise at the expectant stare. “Ah…I am no longer a Communist state, so we cannot be going back to anything after 1917,” he offered. Really, what was going through that American mind? Ivan wouldn’t be surprised if Alfred ended up catching mad cow disease, the way he consumed his house’s beef. However, it usually proved amusing to follow Alfred’s whims along their paths like this.
“I want to go back to the 1870’s.” Alfred’s gaze didn’t waver, and neither did his voice. He couldn’t find other countries on a map, but nations knew their own history in their bones. By then, America had stepped in and defended Russian ships, aiding Ivan in the Crimean war, a major famine, and they were visiting each other regularly. It would be in the beginning of the 1880’s that the assassinations would begin. In hindsight, it had been the beginning of the end.
Ivan’s lips curled up into a slim smile as he too remembered. “You lied to your Arthur, in my Oriental War. I don’t believe anyone ever actually bought those ships…”
“Arthur and Francis were being pricks,” Alfred said dismissively. “They still are, actually.” He finally turned away from Ivan’s gaze and gave a peal of laughter. At the sound, Ivan’s tentative smile grew a bit more. That horrible, annoying laugh…he had missed it. When America had visited Russia in the 1800’s, it was almost like a sunflower had taken on human form; that man could melt the Siberian winter though sheer force of will and enthusiasm.
“Things were going so well with us before the revolution,” Alfred said, still not looking back at Ivan. “Weren’t they.”
“Da.” Russia answered with one word, letting his eyes slip closed. They had been building railroads and ships for each other, stepping in between each other’s spats, like equals. They had spent the last half of the twentieth century as equals as well; equals that could destroy each other and the other nations on a whim. When he reopened his eyes, Al’s face was an inch away from his.
He’d forgotten how beautiful America looked, wild and slightly off kilter under the surface. Anyone who could launch the wrath of a violated atom on another nation wasn’t completely grounded.
“I want to re-restart,” he said, eyes flickering away, then back again. Al was nervous about something, watching the door. “With the right word…”
“Perezagruska,” Ivan prompted.
“Perezagruska with me?” Alfred asked. The Russian didn’t know where to start with how incorrect that mismatched sentence was, so he didn’t even bother. He simply rolled his eyes, and Alfred gave him that laugh again.
How could he not. Ivan kissed him. Alfred made no noise of surprise, so he must have been anticipating, maybe even hoping for it. He only sighed and pushed his tongue into Ivan’s mouth like he had a god-given right to go wherever he pleased. The elder nation simply grinned against the kiss, letting himself taste Alfred. The man tasted faintly of sticky-sweet cola and French fries. The man who hadn’t despised him like Western Europe, or buckled under him like the East…that was America.
There were still enough nuclear warheads between them to destroy the world many times over. No matter what gestures their boss’ gave, America and Russia were still trying to deal with the leftovers of half a century of mutual obsession and looming violence. However, as America sank farther into Ivan’s lap, both nations felt something inside them relax.
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TL;DR: Loved it! More fics welcome anytime. ^^
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peregruzka
It amusing, what finger was chosen by Lavrov. X)
Fanfic, certainly, good.
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she knew all of his hiding places, too.
Oh Alfred, why so dorky! Those had me laughing so hard.