Yearning to Breathe Free, part 8
Haha okay so yesterday I got the Sims 3, so...that's why this is so late. 8D 8D 8D So far, Vlad is romancing Zensu. Which is just weird.
Anyways, last real chapter here! Next will be a (hopefully) miniscule epilogue.
Warnings for violence and sensitive political themes.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
It's a setup, Toris thought the night of September first. It has to be a setup. They wouldn't be that stupid, no one would be that stupid.
Someone set Feliks up for this.
The story Germany was telling the world was that Polish soldiers had seized a German radio station and broadcast an anti-German speech across the nation. But Toris didn't buy it, regardless of what anyone else thought. It was too coincidental--Germany had been already motioning to Poland and Toris couldn't believe someone would be stupid enough to bait Germany. Not even Feliks would've thought it was a good idea.
It's a setup, and Germany used it as an excuse to invade.
Toris just had to close his eyes and listen to the static on the radio, the announcer jabbering away about the in-progress German blitz straight into Poland. It was quick and brutal and Poland would be on its knees. And Toris just listened, eyes shut, sick with worry. Feliks exasperated him; Feliks infuriated him. But Toris wouldn't wish a war on anyone, much less a war with Germany.
But this wouldn't destroy Feliks or Poland, Toris thought. It just wouldn't. He just...he'll make it.
"Neutrality," he said out loud, though no one was around to hear him. That was his only answer, wasn't it, considering his next move? Poland would fight tooth and nail, but Germany's forces would be overwhelming. Lithuania would have to do something, with war just next door. And neutrality seemed like the only conceivable answer.
Neutrality.
He heard the next day that he wasn't the only one opting out of fighting altogether; so had Latvia, Estonia, Finland, Norway, and Switzerland. Toris listened to the public airwaves, the military airwaves, fidgeting. All he could do was sit and wait and see if their declaration of neutrality was going to actually be honored.
Britain and France ordered Germany to withdraw from Poland to no real effect--but that meant they'd have to fight now, wouldn't it, they couldn't just issue an ultimatum and back out of it again.
And there was nothing, not a breath, not a whisper, from the United States. No concern, no complaints, no support. Toris wondered if they were even watching--was Alfred at home, listening to the radio and hoping? Was he at his White House, poring over the military intelligence, at least keeping tabs? Or had he just forgotten Toris altogether, and was content to be alone in his own nation, with his own people, oblivious?
Did he at least worry about Toris?
Britain and France went to war and Toris wondered how many times they'd asked Alfred to help, to reconsider, to think about it. How many times they'd told him it was his duty as a powerful nation to keep the peace. How much they'd begged him to help, because without it the going would be so much the rougher. And Toris wondered what Alfred had looked like when he'd said 'no'.
And then the United States declared neutrality too and Toris's heart fell out of his chest. He imagined Alfred, face slightly uncomfortable, as he shut the door in England's face. How much that must have taken, knowing that he'd maybe sealed France and Britain's fates. If he even knew at all.
But then, Toris thought, what did he owe Europe? Was there a reason for him to send so many thousands of his own people to die on another continent?
Canada apparently thought so. Almost obligingly, they joined the war a week after it began. Toris stayed shut up in his house, pacing. When he heard that Canada would be fighting, he had the sudden desperate desire to see Matthew. Someone good, someone friendly.
No one came to get Toris when Germany offered to let Lithuania help in the Polish invasion. As though his own government had forgotten he existed. So Toris was not asked for his opinion, though he sat with hands clasped in front of the radio, muttering, "No, no, no...tell them no, I won't do it..."
And then the Soviet Union woke up, it seemed, and shook itself like a bear coming out of hibernation. Though maybe he'd been awake the whole time, and waiting, because he invaded Poland from the east and Toris just watched and fretted. He couldn't even contemplate what would happen to Feliks when Ivan got to him. It depended largely on how much Ivan was drinking, how out of his mind he really was, and how mouthy Feliks decided to be.
Toris knew Feliks's mouthiness very well.
Neutrality was going to mean nothing. The Soviets started moving into Estonia, nosing at the borders, threatening very diplomatically that things would only get worse if they weren't allowed bases in the country. And then finally a Lithuanian officer came for Toris, and took him to see his boss.
"Estonia and Latvia have signed a pact with the Soviets," Smetona explained. He was balding but mustached, and Toris remembered him from those first two years--finally home, after living so long with Russia. Now Toris wasn't sure what to think. This was the man who was his first president, who'd been in anti-Czarist organizations since he was a schoolboy. But he was also the man who'd taken power and kept it for more than a decade now.
