Yearning to Breathe Free, epilogue
HOLY CRAP WHAT I'M SO SORRY. I was working on some things that I'm still not done with but I HAVE PUT THIS OFF LONG ENOUGH.
And painting is taking for-frickin-ever. >:I
Warnings for touchy(?) politics and mild gayness.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
It felt like being asleep. Madness felt like sleep, a long, suffocating sleep in a cold bed, when the covers were too thin but it was impossible to wake up. It felt like drowning in lukewarm water. Toris only noticed its tenuous hold on him when he had his saner spells--and then he saw it affixing itself to Eduard and Raivis, and wrapped around Ivan's shoulders like a fur mantle.
Ivan still lived in the grand old mansion that had been there when Leningrad was still Saint Petersburg. Toris remembered the Romanov children of several generations coming to visit, and how oddly gentle Ivan had been with them, like a giant, mild bear. The mansion was not so grand now. The paint flaked, the wood buckled, and most of the house still didn't have electric lighting. Red paint had gone grey over the century it had gone untouched, and now the inside of the house had a desolate, drained grey cast to it.
It had begun the same way it had been before Toris had left; the same routine, the familiar dangers. Toris cooked, Eduard kept track of Ivan's papers, Raivis cleaned. And Ivan had his moments. Often he would be just fine--half-smiling and quiet, drinking but still looking sober, satisfied and imperturbable. Sometimes his inherent sweetness would come through, and he had the habit of thanking Toris for his meals, or patting Raivis gently on the head.
But then sometimes he wasn't so kind. He was so much more paranoid than Toris remembered--before, the sound of plates shattering sounded like guns to him. Now it didn't even have to be the sound. Just the sight of a gun, or something remotely like it--little Raivis, carrying the broom like a soldier with his rifle, that had been--
It triggered something in Ivan. Some deep-seated mortal fear for his and his nation's safety that Toris had known was there but that now just seemed worse. Ivan denied it, maybe, so it escaped as mad smiles and violence...Toris and Eduard had sat together at the kitchen table, heads bowed, each gripping the other's arm in horrified silence while somewhere Raivis was shrieking. Often the assault stopped at bruises and beatings, but sometimes...
Toris swung silently between his own body and his country, like a pendulum. Sometimes he was Toris, who felt bad for poor old mad Ivan, who cooked and cleaned quietly, who missed swing dancing and hamburgers and Pepsi-Cola, who occasionally saw the kinder side of Ivan and loved that until it disappeared again. And then sometimes he was Lithuania, when the riots were at their worst and the movement for freedom and independence got the most steam--that was when he couldn't just be little old Toris anymore, that was when he felt his own identity fade into his country's.
Those were the days when he knew he was his own kind of mad. He never remembered how it began but it came back to him later as his own voice, screaming in Lithuanian words that bounced off the old walls, echoing indistinguishably in a high, strident, demanding tone. Sometimes he was lucky and Ivan wasn't home and Eduard and Raivis would merely shut him in their room and let him wear himself out, and days later his own personality would come back to find himself starving and furious and dirty. Sometimes he wasn't so lucky. He vaguely remembered Ivan rising from the table while he fell back and pulled a skinning knife from the drawer, threatening Ivan with it if he came any closer, half-raving mad and half-sane and very scared of what he was doing. The sight of the knife had set Ivan off and Eduard rushed Raivis out of the room as Ivan descended on Toris.
Eduard and Raivis had these spells as well, though maybe not so often. Toris tried not to let the spells scare him...after all, all of their kind had these moments. There were always instances in which national spirit subdued personality. Only movements of the people, though--nationwide protests, marches, revolts--only the outcry of the people could do it. Only the combined spirit of hundreds, thousands, millions.
There was little news from the outside world. Ivan had never gotten a television but Toris suspected the Soviet news wouldn't tell him everything anyways. But he listened, when he went out--and he heard snatches of stories, very often about the United States, who had shown so much aggression in the face of the Soviet Union, the capitalist pigs. The stories Toris heard surprised him; America going to war in Vietnam, America arming itself, America threatening the Soviet Union with nuclear warfare.
