The Companion [8.9/?]
anonymous
May 28 2010, 18:12:18 UTC
He glanced back to the screen as he unwrapped the string and set to work on his middle finger. He gave the podium another once-over with his eyes, his gaze washing over the microphones, sliding down the angular wooden sides, lingering over the seal.
An eagle was emblazoned on it, wings splayed wide. One talon clutched at a bundle of arrows, the other grasped an olive branch. Held between his beak, a banner read "E pluribus unum". America's mind grappled with the words as his heart beat rose, pumping icy blood into his veins.
Why was the President's seal being broadcast on the Russian news? Didn't they have better things to show than an empty podium? America's knees locked together as the room stirred to life, the flash of cameras turned the scene into a blaze of constantly flickering lights. The brightness flooded America's mind as the President took up his post.
"Russia." America's knees loosened, turning to a dripping jelly as he mind reeled. "Russia, what's he doing on the news?"
Russia startled, having concluded that America had already left. He sprang from the bed, instantly moving to block the television from sight, fingers fiddling behind him to change the channel, to lower the sound, to chase the image away in any way he could.
"It is nothing, America," Russia assured him, his voice husky and urgent, a momentary crack and snap sounded and the television's glow evaporated.
"It's not 'nothing'." America clutched at the sheets with his hands, needing something to hold and tether himself to. "I want to know why my President is on your news. And was that some breaking stuff? It sure looked like it to me."
"It is not important." Russia stepped closer to America, tried to lightly tug him up from the bed. "Why are you still not dressed? We have places to go, my little bird." His hold strengthened as America made no effort to get up.
"I want to watch that," America told Russia in a very smooth, very calm voice. The bright blue of his eyes dampened, hardened into something that could not be reasoned with.
"No," Russia said firmly, fingers bruising America's flesh with their grip. He forcibly pulled America from the bed, hauled him, along with the sheets he clung to, to his own room and shoved him on the bed. America stared at him, though his eyes shone with a remoteness that said he was still in the other room.
"Why can't I watch TV with you?" America sat up, his body loose and disassembled. His feet kicked weakly at the edge of the bed. "Friends watch TV together, don't they?"
"America," Russia's voice was heavy, bubbling with anger. "Do not do this to me." He paced several steps away before veering back. His fists clenched and unclenched as the tendons in his jaw strained.
America kept himself disconnected from the situation, kept himself disconnected from the fear that yearned to flood his body when he saw Russia's fist clench again, only to raise it slightly, as if to strike America down. He flinched in an instant, instinct forcing his body to react. And all at once, Russia dropped to his knees.
The solemn blankness etched on America's face lightened as his mind decided to rejoin him. Russia was in front of America, hands reaching out, grabbing for him. "Look at me, look at what you do to me." Russia shook his head before leaning forward, his forehead resting on the edge of America's knee. "I do everything in my power to keep you warm, fed, and safe. What do you do in return? You throw it back in my face and upset me."
"I just said I wanted to watch TV with you," America argued weakly. He didn't want to see Russia on his knees, relying on him for strength. It was like seeing a parent cry. Russia was supposed to know what to do, always. He wasn't supposed to break down like this, not when he was in control.
"My little bird, always pecking away at me," Russia murmured, lifting his head to look up at America. His eyes were huge and round, pleading and sad. America swooned with pity at the sight.
An eagle was emblazoned on it, wings splayed wide. One talon clutched at a bundle of arrows, the other grasped an olive branch. Held between his beak, a banner read "E pluribus unum". America's mind grappled with the words as his heart beat rose, pumping icy blood into his veins.
Why was the President's seal being broadcast on the Russian news? Didn't they have better things to show than an empty podium? America's knees locked together as the room stirred to life, the flash of cameras turned the scene into a blaze of constantly flickering lights. The brightness flooded America's mind as the President took up his post.
"Russia." America's knees loosened, turning to a dripping jelly as he mind reeled. "Russia, what's he doing on the news?"
Russia startled, having concluded that America had already left. He sprang from the bed, instantly moving to block the television from sight, fingers fiddling behind him to change the channel, to lower the sound, to chase the image away in any way he could.
"It is nothing, America," Russia assured him, his voice husky and urgent, a momentary crack and snap sounded and the television's glow evaporated.
"It's not 'nothing'." America clutched at the sheets with his hands, needing something to hold and tether himself to. "I want to know why my President is on your news. And was that some breaking stuff? It sure looked like it to me."
"It is not important." Russia stepped closer to America, tried to lightly tug him up from the bed. "Why are you still not dressed? We have places to go, my little bird." His hold strengthened as America made no effort to get up.
"I want to watch that," America told Russia in a very smooth, very calm voice. The bright blue of his eyes dampened, hardened into something that could not be reasoned with.
"No," Russia said firmly, fingers bruising America's flesh with their grip. He forcibly pulled America from the bed, hauled him, along with the sheets he clung to, to his own room and shoved him on the bed. America stared at him, though his eyes shone with a remoteness that said he was still in the other room.
"Why can't I watch TV with you?" America sat up, his body loose and disassembled. His feet kicked weakly at the edge of the bed. "Friends watch TV together, don't they?"
"America," Russia's voice was heavy, bubbling with anger. "Do not do this to me." He paced several steps away before veering back. His fists clenched and unclenched as the tendons in his jaw strained.
America kept himself disconnected from the situation, kept himself disconnected from the fear that yearned to flood his body when he saw Russia's fist clench again, only to raise it slightly, as if to strike America down. He flinched in an instant, instinct forcing his body to react. And all at once, Russia dropped to his knees.
The solemn blankness etched on America's face lightened as his mind decided to rejoin him. Russia was in front of America, hands reaching out, grabbing for him. "Look at me, look at what you do to me." Russia shook his head before leaning forward, his forehead resting on the edge of America's knee. "I do everything in my power to keep you warm, fed, and safe. What do you do in return? You throw it back in my face and upset me."
"I just said I wanted to watch TV with you," America argued weakly. He didn't want to see Russia on his knees, relying on him for strength. It was like seeing a parent cry. Russia was supposed to know what to do, always. He wasn't supposed to break down like this, not when he was in control.
"My little bird, always pecking away at me," Russia murmured, lifting his head to look up at America. His eyes were huge and round, pleading and sad. America swooned with pity at the sight.
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