"The Soviets promise to recognize their independence in return for military bases," he went on. And he fixed Toris with a contemplative stare, as if asking him to speak.
"Why would he keep that promise?" Toris murmured, stomach clenching. "He won't even respect our neutrality now."
Smetona bobbed his head. "However," he said. "However."
However, we could get Vilnius, was what he meant. However, there are things we can gain, if we play this just right. However, we can look for profit, perhaps at the cost of security. However, we may have to.
Toris was there when the pact was signed. Ivan was not. Presumably he was out at the head of the Red Army, a walking deity of national spirit, gun on one shoulder, drunk as a fox in the woods of Poland. Toris watched Smetona sign it with a tremble in his chest. This made Vilnius his, at least, as long as Poland was under Soviet control. As long as the Soviets even had a say on where Polish land would go. As long as Feliks could say nothing.
Vilnius was his, but only because he was profiting from Poland's fall. No--Toris told himself, no, Vilnius was mine in the first place. Just now, Feliks can't whine about it.
The only thing he heard from the United States after that was that Alfred had agreed to sell weapons to Britain and France. He can't not care, then, Toris had thought. He's at least going to give them a sliver of a fighting chance. That's...it's something.
----------
"I will not stay for this, I am sorry," Smetona told Toris, angrily. "I will not live in a Lithuania that is a Soviet puppet, do you understand? I will not."
"Where are you going to go, then?" Toris wanted to know. Smetona hesitated, but only for a moment.
"I suppose once they reach you I will be far enough away," he said. He gave Toris a very cool look. "I think I will go to America. Perhaps I will see in it whatever you saw."
That was the last time Toris ever saw him. Toris let him go, and sat white-faced and waiting as the eight hours ticked ever so slowly by. Eight hours until the Soviets invaded, because now that Smetona had left there was no good legal way to accept the ultimatum the Soviet Union had given--to be allowed to deploy even more military units inside the country.
It only took three days for the country to be occupied. It took one more day for Ivan to be at the door.
He did not wait for Toris to let him in. He used the butt of his rifle to break the door down.
Toris sat at the kitchen table, clasping a barely-full bottle of his own vodka, silent and only very distantly scared. Nothing lasts forever, he thought, and downed the last of the vodka, hoping it would calm his nerves. Eventually this will be over.
Ivan filled up the doorway. He looked taller and broader than ever but skinny. The combination was...odd.
"Liet," he called in a soft, lilting voice, and swaggered into the kitchen, rifle barrel pointing at the ceiling. Flushed cheeks, from cold or alcohol, heatless greyish eyes. "I came to see you, Liet."
The gun practically fell in his hands to point at Toris's head. Toris smoothed his hands over the bottle, staring at the table.
"Say hello, Liet," Ivan suggested, smile wavering sickeningly. The gun traced little patterns, still in Toris's vicinity but unsteady. "We haven't seen each other in such a very long time. You could at least say hello."
Steady, Toris thought, taking a breath. Steady now, Toris.
He gripped the neck of the bottle and shot to his feet. The gun jerked a bit but it was pointing at his stomach now. Toris forced his eyes up to meet Ivan's, had to make himself stare at the uncertain drunken insanity there.
"You're here now," he said, louder than he'd intended. Ivan was giving him a mild look, one that seemed familiar. Toris swallowed, glared, and took a step, so that the barrel of the gun jabbed him in the stomach. "You won't be here forever, Ivan. I'm free," he added softly, hissing. "I'm fre--"
The bang shattered his eardrums and the pain shattered his sudden bravery. His knees unlocked and he arced backwards, smashing his head on the aluminum table, sliding free of it, onto the wood floor. I didn't think he'd actually shoot me, he thought incredulously. He actually did it.
He curled up on himself, gasping, putting a hand over the wound. It bled, his high heartbeat forcing the blood out more and more, and it spread--soaked into his shirt, well-worn-white going heart's blood red.
Just a stomach wound. It was just a stomach wound. Ivan's boots made the floor creak and then he dragged Toris upright, bandaged hand curling in the bloodied cloth of his shirt.
"Free," Ivan said very quietly, and Toris suddenly had the horrible feeling that Ivan was more sober than he'd seemed. "Free, but only on paper, Liet."
Toris whipped his arm up and broke the vodka bottle across Ivan's face, splattering him with leftover droplets, glass scoring his cheek and nose and eyes and forehead and Ivan shrieked, dropping Toris, who fell heavily to his knees.
"We'll resist," he threatened Ivan breathlessly, pressing his hand over his stomach wound again. Ivan reeled above him, feeling desperately at his cut face. "You watch. We'll resist, Ivan."