Toris didn't really think Alfred would want nuclear warfare. But then, he hadn't seen Alfred since Potsdam, and after that, the United States bombed Japan--who knew. Maybe America had gone mad with power. Maybe Alfred would be a very different person now.
When Sputnik made it into space it was one of the best evenings Toris had ever spent with Ivan, who was happy and laughing, pouring them all vodka himself. When the United States put a man on the moon, the mood was...subdued.
Fear of nuclear warfare combined with fear of lack of security to make Ivan ever more touchy and paranoid. More and more often he was silent and watchful, half-smiling still but wary. China used to visit a lot. Not so much, after Stalin died. The parting seemed to worsen Ivan--whether it was because he'd actually been attracted to China or because there was now another potential enemy to the southeast was debatable.
Toris watched the food dry up. The economy of Leningrad worsened to the point that food was being rationed and it was hardly enough to feed the four of them. Toris made do. After all, he'd survived the worst years of the Great Depression with Alfred--he knew how to make scraps last.
It was 1985 when Toris felt things change perceptibly. It started with Ivan's new boss limiting sales of alcohol. Ivan would be gone for most of the day and return with a single bottle of vodka--the lines had been that large. Toris thought at first that the lack of vodka would make Ivan's temperament that much more unstable, but it seemed to have the opposite effect; Ivan became very quiet and lethargic. Maybe, though, it wasn't the lack of alcohol that seemed to weigh so heavily on him. Maybe it was the fact that the Soviet Union was deteriorating.
Things had not gotten better; things were not showing signs of improvement. The previous generation's sacrifice was not making the current one's living any easier. And ever since the end of the war, Russians had begun to realize that. Toris had already known--Lithuania had already known.
It was fascinating to see Ivan change with his people. It was hard to say exactly what the change was. Not less paranoid, not more open--no--it was as though Ivan was just tired. Tired of being frightened of the United States, maybe. Toris got the feeling he was waiting for something.
Ivan's boss gave him a television. It was the first time Toris had ever used one. It was 1988 when he turned it on and found the Telegraph Agency of the Soviet Union broadcasting news on the nation's high abortion rates and widespread drug abuse and alcoholism. Then there were soap operas from Brazil and Mexico. And the strange thing--Toris had every so often craved a cold Pepsi-Cola. One day he turned on the television and saw a commercial for an American drink, featuring an American pop star. News broadcasts of US President Ronald Reagan meeting with Mikhail Gorbachev, scenes of protest in the Baltic states and Poland...
In 1989 there was video of millions of people across the Baltic states standing hand-in-hand in protest--and cameras from all over the world were watching them, and Toris knew somewhere Alfred was seeing it. The sight made his chest swell and when Ivan was not there to hear them he and Eduard and Raivis would sit and sing as well, bursting with pride for their people who would not just lie down and let their country be taken from them.
And then the Berlin Wall fell. And then Ivan's own boss condemned the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. And then everything seemed to slide downwards from there--Toris woke in the middle of the night in March of 1990 knowing, knowing that he was free. He got up and lit one of the oil lamps, and stood in front of the long mirror and pulled off his shirt even though it was chilly in the room. He turned and in the half-light studied the scars on his back, some of them half-healed and some of them old. Marks of his resistance, no one could say he had done nothing. The ones from the skinning knife were the most tender. He would not forget...his people would not forget.
He hugged Eduard and kissed Raivis's forehead the next day. He hefted his suitcase and then peeked in on Ivan, who sat heavily in front of the television, the wan electric lights playing over his face. He wasn't smiling anymore. Toris risked taking a step closer.
"How are you?" he asked in Lithuanian, just to show him--see, I am free, I will speak in my own language. Ivan didn't look at him.
"Sobering up," he said quietly, after a long, long time. There were deep shadows under his eyes. He didn't look paranoid or mad anymore, just tired and disappointed. Toris set his suitcase down for a moment and put his arms very slowly around Ivan's neck, hugging him. Ivan let him do it.
"It will be all right," Toris told him uncertainly, and brushed the cornsilk hair back. Ivan didn't answer, his strong profile sharp in the stark television light. Toris waited a moment, and then let go, retrieving his suitcase. He was almost out of the room when Ivan spoke.
