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hetalia2011-03-17 01:43 am
transemacabre.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-03-17 01:43 am
Entry tags:
FIC: dub the frequencies of love (Chapter 6)
Title: dub the frequencies of love
Author: Mipp
Genre:: Domestic/Adventure/Angst?
Rating: T for Teen, to be on the safe side
Warning: This fill contains implications of past mpreg, little kid OCs, Soviet jeeps, and sexual tension. This is actually about as safe and heartwarming as I come.
Summary: De-anon from the kink meme. Chapters 1-3 and Chapters 4-5. America has tracked down his wayward son, Alaska, and Alaska's father, Russia. At last, all three are going to have an unexpected -- and long overdue -- family reunion.
Father and son spent the evening together preparing kasha in the kitchen. The meal Russia set out was very odd -- the buckwheat porridge, which Alaska loved; caviar sandwichs, something Alaska had never seen before in his life and which made his eyes go comically wide; and glass jars of preserves, each tried one bite at a time.
"Solienye griby," said Russia, offering Alaska a spoonful.
Alaska chewed, then grinned. "Good! What is it?"
"Pickled mushrooms," Russia translated for him. He unscrewed another jar and spooned out something he declared was, "Varenye."
Alaska gamely tried that, too. "Wow, even better! Are those strawberries, papa?"
"Strawberry preserves," said Russia, and he swallowed a spoonful himself. "My sisters and I love this. Little sister's favorite is povidlo, what you are calling apple jam. Big sister's favorite is plums. But my favorite is always strawberries."
Alaska licked his lips. "Dad's favorite is strawberries, too."
Russia screwed the lids back onto the jars. "Your... dad, what is he saying about me?"
That question gave Alaska pause; he cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well," he began, "mostly he talks about the Commies a lot, and how they're so mean and ruin everything. And how they make everyone in Russia hungry and sad."
"Everyone in Russia is being hungry and sad?" repeated Russia.
"Yeah, because they have to, y'know, stand in lines all the time. But he told me not to worry, because one day you'd escape from them and be free." Alaska brightened as he said this. "And that you really love us but you have to keep it a secret so the Commies don't find out." Really, what America had told him was "Your papa really loves you", but Alaska had changed it to include them both to make it sound more hopeful.
"Amerika says these things?" Russia's voice was so soft and low that Alaska felt sorry for him. His papa must be so afraid of the Commies overhearing that he could barely say the words aloud. It must be so scary being a grown-up and being so old and powerful and still having to watch what you say.
Wanting to make him feel better, Alaska tugged at Russia's sleeve. "Papa, can you keep a secret?" he asked.
"Da, of course," said Russia, pressing their forehead together so that Alaska could whisper it to him.
Alaska told him in hushed tones, "Dad told me that he doesn't love Mr. Japan, not like forever love. So you don't have to worry about him. I think Dad secretly loves you back but he just can't tell you yet."
Russia's eyebrows arched up and he blinked rapidly. "Ah... I see." He sat back in his chair and looked a little bewildered and sad. He pinched the spot between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, as though trying to will away a headache, and Alaska hopped up out of his chair, meaning to find him some aspirin, but Russia caught him up in his arms and held him close.
They stayed like that for a long time, Alaska listening to the steady beat of Russia's heart in his great broad chest, while Russia buried his nose in Alaska's hair. From faraway they could hear the rumble of an approaching engine.
"I think that is your dad," Russia said, and his breath was warm in Alaska's hair. He stood up, still holding Alaska in his arms, and they made their way to the front door.
They heard the engine before they saw the headlights burning through the gloom. America rode a battered but rugged GAZ Jeep; Russia glared balefully at it, and wondered who had lent to it him. Poland? Belarus? No, it must've been Lithuania. Perhaps America had landed in his airspace, too.
America jumped out of the vehicle and began running towards them, making soft sounds that were not quite pants and not quite sobs, but some sad mixture of both. Russia shifted Alaska onto his hip, letting America see him more clearly. He was not precisely afraid of America, but Russia had seen America pick up steel railroad rails and twist them into heart-shapes to impress human girls many years ago. Russia was not so foolish as to clutch Alaska and make America panic.
Alaska wriggled with excitement at seeing his parent. "Dad!" he called.
"Ohmygod," America said all in the rush, as he ran up and pulled Alaska from Russia's arms. "You're safe! You almost gave me a heart attack."
Alaska wound his arms around America's neck. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to scare you." He looked into America's eyes. "I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"
America released a strained little laugh. "Kiddo, this is so much worse than the time you told Hawaii that Satan lived in the pipes and she wouldn't take a bath for a week and a half. But right now, I'm just glad you're okay." He kissed Alaska on the lips and said, "Hey, you taste like strawberries!"