He repeated the same thing when the Soviet Union announced their annexation of Lithuania. He couldn't fight but he could resist. It would be all he could do. Leaving his home, running for another, somewhere where Ivan might not find him, he gave one last thought to Alfred--it had been almost a year since the war began. The US really wasn't coming, were they?
----------
More than two years after the war began, Toris was in a basement in Kaunas when the news of Pearl Harbor came across the airwaves. This was what it took, then--it took the Japanese daring to attack the United States on his own land to get the latter to consider entering the war. Toris couldn't feel too much pity for the loss of life at the military base in Hawaii. Millions of others had already died in the war, on all sides. Thousands of his own people had already been forcibly removed to Siberia.
After the fall of France Toris had almost thought it was over. And even now things were only marginally brighter. He hadn't heard from Feliks since the war had begun--not him, not Eduard or Raivis, not Matthew or England or France, not even Germany. He had been alone and on the run since Ivan had broken down his door. What he would not do was let Ivan keep him prisoner until this war was over. That would not happen.
It didn't matter who was occupying the country--whether it was Germany or the Soviets. Toris could only resist, doggedly, knowing that if the Allies did not win the war, he would almost certainly end up with Ivan again; and then he knew he'd pay for his resistance, personal or national.
Maybe it was the war that numbed him, or made him stronger. Maybe it was the sheer chaos, the presence of soldiers, the whispers of resistance amid his underground people. Maybe it was the idea that Poland burned not so far away, that the rumors coming out of Germany were so heinous as to be unbelievable, that the idea of genocide was--stamped, pressed, into the war so much as to be a part of it, and so ridiculous that--really--did anyone really want to kill a whole segment of people--?
Maybe the idea desensitized him, along with everything else. Desensitized his people, and so him. But he couldn't feel pity for Ivan anymore...even though he knew Ivan was merely mad, a tool of his own nation, and his nation a tool of its government. Even if Ivan was happy with that. He couldn't bring himself to miss Ivan, even the sweet side of him--though he had the feeling that if he had to see that sweetness again, he would cave to it.
And then
quite abruptly
the war was over.
----------
Or it was almost over. Japan was still fighting viciously; that was a conflict that belonged almost entirely to the United States. But Germany had surrendered unconditionally. It seemed vaguely arrogant of the Allies to meet inside occupied Germany, at Potsdam, where--Toris supposed--quite a few fates would be decided.
Toris went to Potsdam himself. He wasn't entirely sure why. Just that...he wasn't sure what would happen to him, if he didn't. He had to hear for himself that he would be free again, without Soviet influence.
Maybe the conference was nearly over, by the time Toris reached it. The doors of Cecilienhof were all shut up tight, except for one, a hallway that led to a tranquil inner courtyard. The walls were hedges, the benches were rounded stone. It had once been the home of a prince but it seemed pale now. All of Germany did. The rumors of genocide were turning out to be true and that fact seemed to cast a very long shadow across the country. Toris wondered briefly where Germany himself was now.
"Ouch, you git, be gentle," England scolded. Toris heard Alfred's childish giggle and it melted his heart. He picked up his pace, wanting to see Alfred again...wanting that reassuring grin, that manic laugh. Maybe even to swing dance--yes--dancing sounded like more fun than he'd had in years...
England and Alfred were sitting on the stone bench together. England's arm was in a sling, so his coat was draped over one shoulder. Toris came up on them from behind, just in time to see Alfred wriggle his own arm around England, and brace the heel of his hand on the stone just behind him. He was looking down at England and grinning playfully.
"C'mon, Iggy, smile," he invited. "I haven't seen you smile since I showed up to help you guys fight. Or are smiles, like, on ration for you?"
England turned his face up to Alfred's disapprovingly, eyebrows knit, but then relented.
"You're foolish," he grumbled, and pecked Alfred on the lips lightly. The smile was infectious; the corners of England's mouth lifted. Alfred laughed and turned his face away.
"I guess that's all I'll get out of you."
Toris stopped, stood very still. Of course he's forgotten me, he thought. How silly of me. England was what he wanted, after all.
England was the one who caught a glimpse of Toris over Alfred's arm. He blinked his green eyes. "Hello," he said, and smiled cordially, in a way that Alfred would've been jealous of. "How are you, Lithuania?"
Alfred jerked and twisted around. He had cotton taped over the eye that Toris hadn't seen yet, but he bowled up off his seat and hurried around the bench. He'd stopped smiling, for some reason.
"Hey," he said, reaching Toris, "hey, hey Liet..."
Toris just looked up at him mutely. He looked healthy, except for the eye. He even looked fuller than he'd been when Toris had left. Obviously war had picked his economy right back up. He practically glowed beside England.