"I will miss you very much, Liet," he murmured. "It will be lonely without you."
Toris looked back but Ivan was still staring at the screen. Toris hesitated, and then left.
----------
"All nations rise."
There was a rustle in the room as the nations all rose to their feet. Alfred and Arthur--Toris finally felt comfortable calling him Arthur--seemed to both be in charge, and though they grumbled at each other they worked around each other so easily Toris knew it was just a show.
"Please be seated."
Chairs scraped as everyone sat. Toris glanced sideways at Raivis and Eduard, both in new black suits and looking proud of themselves.
"We're here today to recognize three new additions to our ranks," Arthur explained. "The nations of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania are joining us, henceforth, as members of the United Nations."
Toris had noticed it when he came in--Arthur's ears were pierced. So was one of Alfred's, but he was still wearing the gold stud, whereas Arthur had taken his out; Toris could see it flashing in the light as Alfred practically trembled with what looked like excitement.
It felt like waking up--from the madness, from a long restless sleep. A lot of things had changed. Germany and his brother Prussia (Toris wasn't sure if he was Prussia now or something else, though) were seated in the tier below him. Feliks was back in his seat, or maybe he'd always been there, and he'd smiled when he saw Toris. Feliks continued to amaze Toris in that no matter what madness befell Poland, Feliks was always all right later. His hair was shorter than Toris remembered it, and he looked haunted somehow, but he was smiling and alive.
The boredom of the session was actually a relief. Toris spotted a yellow Walkman in Alfred's coat pocket. France was sneaking himself chocolates under the table. Arthur was going on determinedly, ignoring the fact that hardly anyone was listening--North Italy had his head in Germany's lap and Prussia was petting the small yellow bird that seemed to go everywhere with him. Spain had quite clearly gone to sleep and was even snoring softly. Toris smiled to himself. It was business as usual.
----------
After the session ended Toris had to dodge the throng of grumbling, content nations to reach Alfred. When he got to the dais Arthur had just left it, shouting curses, and Alfred was waiting for him.
Alfred looked a good deal older. Somehow. There was a world-weariness in his face; the mad enthusiasm that had always been there seemed to have drained a bit. He seemed less joyous, less trusting. In fact, there was a gleam of something very like paranoia in his bright blue eyes--as much as had been in Ivan's when Toris had left him. Toris reminded himself that Alfred had spent fifteen years or so at war in Vietnam and he didn't think it had gone well.
But he wrapped his arms around Toris and hugged him tight, and the wild mad strength in his arms was still there--more restrained, more reserved, but still there. He smelled like men's cologne and, strangely enough, motor oil. His hands were black with leftover grease, too, and Toris thought that was just like Alfred--if his tire had burst on the way, well, he'd just have to get out and fix it himself, right?
"Fuck, I missed you," Alfred muttered into Toris's neck. "So so much."
"I missed you too," Toris murmured, unable to stop grinning. He ran his hands through the slightly-spiked blonde hair.
"Quick, before you go away again," Alfred whispered. "I love you, okay? I didn't wanna give you up. It wasn't my choice. I love you."
"All right, all right," Toris assured him, feeling motherly, doing it. He laughed to himself, absurdly happy. "I love you too."
"Will you come back and stay with me?"
Toris paused. "I can't," he said quietly. "You know that. We all belong with our countries."
"Yeah I know," Alfred complained, lifting his head a bit and resting his chin on Toris's shoulder. "But there's so much you gotta see, Liet...all my new movies, and cars, and things are better now than they were when you left...and I bet you'd like a burger, wouldn't you??"
Toris let go of Alfred and stood back, looking up at him. "Wait," he said. "First...thank you, for everything you did for me."
Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "Well," he said, "thanks for all you did for me, Liet."
Toris looked at him for a moment, and then said, "What are we, now?"
"We are..." Alfred hummed for a while, glancing around. "We are..."
Toris tried again. "What," he said gently, "does England say?"
Alfred grinned wryly. "Iggy says he's too old for a threesome," he said. "I--he did some funny things last night. I think he tried to tell me that I can sleep with whoever I want but he screwed it up. He told me to stop thinking like a 'sodding God-fearing human being'. Which I guess means--"
"That we all sleep around," Toris finished, quoting France again. He nodded, and so did Alfred.