Russia cleared his throat. "It is dark, and late," he told America. "I am thinking it is best you both stay here for the night. With me."
America held Alaska tightly to him. "I have a helicopter waiting for me," he said.
Pointing to the GAZ Jeep, Russia said, "Ah, and you are meaning to drive all through the night with our son, in the freezing cold and the darkness, in that?"
America's eyes flickered up and down suspiciously. He had never been good at concealing his thoughts or emotions. He shifted from side to side almost imperceptibly, and finally said, "Do you have a telephone in there?"
"Of course," Russia said, opening the door grandly. America carried Alaska inside, with Russia following behind. Once inside, they stamped the ice from their boots and Russia hung his and Alaska's coats up. America tossed his own coat over a chair.
Having both his parents together in the same room seemed to light Alaska up like a livewire. He began chattering about his trip and his time with Russia. It was amusing to watch America try to follow along as his son told him about meeting "Dedushka, who wears this funny helmet, and he brought me here, but then he disappeared, and my papa came..."
Russia sat on the couch and observed them quietly. America listened to their son, sometimes stroking his hands through Alaska's hair, then cradling the back of his head, while Alaska leaned into his touch with perfect trust. Russia lightly bit down on his own knuckle.
By the time Alaska finished with his tale, he had exhausted himself. A clock chimed, and he yawned hugely. "It's time for bed," America told him, and Alaska only protested half-heartedly when America picked him up.
"He can sleep in my bed," Russia said softly, and America followed him into the small bedroom with the dark curtains and a bed piled high with pillows and blankets. America laid Alaska in the middle, then sat beside him, lightly caressing his son's face. Russia lingered in the doorway, still watching but not knowing what to say.
Alaska yawned again, then smiled up at America and then at Russia. His eyelids were becoming too heavy for him. He said, "I'm so glad I came, papa." And then he fell asleep.
America seemed to wait to be sure that Alaska was fully asleep before standing and stalking out of the bedroom. He pushed past Russia, grumbling under his breath. "I can't freakin' believe -- ugh, where is your phone!" America stood in the center of Russia's living room, shoulders hunched and hands clenched into tight fists.
Wordlessly, Russia held up the phone receiver. America snatched it away from him and turned his back, obviously trying to hide the numbers he was dialing. Russia sighed. No phone call made it in or out of this dacha without being recorded.
America mumbled a few sentences to his contact, confirming that they would meet up -- with Alaska, America emphasized -- bright and early in the morning. Then he slammed the phone down and thrust it back into Russia's hands.
Russia sat the phone aside and mockingly rubbed his wrists, as though America's childish behavior had caused him physical pain. "Ouch! So much hostility towards your host, Amerika. Didn't England teach you better manners than that?"
Normally, America would be all ready with a quip or comeback, but right now he was too angry to be bothered. "What have you been telling him?" he hissed, pointing at the door to Russia's bedroom.
Russia loomed over him, his mouth twisting in an ugly manner. "What have you been telling him, Amerika? You've filled the child's brain with all sorts of stories, I see."
America flinched; it was a movement so small that if Russia hadn't been used to scrutinizing America's face, he would've missed it. The angry flush that colored America's cheeks an instant later could've been seen from orbit, however.
"You've painted me as quite the dashing hero," Russia said, arching his eyebrows. "It is being like something from fairy stories. I was not expecting such treatment, Amerika. Surely, I thought, you would be telling him I had horns and a pitchfork."
"Nah, just a stupid hammer and sickle," America snapped back with some of his usual bravado. He crossed his arms. "What was I supposed to tell him, huh? He worships you, Russia. Since he could talk, he's been begging me for stories about you, stuff from your country, just anything about you. I couldn't tell him the truth."
Russia barked out a mirthless, bitter laugh. "The truth? And what is being the truth? That you kept me away from our child all these years?" he asked.
"You've been holding the whole world hostage!" America said, pushing back into Russia's space. "And it's not like you gave a damn. You didn't write, you didn't call --"
"You pushed me away!" Russia snarled, shoving America back a step or two.
Much to his surprise, America didn't come back swinging. Instead, his eyes went wide and shocked. "What? What did you say?" he asked.
Russia gritted his teeth. As though America could've forgotten!
Russia had spent years hovering around China, trying to touch him, only to realize at long last that the last person to truly touch China had left a scar on him. Bitter and angry, Russia foolishly turned to the one person he knew he could always touch -- America, who saw him as a rival and not as future scar tissue. But no sooner had he felt America's warmth than America pushed him away, ran away and hid, holding a part of both of them deep within himself.