He knew he looked thin and pale and gaunt now. More so than before. Alfred's brow wrinkled and his hands hovered, like he wanted to take hold of Toris.
"Um, yeah," he said, wiping his hands on his suit pants, "how are you?"
Toris opened his mouth and shut it again, and then said, "Tired."
What was he supposed to say? He'd been shot and beaten, he'd been running and hiding, he'd been resisting. He was still in one piece.
"Where is Feliks?" he heard himself ask abruptly. Alfred glanced at England.
"In Poland, naturally," England said, but didn't look comfortable. "He...suffered quite a lot."
Toris said nothing. He looked up at the palace, and he didn't need to really say anything to tell England and Alfred what was on his mind.
"A lot is going to change," England said quietly.
"Now, Liet," Alfred said bracingly, and when Toris looked at him again he looked nervous. "You know I can't do anything, it's all Truman now."
"It isn't our choice," England agreed. "And Stalin makes his demands."
"And there's so many people that don't want it to happen," Alfred continued, "the part of me that just doesn't want the Commies to have it, the part of me that's still Lithuanian--"
"Oh," Toris said, numbly surprised. "So I'm being given up."
"That's..." Alfred faltered. "...I'm really sorry, Liet."
Toris let his eyes wander to study the ground. "I'm really," he said, "really going back to be with Russia?"
England grimaced. "The agreement's something to the effect that the USSR's borders will end up including the entirety of Lithuania, yes," he admitted. "Along with Estonia and Latvia..."
Toris closed his eyes, head ringing. After all that.
"You won the war though," he murmured. "Why is this happening?"
"Liet, Russia was the one that got to Berlin," Alfred explained. "We can't ignore him--Liet, come on, look at me," he added desperately, taking Toris's face in his hands and turning it to him. "Please? I'm sorry."
"Sorry won't help," Toris said flatly. "Sorry won't help."
Alfred shot a look at England, and then put his arms around Toris, hugging him tight. "I'm still sorry," he murmured, leaning so his lips were next to Toris's ear. He held Toris tight, and all Toris could do was let him.
"You have never," he whispered, "never had to do this in your life, Alfred. You've never had to accept this."
"I know, I'm lucky," Alfred muttered. "I know, Liet."
Liet closed his eyes and hid his face in Alfred's shoulder. Alfred held him a little tighter, and then whispered, "You know, this wasn't ever an affair to me. This wasn't...I really do love you, Liet, it's not like I ever forgot."
"We all sleep around," Toris murmured, quoting France. "It's not like I can stop you. It's not like you belong to me."
"He can't keep you forever," Alfred told him. "Okay? He's...he can't. I'm sorry."
Someone cleared their throat. Toris thought it was England until Alfred looked up and drew him a little tighter, because Ivan had just emerged from the hall, gaunt but placid.
"You are hugging my territory," Ivan said very mildly. Alfred didn't let go.
"It's not that way," he said defiantly, but Ivan shook his head.
"Only on paper," he said, "is he still Lithuania at all."
"Let him go, Alfred," England said very quietly. Alfred hesitated, and then released Toris, straightening. He looked down at Toris with a sort of mute apology.
Toris was quiet for a moment. "It was nice to see you both again," he said quietly, and turned, and left them. Ivan joined him as they left Cecilienhof, walked in stride with him. It didn't feel final, his exit with Ivan. It didn't feel, this time, as though he'd never see Alfred again.
After all, nothing lasted forever.
----------
The 'setup' Toris is talking about is the infamous Gleiwitz Incident.
Germany invades Poland on Sept 1 1939.
Britain and France declare war on Germany September 3.
The United States and Japan declare neutrality on September 4.
Canada goes to war September 7.
Germany tries to get Lithuania to help them attack Poland, but is refused. Subsequently, Lithuania is given over to the Soviet sphere of influence under that secrete protocol in the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.
Antanas Smetona was indeed in anti-Czarist organizations, and sorry that he's a flat character here, but it's hard to find anything on what he was like as a person.
Lithuania signs that Mutual Agreement Pact with the USSR on October 10, 1939.
The United States passes the U.S. Neutrality Act, which says they'll sell arms to the Allies, but only for cash.
June 1940: USSR issues an ultimatum to Lithuania. Smetona flees the country so the government can't accept it legally like they wanted to, and he'll end up in South Ohio of all places. The first Soviet occupation begins.
August 3 1940: USSR annexes Lithuania.
December 7, 1941: Pearl Harbor is attacked. The US declares war on Japan, and then later on Germany and Italy.
Lithuania was big on resistance during World War II and even afterward.