"So we are...whatever we want to be. If you'll have me," he added humbly, and Toris gripped his hands.
"I will," he said, hearing the foolish happiness in his voice. "Please, Mr. Jones," he added. Alfred grinned at him.
"Alfred," he reminded Toris, and leaned down and kissed him. When they parted, he said, "you'll come and stay with me sometimes, though, right?"
"I will," Toris agreed, smiling at him. "I will."
Alfred was grinning too, uncontrollably. "You will?"
"I will."
"Well," he said, in an effort to seem less enthused by that prospect, "what'll you want to do first, pretty-little-Liet?"
Toris took a breath. "Swing dance," he said, not minding that by holding Alfred's hands his were probably black with grease too now. Alfred blinked.
"It's the eighties," he said, surprised. "No one really swings anymore, Liet...but..." he squeezed Toris's hands, grin re-lighting. "But I still remember the steps if you do."
"I do," Toris assured him. "Of course I do."
---------
And that's the end! Again, I'm sorry I left it late. Eeeh. D': Footnotes!
Note: A lot of this chapter came out of my class notes on the Cold War, so that's why they're uncited.
Saint Petersburg was called Leningrad until 1991. (It was also Saint Petersburg before the Russian Revolution.)
Ivan's paranoia is loosely based on the concept of trauma triggers but the USSR in general was quite paranoid of the United States during this time.
All three Baltic States (and also Poland) continued to resist throughout their time in the Soviet Union, but Lithuania in particular was noted for it.
The Soviet Union and the United States each was convinced that the other one was eager for nuclear war. It was a giant misunderstanding in a lot of ways.
The US on July 20, 1969 after Sputnik 1 launched in 1957.
Mikhail Gorbachev becomes Soviet Premier in 1985 and begins introducing reforms, one of the first of which is limiting the sales of alcohol--the idea was to reduce widespread alcoholism in the USSR.
According to my notes--even the Russian people were about sick of the USSR by this time. The earlier generation had been told that their sacrifices would give their children an easier life, which turned out not to be true. Also, the Russians were led to believe that they had it better than everyone else until WWII, when Russian soldiers were able to see the outside world with their own eyes.
The Sino-Soviet split came about after (and in part because of) Stalin's death and played out exactly like a bad breakup but with weapons.
News in the Soviet Union was very strictly controlled until the advent of glasnost in 1988. Also, that Pepsi commercial featured Michael Jackson and was the first Western commercial on Soviet TV. 8D 8D 8D
The Baltic Way was a protest movement that helped get Gorby to denounce the secret protocol in the Molotov-Ribbentrop and got all three Baltic states that much closer to independence. And it was badass, I can't believe I'd never heard of it before.
Lithuania was the first country to declare independence, and got it in March 1990.
All three Baltic states joined the United Nations on September 17, 1991.
Alfred's 'world-weariness' comes from the general disillusionment that pervaded America during/after the Vietnam War, when many Americans were just Sick Of This Shit. Meaning, the government lying to them, the killing, the pointless war, et cetera.
...and that should be all! Thank you all so much for reading (and for sticking with me through my nonsense). Your comments made me soooooo happy, you have no idea. 8D I love this community and don't plan to stop writing for it any time soon, so I hope you will read things I write in the future!
And painting is taking for-frickin-ever. >:I
Warnings for touchy(?) politics and mild gayness.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
It felt like being asleep. Madness felt like sleep, a long, suffocating sleep in a cold bed, when the covers were too thin but it was impossible to wake up. It felt like drowning in lukewarm water. Toris only noticed its tenuous hold on him when he had his saner spells--and then he saw it affixing itself to Eduard and Raivis, and wrapped around Ivan's shoulders like a fur mantle.
Ivan still lived in the grand old mansion that had been there when Leningrad was still Saint Petersburg. Toris remembered the Romanov children of several generations coming to visit, and how oddly gentle Ivan had been with them, like a giant, mild bear. The mansion was not so grand now. The paint flaked, the wood buckled, and most of the house still didn't have electric lighting. Red paint had gone grey over the century it had gone untouched, and now the inside of the house had a desolate, drained grey cast to it.