America shook his head when Russia told him this. "I don't remember it that way," he said. "Y'know, all those years we were friends, and we never went any further. Heh. You remember when we were friends? Yeah, sometimes I can't, either." His face contorted with the pain of old emotion and the sting of betrayal. Russia knew that look, for he saw it often enough in the mirror.
"Do you think..." America wondered aloud. "Do you think if Alaska had been born a hundred years ago, we'd be where we are now?"
"Did your other children stop you from warring with their fathers?"
"No, but I never -- never mind." America sighed loudly. "Look, it was scary right around the time Alaska was born. The world was on edge."
"You needed comfort, da?" Russia mocked him. "So you climbed in bed with Japan only days after our son was born."
America had the grace to look a little uncomfortable at that. "I had to do something to take my mind off you!" he said.
"And what is that meaning?" Russia said in a dangerous low tone.
"What the hell do you think it means, Commie!" America jumped up back in his face. "You --" but his words were cut off as Russia grabbed him by the jaw and pulled him close for a punishing kiss.
America kissed him back with more ferocity than passion, all lips and tongue and teeth, and Russia felt the heat rise in himself, felt his heart pounding a steady, throbbing beat in his veins. He pressed forward, needing the feeling of America's body against his own, but when he backed America against the table, America shoved him off.
America leaned against the table, wiping at his mouth. "That could've been... a big mistake."
"Da," Russia panted. He tugged at his shirt, not wanting to give away how strongly that kiss had affected him.
America chuckled and said huskily, "But our last mistake like that turned out pretty awesome, didn't it?"
Russia glanced at the door to his bedroom. "Our son is beautiful." He smiled to himself, one of his rarest smiles, a small, gentle smile. "You named him Aleksei, as I asked."
America nodded. "I always wondered about the name. That's the only thing you asked of me when I told you about him, that I name him Aleksei. Why?" he asked.
"There have been several princes named Aleksei," Russia said slowly. "Their fates were... tragic. I suppose I was hoping our son would have the long and glorious life denied to them."
The look America shot him was both curious and a little disturbed, but Russia felt like he was breathing freely for the first time in years. At last, they were saying some of the things they'd been needing to say for so long.
Author: Mipp
Genre:: Domestic/Adventure/Angst?
Rating: T for Teen, to be on the safe side
Warning: This fill contains implications of past mpreg, little kid OCs, Soviet jeeps, and sexual tension. This is actually about as safe and heartwarming as I come.
Summary: De-anon from the kink meme. Chapters 1-3 and Chapters 4-5. America has tracked down his wayward son, Alaska, and Alaska's father, Russia. At last, all three are going to have an unexpected -- and long overdue -- family reunion.
Father and son spent the evening together preparing kasha in the kitchen. The meal Russia set out was very odd -- the buckwheat porridge, which Alaska loved; caviar sandwichs, something Alaska had never seen before in his life and which made his eyes go comically wide; and glass jars of preserves, each tried one bite at a time.
"Solienye griby," said Russia, offering Alaska a spoonful.
Alaska chewed, then grinned. "Good! What is it?"
"Pickled mushrooms," Russia translated for him. He unscrewed another jar and spooned out something he declared was, "Varenye."
Alaska gamely tried that, too. "Wow, even better! Are those strawberries, papa?"
"Strawberry preserves," said Russia, and he swallowed a spoonful himself. "My sisters and I love this. Little sister's favorite is povidlo, what you are calling apple jam. Big sister's favorite is plums. But my favorite is always strawberries."
Alaska licked his lips. "Dad's favorite is strawberries, too."
Russia screwed the lids back onto the jars. "Your... dad, what is he saying about me?"
That question gave Alaska pause; he cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well," he began, "mostly he talks about the Commies a lot, and how they're so mean and ruin everything. And how they make everyone in Russia hungry and sad."
"Everyone in Russia is being hungry and sad?" repeated Russia.
"Yeah, because they have to, y'know, stand in lines all the time. But he told me not to worry, because one day you'd escape from them and be free." Alaska brightened as he said this. "And that you really love us but you have to keep it a secret so the Commies don't find out." Really, what America had told him was "Your papa really loves you", but Alaska had changed it to include them both to make it sound more hopeful.
"Amerika says these things?" Russia's voice was so soft and low that Alaska felt sorry for him. His papa must be so afraid of the Commies overhearing that he could barely say the words aloud. It must be so scary being a grown-up and being so old and powerful and still having to watch what you say.
Wanting to make him feel better, Alaska tugged at Russia's sleeve. "Papa, can you keep a secret?" he asked.