The Potsdam Agreement put Lithuania along with other territories under Soviet control. Look under article V.
OH GOD LENGTH. SO LONG. orz
Anyways, last real chapter here! Next will be a (hopefully) miniscule epilogue.
Warnings for violence and sensitive political themes.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
It's a setup, Toris thought the night of September first. It has to be a setup. They wouldn't be that stupid, no one would be that stupid.
Someone set Feliks up for this.
The story Germany was telling the world was that Polish soldiers had seized a German radio station and broadcast an anti-German speech across the nation. But Toris didn't buy it, regardless of what anyone else thought. It was too coincidental--Germany had been already motioning to Poland and Toris couldn't believe someone would be stupid enough to bait Germany. Not even Feliks would've thought it was a good idea.
It's a setup, and Germany used it as an excuse to invade.
Toris just had to close his eyes and listen to the static on the radio, the announcer jabbering away about the in-progress German blitz straight into Poland. It was quick and brutal and Poland would be on its knees. And Toris just listened, eyes shut, sick with worry. Feliks exasperated him; Feliks infuriated him. But Toris wouldn't wish a war on anyone, much less a war with Germany.
But this wouldn't destroy Feliks or Poland, Toris thought. It just wouldn't. He just...he'll make it.
"Neutrality," he said out loud, though no one was around to hear him. That was his only answer, wasn't it, considering his next move? Poland would fight tooth and nail, but Germany's forces would be overwhelming. Lithuania would have to do something, with war just next door. And neutrality seemed like the only conceivable answer.
Neutrality.
He heard the next day that he wasn't the only one opting out of fighting altogether; so had Latvia, Estonia, Finland, Norway, and Switzerland. Toris listened to the public airwaves, the military airwaves, fidgeting. All he could do was sit and wait and see if their declaration of neutrality was going to actually be honored.
Britain and France ordered Germany to withdraw from Poland to no real effect--but that meant they'd have to fight now, wouldn't it, they couldn't just issue an ultimatum and back out of it again.
And there was nothing, not a breath, not a whisper, from the United States. No concern, no complaints, no support. Toris wondered if they were even watching--was Alfred at home, listening to the radio and hoping? Was he at his White House, poring over the military intelligence, at least keeping tabs? Or had he just forgotten Toris altogether, and was content to be alone in his own nation, with his own people, oblivious?
Did he at least worry about Toris?
Britain and France went to war and Toris wondered how many times they'd asked Alfred to help, to reconsider, to think about it. How many times they'd told him it was his duty as a powerful nation to keep the peace. How much they'd begged him to help, because without it the going would be so much the rougher. And Toris wondered what Alfred had looked like when he'd said 'no'.
And then the United States declared neutrality too and Toris's heart fell out of his chest. He imagined Alfred, face slightly uncomfortable, as he shut the door in England's face. How much that must have taken, knowing that he'd maybe sealed France and Britain's fates. If he even knew at all.
But then, Toris thought, what did he owe Europe? Was there a reason for him to send so many thousands of his own people to die on another continent?
Canada apparently thought so. Almost obligingly, they joined the war a week after it began. Toris stayed shut up in his house, pacing. When he heard that Canada would be fighting, he had the sudden desperate desire to see Matthew. Someone good, someone friendly.
No one came to get Toris when Germany offered to let Lithuania help in the Polish invasion. As though his own government had forgotten he existed. So Toris was not asked for his opinion, though he sat with hands clasped in front of the radio, muttering, "No, no, no...tell them no, I won't do it..."
And then the Soviet Union woke up, it seemed, and shook itself like a bear coming out of hibernation. Though maybe he'd been awake the whole time, and waiting, because he invaded Poland from the east and Toris just watched and fretted. He couldn't even contemplate what would happen to Feliks when Ivan got to him. It depended largely on how much Ivan was drinking, how out of his mind he really was, and how mouthy Feliks decided to be.
Toris knew Feliks's mouthiness very well.
Neutrality was going to mean nothing. The Soviets started moving into Estonia, nosing at the borders, threatening very diplomatically that things would only get worse if they weren't allowed bases in the country. And then finally a Lithuanian officer came for Toris, and took him to see his boss.
"Estonia and Latvia have signed a pact with the Soviets," Smetona explained. He was balding but mustached, and Toris remembered him from those first two years--finally home, after living so long with Russia. Now Toris wasn't sure what to think. This was the man who was his first president, who'd been in anti-Czarist organizations since he was a schoolboy. But he was also the man who'd taken power and kept it for more than a decade now.
"The Soviets promise to recognize their independence in return for military bases," he went on. And he fixed Toris with a contemplative stare, as if asking him to speak.