It had begun the same way it had been before Toris had left; the same routine, the familiar dangers. Toris cooked, Eduard kept track of Ivan's papers, Raivis cleaned. And Ivan had his moments. Often he would be just fine--half-smiling and quiet, drinking but still looking sober, satisfied and imperturbable. Sometimes his inherent sweetness would come through, and he had the habit of thanking Toris for his meals, or patting Raivis gently on the head.
But then sometimes he wasn't so kind. He was so much more paranoid than Toris remembered--before, the sound of plates shattering sounded like guns to him. Now it didn't even have to be the sound. Just the sight of a gun, or something remotely like it--little Raivis, carrying the broom like a soldier with his rifle, that had been--
It triggered something in Ivan. Some deep-seated mortal fear for his and his nation's safety that Toris had known was there but that now just seemed worse. Ivan denied it, maybe, so it escaped as mad smiles and violence...Toris and Eduard had sat together at the kitchen table, heads bowed, each gripping the other's arm in horrified silence while somewhere Raivis was shrieking. Often the assault stopped at bruises and beatings, but sometimes...
Toris swung silently between his own body and his country, like a pendulum. Sometimes he was Toris, who felt bad for poor old mad Ivan, who cooked and cleaned quietly, who missed swing dancing and hamburgers and Pepsi-Cola, who occasionally saw the kinder side of Ivan and loved that until it disappeared again. And then sometimes he was Lithuania, when the riots were at their worst and the movement for freedom and independence got the most steam--that was when he couldn't just be little old Toris anymore, that was when he felt his own identity fade into his country's.
Those were the days when he knew he was his own kind of mad. He never remembered how it began but it came back to him later as his own voice, screaming in Lithuanian words that bounced off the old walls, echoing indistinguishably in a high, strident, demanding tone. Sometimes he was lucky and Ivan wasn't home and Eduard and Raivis would merely shut him in their room and let him wear himself out, and days later his own personality would come back to find himself starving and furious and dirty. Sometimes he wasn't so lucky. He vaguely remembered Ivan rising from the table while he fell back and pulled a skinning knife from the drawer, threatening Ivan with it if he came any closer, half-raving mad and half-sane and very scared of what he was doing. The sight of the knife had set Ivan off and Eduard rushed Raivis out of the room as Ivan descended on Toris.
Eduard and Raivis had these spells as well, though maybe not so often. Toris tried not to let the spells scare him...after all, all of their kind had these moments. There were always instances in which national spirit subdued personality. Only movements of the people, though--nationwide protests, marches, revolts--only the outcry of the people could do it. Only the combined spirit of hundreds, thousands, millions.
There was little news from the outside world. Ivan had never gotten a television but Toris suspected the Soviet news wouldn't tell him everything anyways. But he listened, when he went out--and he heard snatches of stories, very often about the United States, who had shown so much aggression in the face of the Soviet Union, the capitalist pigs. The stories Toris heard surprised him; America going to war in Vietnam, America arming itself, America threatening the Soviet Union with nuclear warfare.
Toris didn't really think Alfred would want nuclear warfare. But then, he hadn't seen Alfred since Potsdam, and after that, the United States bombed Japan--who knew. Maybe America had gone mad with power. Maybe Alfred would be a very different person now.
When Sputnik made it into space it was one of the best evenings Toris had ever spent with Ivan, who was happy and laughing, pouring them all vodka himself. When the United States put a man on the moon, the mood was...subdued.
Fear of nuclear warfare combined with fear of lack of security to make Ivan ever more touchy and paranoid. More and more often he was silent and watchful, half-smiling still but wary. China used to visit a lot. Not so much, after Stalin died. The parting seemed to worsen Ivan--whether it was because he'd actually been attracted to China or because there was now another potential enemy to the southeast was debatable.
Toris watched the food dry up. The economy of Leningrad worsened to the point that food was being rationed and it was hardly enough to feed the four of them. Toris made do. After all, he'd survived the worst years of the Great Depression with Alfred--he knew how to make scraps last.