"Da, of course," said Russia, pressing their forehead together so that Alaska could whisper it to him.
Alaska told him in hushed tones, "Dad told me that he doesn't love Mr. Japan, not like forever love. So you don't have to worry about him. I think Dad secretly loves you back but he just can't tell you yet."
Russia's eyebrows arched up and he blinked rapidly. "Ah... I see." He sat back in his chair and looked a little bewildered and sad. He pinched the spot between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, as though trying to will away a headache, and Alaska hopped up out of his chair, meaning to find him some aspirin, but Russia caught him up in his arms and held him close.
They stayed like that for a long time, Alaska listening to the steady beat of Russia's heart in his great broad chest, while Russia buried his nose in Alaska's hair. From faraway they could hear the rumble of an approaching engine.
"I think that is your dad," Russia said, and his breath was warm in Alaska's hair. He stood up, still holding Alaska in his arms, and they made their way to the front door.
They heard the engine before they saw the headlights burning through the gloom. America rode a battered but rugged GAZ Jeep; Russia glared balefully at it, and wondered who had lent to it him. Poland? Belarus? No, it must've been Lithuania. Perhaps America had landed in his airspace, too.
America jumped out of the vehicle and began running towards them, making soft sounds that were not quite pants and not quite sobs, but some sad mixture of both. Russia shifted Alaska onto his hip, letting America see him more clearly. He was not precisely afraid of America, but Russia had seen America pick up steel railroad rails and twist them into heart-shapes to impress human girls many years ago. Russia was not so foolish as to clutch Alaska and make America panic.
Alaska wriggled with excitement at seeing his parent. "Dad!" he called.
"Ohmygod," America said all in the rush, as he ran up and pulled Alaska from Russia's arms. "You're safe! You almost gave me a heart attack."
Alaska wound his arms around America's neck. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to scare you." He looked into America's eyes. "I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"
America released a strained little laugh. "Kiddo, this is so much worse than the time you told Hawaii that Satan lived in the pipes and she wouldn't take a bath for a week and a half. But right now, I'm just glad you're okay." He kissed Alaska on the lips and said, "Hey, you taste like strawberries!"
Russia cleared his throat. "It is dark, and late," he told America. "I am thinking it is best you both stay here for the night. With me."
America held Alaska tightly to him. "I have a helicopter waiting for me," he said.
Pointing to the GAZ Jeep, Russia said, "Ah, and you are meaning to drive all through the night with our son, in the freezing cold and the darkness, in that?"
America's eyes flickered up and down suspiciously. He had never been good at concealing his thoughts or emotions. He shifted from side to side almost imperceptibly, and finally said, "Do you have a telephone in there?"
"Of course," Russia said, opening the door grandly. America carried Alaska inside, with Russia following behind. Once inside, they stamped the ice from their boots and Russia hung his and Alaska's coats up. America tossed his own coat over a chair.
Having both his parents together in the same room seemed to light Alaska up like a livewire. He began chattering about his trip and his time with Russia. It was amusing to watch America try to follow along as his son told him about meeting "Dedushka, who wears this funny helmet, and he brought me here, but then he disappeared, and my papa came..."
Russia sat on the couch and observed them quietly. America listened to their son, sometimes stroking his hands through Alaska's hair, then cradling the back of his head, while Alaska leaned into his touch with perfect trust. Russia lightly bit down on his own knuckle.
By the time Alaska finished with his tale, he had exhausted himself. A clock chimed, and he yawned hugely. "It's time for bed," America told him, and Alaska only protested half-heartedly when America picked him up.
"He can sleep in my bed," Russia said softly, and America followed him into the small bedroom with the dark curtains and a bed piled high with pillows and blankets. America laid Alaska in the middle, then sat beside him, lightly caressing his son's face. Russia lingered in the doorway, still watching but not knowing what to say.
Alaska yawned again, then smiled up at America and then at Russia. His eyelids were becoming too heavy for him. He said, "I'm so glad I came, papa." And then he fell asleep.
America seemed to wait to be sure that Alaska was fully asleep before standing and stalking out of the bedroom. He pushed past Russia, grumbling under his breath. "I can't freakin' believe -- ugh, where is your phone!" America stood in the center of Russia's living room, shoulders hunched and hands clenched into tight fists.
Wordlessly, Russia held up the phone receiver. America snatched it away from him and turned his back, obviously trying to hide the numbers he was dialing. Russia sighed. No phone call made it in or out of this dacha without being recorded.
America mumbled a few sentences to his contact, confirming that they would meet up -- with Alaska, America emphasized -- bright and early in the morning. Then he slammed the phone down and thrust it back into Russia's hands.