"Why would he keep that promise?" Toris murmured, stomach clenching. "He won't even respect our neutrality now."
Smetona bobbed his head. "However," he said. "However."
However, we could get Vilnius, was what he meant. However, there are things we can gain, if we play this just right. However, we can look for profit, perhaps at the cost of security. However, we may have to.
Toris was there when the pact was signed. Ivan was not. Presumably he was out at the head of the Red Army, a walking deity of national spirit, gun on one shoulder, drunk as a fox in the woods of Poland. Toris watched Smetona sign it with a tremble in his chest. This made Vilnius his, at least, as long as Poland was under Soviet control. As long as the Soviets even had a say on where Polish land would go. As long as Feliks could say nothing.
Vilnius was his, but only because he was profiting from Poland's fall. No--Toris told himself, no, Vilnius was mine in the first place. Just now, Feliks can't whine about it.
The only thing he heard from the United States after that was that Alfred had agreed to sell weapons to Britain and France. He can't not care, then, Toris had thought. He's at least going to give them a sliver of a fighting chance. That's...it's something.
----------
"I will not stay for this, I am sorry," Smetona told Toris, angrily. "I will not live in a Lithuania that is a Soviet puppet, do you understand? I will not."
"Where are you going to go, then?" Toris wanted to know. Smetona hesitated, but only for a moment.
"I suppose once they reach you I will be far enough away," he said. He gave Toris a very cool look. "I think I will go to America. Perhaps I will see in it whatever you saw."
That was the last time Toris ever saw him. Toris let him go, and sat white-faced and waiting as the eight hours ticked ever so slowly by. Eight hours until the Soviets invaded, because now that Smetona had left there was no good legal way to accept the ultimatum the Soviet Union had given--to be allowed to deploy even more military units inside the country.
It only took three days for the country to be occupied. It took one more day for Ivan to be at the door.
He did not wait for Toris to let him in. He used the butt of his rifle to break the door down.
Toris sat at the kitchen table, clasping a barely-full bottle of his own vodka, silent and only very distantly scared. Nothing lasts forever, he thought, and downed the last of the vodka, hoping it would calm his nerves. Eventually this will be over.
Ivan filled up the doorway. He looked taller and broader than ever but skinny. The combination was...odd.
"Liet," he called in a soft, lilting voice, and swaggered into the kitchen, rifle barrel pointing at the ceiling. Flushed cheeks, from cold or alcohol, heatless greyish eyes. "I came to see you, Liet."
The gun practically fell in his hands to point at Toris's head. Toris smoothed his hands over the bottle, staring at the table.
"Say hello, Liet," Ivan suggested, smile wavering sickeningly. The gun traced little patterns, still in Toris's vicinity but unsteady. "We haven't seen each other in such a very long time. You could at least say hello."
Steady, Toris thought, taking a breath. Steady now, Toris.
He gripped the neck of the bottle and shot to his feet. The gun jerked a bit but it was pointing at his stomach now. Toris forced his eyes up to meet Ivan's, had to make himself stare at the uncertain drunken insanity there.
"You're here now," he said, louder than he'd intended. Ivan was giving him a mild look, one that seemed familiar. Toris swallowed, glared, and took a step, so that the barrel of the gun jabbed him in the stomach. "You won't be here forever, Ivan. I'm free," he added softly, hissing. "I'm fre--"
The bang shattered his eardrums and the pain shattered his sudden bravery. His knees unlocked and he arced backwards, smashing his head on the aluminum table, sliding free of it, onto the wood floor. I didn't think he'd actually shoot me, he thought incredulously. He actually did it.
He curled up on himself, gasping, putting a hand over the wound. It bled, his high heartbeat forcing the blood out more and more, and it spread--soaked into his shirt, well-worn-white going heart's blood red.
Just a stomach wound. It was just a stomach wound. Ivan's boots made the floor creak and then he dragged Toris upright, bandaged hand curling in the bloodied cloth of his shirt.
"Free," Ivan said very quietly, and Toris suddenly had the horrible feeling that Ivan was more sober than he'd seemed. "Free, but only on paper, Liet."
Toris whipped his arm up and broke the vodka bottle across Ivan's face, splattering him with leftover droplets, glass scoring his cheek and nose and eyes and forehead and Ivan shrieked, dropping Toris, who fell heavily to his knees.
"We'll resist," he threatened Ivan breathlessly, pressing his hand over his stomach wound again. Ivan reeled above him, feeling desperately at his cut face. "You watch. We'll resist, Ivan."
He repeated the same thing when the Soviet Union announced their annexation of Lithuania. He couldn't fight but he could resist. It would be all he could do. Leaving his home, running for another, somewhere where Ivan might not find him, he gave one last thought to Alfred--it had been almost a year since the war began. The US really wasn't coming, were they?