It was 1985 when Toris felt things change perceptibly. It started with Ivan's new boss limiting sales of alcohol. Ivan would be gone for most of the day and return with a single bottle of vodka--the lines had been that large. Toris thought at first that the lack of vodka would make Ivan's temperament that much more unstable, but it seemed to have the opposite effect; Ivan became very quiet and lethargic. Maybe, though, it wasn't the lack of alcohol that seemed to weigh so heavily on him. Maybe it was the fact that the Soviet Union was deteriorating.
Things had not gotten better; things were not showing signs of improvement. The previous generation's sacrifice was not making the current one's living any easier. And ever since the end of the war, Russians had begun to realize that. Toris had already known--Lithuania had already known.
It was fascinating to see Ivan change with his people. It was hard to say exactly what the change was. Not less paranoid, not more open--no--it was as though Ivan was just tired. Tired of being frightened of the United States, maybe. Toris got the feeling he was waiting for something.
Ivan's boss gave him a television. It was the first time Toris had ever used one. It was 1988 when he turned it on and found the Telegraph Agency of the Soviet Union broadcasting news on the nation's high abortion rates and widespread drug abuse and alcoholism. Then there were soap operas from Brazil and Mexico. And the strange thing--Toris had every so often craved a cold Pepsi-Cola. One day he turned on the television and saw a commercial for an American drink, featuring an American pop star. News broadcasts of US President Ronald Reagan meeting with Mikhail Gorbachev, scenes of protest in the Baltic states and Poland...
In 1989 there was video of millions of people across the Baltic states standing hand-in-hand in protest--and cameras from all over the world were watching them, and Toris knew somewhere Alfred was seeing it. The sight made his chest swell and when Ivan was not there to hear them he and Eduard and Raivis would sit and sing as well, bursting with pride for their people who would not just lie down and let their country be taken from them.
And then the Berlin Wall fell. And then Ivan's own boss condemned the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. And then everything seemed to slide downwards from there--Toris woke in the middle of the night in March of 1990 knowing, knowing that he was free. He got up and lit one of the oil lamps, and stood in front of the long mirror and pulled off his shirt even though it was chilly in the room. He turned and in the half-light studied the scars on his back, some of them half-healed and some of them old. Marks of his resistance, no one could say he had done nothing. The ones from the skinning knife were the most tender. He would not forget...his people would not forget.
He hugged Eduard and kissed Raivis's forehead the next day. He hefted his suitcase and then peeked in on Ivan, who sat heavily in front of the television, the wan electric lights playing over his face. He wasn't smiling anymore. Toris risked taking a step closer.
"How are you?" he asked in Lithuanian, just to show him--see, I am free, I will speak in my own language. Ivan didn't look at him.
"Sobering up," he said quietly, after a long, long time. There were deep shadows under his eyes. He didn't look paranoid or mad anymore, just tired and disappointed. Toris set his suitcase down for a moment and put his arms very slowly around Ivan's neck, hugging him. Ivan let him do it.
"It will be all right," Toris told him uncertainly, and brushed the cornsilk hair back. Ivan didn't answer, his strong profile sharp in the stark television light. Toris waited a moment, and then let go, retrieving his suitcase. He was almost out of the room when Ivan spoke.
"I will miss you very much, Liet," he murmured. "It will be lonely without you."
Toris looked back but Ivan was still staring at the screen. Toris hesitated, and then left.
----------
"All nations rise."
There was a rustle in the room as the nations all rose to their feet. Alfred and Arthur--Toris finally felt comfortable calling him Arthur--seemed to both be in charge, and though they grumbled at each other they worked around each other so easily Toris knew it was just a show.
"Please be seated."
Chairs scraped as everyone sat. Toris glanced sideways at Raivis and Eduard, both in new black suits and looking proud of themselves.
"We're here today to recognize three new additions to our ranks," Arthur explained. "The nations of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania are joining us, henceforth, as members of the United Nations."
Toris had noticed it when he came in--Arthur's ears were pierced. So was one of Alfred's, but he was still wearing the gold stud, whereas Arthur had taken his out; Toris could see it flashing in the light as Alfred practically trembled with what looked like excitement.