Russia sat the phone aside and mockingly rubbed his wrists, as though America's childish behavior had caused him physical pain. "Ouch! So much hostility towards your host, Amerika. Didn't England teach you better manners than that?"
Normally, America would be all ready with a quip or comeback, but right now he was too angry to be bothered. "What have you been telling him?" he hissed, pointing at the door to Russia's bedroom.
Russia loomed over him, his mouth twisting in an ugly manner. "What have you been telling him, Amerika? You've filled the child's brain with all sorts of stories, I see."
America flinched; it was a movement so small that if Russia hadn't been used to scrutinizing America's face, he would've missed it. The angry flush that colored America's cheeks an instant later could've been seen from orbit, however.
"You've painted me as quite the dashing hero," Russia said, arching his eyebrows. "It is being like something from fairy stories. I was not expecting such treatment, Amerika. Surely, I thought, you would be telling him I had horns and a pitchfork."
"Nah, just a stupid hammer and sickle," America snapped back with some of his usual bravado. He crossed his arms. "What was I supposed to tell him, huh? He worships you, Russia. Since he could talk, he's been begging me for stories about you, stuff from your country, just anything about you. I couldn't tell him the truth."
Russia barked out a mirthless, bitter laugh. "The truth? And what is being the truth? That you kept me away from our child all these years?" he asked.
"You've been holding the whole world hostage!" America said, pushing back into Russia's space. "And it's not like you gave a damn. You didn't write, you didn't call --"
"You pushed me away!" Russia snarled, shoving America back a step or two.
Much to his surprise, America didn't come back swinging. Instead, his eyes went wide and shocked. "What? What did you say?" he asked.
Russia gritted his teeth. As though America could've forgotten!
Russia had spent years hovering around China, trying to touch him, only to realize at long last that the last person to truly touch China had left a scar on him. Bitter and angry, Russia foolishly turned to the one person he knew he could always touch -- America, who saw him as a rival and not as future scar tissue. But no sooner had he felt America's warmth than America pushed him away, ran away and hid, holding a part of both of them deep within himself.
America shook his head when Russia told him this. "I don't remember it that way," he said. "Y'know, all those years we were friends, and we never went any further. Heh. You remember when we were friends? Yeah, sometimes I can't, either." His face contorted with the pain of old emotion and the sting of betrayal. Russia knew that look, for he saw it often enough in the mirror.
"Do you think..." America wondered aloud. "Do you think if Alaska had been born a hundred years ago, we'd be where we are now?"
"Did your other children stop you from warring with their fathers?"
"No, but I never -- never mind." America sighed loudly. "Look, it was scary right around the time Alaska was born. The world was on edge."
"You needed comfort, da?" Russia mocked him. "So you climbed in bed with Japan only days after our son was born."
America had the grace to look a little uncomfortable at that. "I had to do something to take my mind off you!" he said.
"And what is that meaning?" Russia said in a dangerous low tone.
"What the hell do you think it means, Commie!" America jumped up back in his face. "You --" but his words were cut off as Russia grabbed him by the jaw and pulled him close for a punishing kiss.
America kissed him back with more ferocity than passion, all lips and tongue and teeth, and Russia felt the heat rise in himself, felt his heart pounding a steady, throbbing beat in his veins. He pressed forward, needing the feeling of America's body against his own, but when he backed America against the table, America shoved him off.
America leaned against the table, wiping at his mouth. "That could've been... a big mistake."
"Da," Russia panted. He tugged at his shirt, not wanting to give away how strongly that kiss had affected him.
America chuckled and said huskily, "But our last mistake like that turned out pretty awesome, didn't it?"
Russia glanced at the door to his bedroom. "Our son is beautiful." He smiled to himself, one of his rarest smiles, a small, gentle smile. "You named him Aleksei, as I asked."
America nodded. "I always wondered about the name. That's the only thing you asked of me when I told you about him, that I name him Aleksei. Why?" he asked.
"There have been several princes named Aleksei," Russia said slowly. "Their fates were... tragic. I suppose I was hoping our son would have the long and glorious life denied to them."
The look America shot him was both curious and a little disturbed, but Russia felt like he was breathing freely for the first time in years. At last, they were saying some of the things they'd been needing to say for so long.
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no subject
So instead I must comment sounding like the nimrod I am.
I love, love, love this story. You have a serious knack for writing believable dialogue and characters, especially when it comes to Russia. Not to mention the interaction throughout is superb and realistic to boot.
All of this is simply amazing, and must say it's wonderful to read fic that has this family unit all coming together like this.
I can't wait to read more. ♥
no subject