----------
More than two years after the war began, Toris was in a basement in Kaunas when the news of Pearl Harbor came across the airwaves. This was what it took, then--it took the Japanese daring to attack the United States on his own land to get the latter to consider entering the war. Toris couldn't feel too much pity for the loss of life at the military base in Hawaii. Millions of others had already died in the war, on all sides. Thousands of his own people had already been forcibly removed to Siberia.
After the fall of France Toris had almost thought it was over. And even now things were only marginally brighter. He hadn't heard from Feliks since the war had begun--not him, not Eduard or Raivis, not Matthew or England or France, not even Germany. He had been alone and on the run since Ivan had broken down his door. What he would not do was let Ivan keep him prisoner until this war was over. That would not happen.
It didn't matter who was occupying the country--whether it was Germany or the Soviets. Toris could only resist, doggedly, knowing that if the Allies did not win the war, he would almost certainly end up with Ivan again; and then he knew he'd pay for his resistance, personal or national.
Maybe it was the war that numbed him, or made him stronger. Maybe it was the sheer chaos, the presence of soldiers, the whispers of resistance amid his underground people. Maybe it was the idea that Poland burned not so far away, that the rumors coming out of Germany were so heinous as to be unbelievable, that the idea of genocide was--stamped, pressed, into the war so much as to be a part of it, and so ridiculous that--really--did anyone really want to kill a whole segment of people--?
Maybe the idea desensitized him, along with everything else. Desensitized his people, and so him. But he couldn't feel pity for Ivan anymore...even though he knew Ivan was merely mad, a tool of his own nation, and his nation a tool of its government. Even if Ivan was happy with that. He couldn't bring himself to miss Ivan, even the sweet side of him--though he had the feeling that if he had to see that sweetness again, he would cave to it.
And then
quite abruptly
the war was over.
----------
Or it was almost over. Japan was still fighting viciously; that was a conflict that belonged almost entirely to the United States. But Germany had surrendered unconditionally. It seemed vaguely arrogant of the Allies to meet inside occupied Germany, at Potsdam, where--Toris supposed--quite a few fates would be decided.
Toris went to Potsdam himself. He wasn't entirely sure why. Just that...he wasn't sure what would happen to him, if he didn't. He had to hear for himself that he would be free again, without Soviet influence.
Maybe the conference was nearly over, by the time Toris reached it. The doors of Cecilienhof were all shut up tight, except for one, a hallway that led to a tranquil inner courtyard. The walls were hedges, the benches were rounded stone. It had once been the home of a prince but it seemed pale now. All of Germany did. The rumors of genocide were turning out to be true and that fact seemed to cast a very long shadow across the country. Toris wondered briefly where Germany himself was now.
"Ouch, you git, be gentle," England scolded. Toris heard Alfred's childish giggle and it melted his heart. He picked up his pace, wanting to see Alfred again...wanting that reassuring grin, that manic laugh. Maybe even to swing dance--yes--dancing sounded like more fun than he'd had in years...
England and Alfred were sitting on the stone bench together. England's arm was in a sling, so his coat was draped over one shoulder. Toris came up on them from behind, just in time to see Alfred wriggle his own arm around England, and brace the heel of his hand on the stone just behind him. He was looking down at England and grinning playfully.
"C'mon, Iggy, smile," he invited. "I haven't seen you smile since I showed up to help you guys fight. Or are smiles, like, on ration for you?"
England turned his face up to Alfred's disapprovingly, eyebrows knit, but then relented.
"You're foolish," he grumbled, and pecked Alfred on the lips lightly. The smile was infectious; the corners of England's mouth lifted. Alfred laughed and turned his face away.
"I guess that's all I'll get out of you."
Toris stopped, stood very still. Of course he's forgotten me, he thought. How silly of me. England was what he wanted, after all.
England was the one who caught a glimpse of Toris over Alfred's arm. He blinked his green eyes. "Hello," he said, and smiled cordially, in a way that Alfred would've been jealous of. "How are you, Lithuania?"
Alfred jerked and twisted around. He had cotton taped over the eye that Toris hadn't seen yet, but he bowled up off his seat and hurried around the bench. He'd stopped smiling, for some reason.
"Hey," he said, reaching Toris, "hey, hey Liet..."
Toris just looked up at him mutely. He looked healthy, except for the eye. He even looked fuller than he'd been when Toris had left. Obviously war had picked his economy right back up. He practically glowed beside England.
He knew he looked thin and pale and gaunt now. More so than before. Alfred's brow wrinkled and his hands hovered, like he wanted to take hold of Toris.
"Um, yeah," he said, wiping his hands on his suit pants, "how are you?"
Toris opened his mouth and shut it again, and then said, "Tired."
What was he supposed to say? He'd been shot and beaten, he'd been running and hiding, he'd been resisting. He was still in one piece.
"Where is Feliks?" he heard himself ask abruptly. Alfred glanced at England.
"In Poland, naturally," England said, but didn't look comfortable. "He...suffered quite a lot."
Toris said nothing. He looked up at the palace, and he didn't need to really say anything to tell England and Alfred what was on his mind.
"A lot is going to change," England said quietly.
"Now, Liet," Alfred said bracingly, and when Toris looked at him again he looked nervous. "You know I can't do anything, it's all Truman now."
"It isn't our choice," England agreed. "And Stalin makes his demands."
"And there's so many people that don't want it to happen," Alfred continued, "the part of me that just doesn't want the Commies to have it, the part of me that's still Lithuanian--"
"Oh," Toris said, numbly surprised. "So I'm being given up."
"That's..." Alfred faltered. "...I'm really sorry, Liet."
Toris let his eyes wander to study the ground. "I'm really," he said, "really going back to be with Russia?"
England grimaced. "The agreement's something to the effect that the USSR's borders will end up including the entirety of Lithuania, yes," he admitted. "Along with Estonia and Latvia..."
Toris closed his eyes, head ringing. After all that.
"You won the war though," he murmured. "Why is this happening?"
"Liet, Russia was the one that got to Berlin," Alfred explained. "We can't ignore him--Liet, come on, look at me," he added desperately, taking Toris's face in his hands and turning it to him. "Please? I'm sorry."
"Sorry won't help," Toris said flatly. "Sorry won't help."
Alfred shot a look at England, and then put his arms around Toris, hugging him tight. "I'm still sorry," he murmured, leaning so his lips were next to Toris's ear. He held Toris tight, and all Toris could do was let him.
"You have never," he whispered, "never had to do this in your life, Alfred. You've never had to accept this."
"I know, I'm lucky," Alfred muttered. "I know, Liet."
Liet closed his eyes and hid his face in Alfred's shoulder. Alfred held him a little tighter, and then whispered, "You know, this wasn't ever an affair to me. This wasn't...I really do love you, Liet, it's not like I ever forgot."
"We all sleep around," Toris murmured, quoting France. "It's not like I can stop you. It's not like you belong to me."
"He can't keep you forever," Alfred told him. "Okay? He's...he can't. I'm sorry."
Someone cleared their throat. Toris thought it was England until Alfred looked up and drew him a little tighter, because Ivan had just emerged from the hall, gaunt but placid.
"You are hugging my territory," Ivan said very mildly. Alfred didn't let go.
"It's not that way," he said defiantly, but Ivan shook his head.
"Only on paper," he said, "is he still Lithuania at all."
"Let him go, Alfred," England said very quietly. Alfred hesitated, and then released Toris, straightening. He looked down at Toris with a sort of mute apology.
Toris was quiet for a moment. "It was nice to see you both again," he said quietly, and turned, and left them. Ivan joined him as they left Cecilienhof, walked in stride with him. It didn't feel final, his exit with Ivan. It didn't feel, this time, as though he'd never see Alfred again.
After all, nothing lasted forever.
----------
The 'setup' Toris is talking about is the infamous Gleiwitz Incident.
Germany invades Poland on Sept 1 1939.
Britain and France declare war on Germany September 3.
The United States and Japan declare neutrality on September 4.
Canada goes to war September 7.
Germany tries to get Lithuania to help them attack Poland, but is refused. Subsequently, Lithuania is given over to the Soviet sphere of influence under that secrete protocol in the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.
Antanas Smetona was indeed in anti-Czarist organizations, and sorry that he's a flat character here, but it's hard to find anything on what he was like as a person.
Lithuania signs that Mutual Agreement Pact with the USSR on October 10, 1939.
The United States passes the U.S. Neutrality Act, which says they'll sell arms to the Allies, but only for cash.
June 1940: USSR issues an ultimatum to Lithuania. Smetona flees the country so the government can't accept it legally like they wanted to, and he'll end up in South Ohio of all places. The first Soviet occupation begins.
August 3 1940: USSR annexes Lithuania.
December 7, 1941: Pearl Harbor is attacked. The US declares war on Japan, and then later on Germany and Italy.
Lithuania was big on resistance during World War II and even afterward.
The Potsdam Agreement put Lithuania along with other territories under Soviet control. Look under article V.
OH GOD LENGTH. SO LONG. orz