It felt like waking up--from the madness, from a long restless sleep. A lot of things had changed. Germany and his brother Prussia (Toris wasn't sure if he was Prussia now or something else, though) were seated in the tier below him. Feliks was back in his seat, or maybe he'd always been there, and he'd smiled when he saw Toris. Feliks continued to amaze Toris in that no matter what madness befell Poland, Feliks was always all right later. His hair was shorter than Toris remembered it, and he looked haunted somehow, but he was smiling and alive.
The boredom of the session was actually a relief. Toris spotted a yellow Walkman in Alfred's coat pocket. France was sneaking himself chocolates under the table. Arthur was going on determinedly, ignoring the fact that hardly anyone was listening--North Italy had his head in Germany's lap and Prussia was petting the small yellow bird that seemed to go everywhere with him. Spain had quite clearly gone to sleep and was even snoring softly. Toris smiled to himself. It was business as usual.
----------
After the session ended Toris had to dodge the throng of grumbling, content nations to reach Alfred. When he got to the dais Arthur had just left it, shouting curses, and Alfred was waiting for him.
Alfred looked a good deal older. Somehow. There was a world-weariness in his face; the mad enthusiasm that had always been there seemed to have drained a bit. He seemed less joyous, less trusting. In fact, there was a gleam of something very like paranoia in his bright blue eyes--as much as had been in Ivan's when Toris had left him. Toris reminded himself that Alfred had spent fifteen years or so at war in Vietnam and he didn't think it had gone well.
But he wrapped his arms around Toris and hugged him tight, and the wild mad strength in his arms was still there--more restrained, more reserved, but still there. He smelled like men's cologne and, strangely enough, motor oil. His hands were black with leftover grease, too, and Toris thought that was just like Alfred--if his tire had burst on the way, well, he'd just have to get out and fix it himself, right?
"Fuck, I missed you," Alfred muttered into Toris's neck. "So so much."
"I missed you too," Toris murmured, unable to stop grinning. He ran his hands through the slightly-spiked blonde hair.
"Quick, before you go away again," Alfred whispered. "I love you, okay? I didn't wanna give you up. It wasn't my choice. I love you."
"All right, all right," Toris assured him, feeling motherly, doing it. He laughed to himself, absurdly happy. "I love you too."
"Will you come back and stay with me?"
Toris paused. "I can't," he said quietly. "You know that. We all belong with our countries."
"Yeah I know," Alfred complained, lifting his head a bit and resting his chin on Toris's shoulder. "But there's so much you gotta see, Liet...all my new movies, and cars, and things are better now than they were when you left...and I bet you'd like a burger, wouldn't you??"
Toris let go of Alfred and stood back, looking up at him. "Wait," he said. "First...thank you, for everything you did for me."
Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "Well," he said, "thanks for all you did for me, Liet."
Toris looked at him for a moment, and then said, "What are we, now?"
"We are..." Alfred hummed for a while, glancing around. "We are..."
Toris tried again. "What," he said gently, "does England say?"
Alfred grinned wryly. "Iggy says he's too old for a threesome," he said. "I--he did some funny things last night. I think he tried to tell me that I can sleep with whoever I want but he screwed it up. He told me to stop thinking like a 'sodding God-fearing human being'. Which I guess means--"
"That we all sleep around," Toris finished, quoting France again. He nodded, and so did Alfred.
"So we are...whatever we want to be. If you'll have me," he added humbly, and Toris gripped his hands.
"I will," he said, hearing the foolish happiness in his voice. "Please, Mr. Jones," he added. Alfred grinned at him.
"Alfred," he reminded Toris, and leaned down and kissed him. When they parted, he said, "you'll come and stay with me sometimes, though, right?"
"I will," Toris agreed, smiling at him. "I will."
Alfred was grinning too, uncontrollably. "You will?"
"I will."
"Well," he said, in an effort to seem less enthused by that prospect, "what'll you want to do first, pretty-little-Liet?"
Toris took a breath. "Swing dance," he said, not minding that by holding Alfred's hands his were probably black with grease too now. Alfred blinked.
"It's the eighties," he said, surprised. "No one really swings anymore, Liet...but..." he squeezed Toris's hands, grin re-lighting. "But I still remember the steps if you do."
"I do," Toris assured him. "Of course I do."
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And that's the end! Again, I'm sorry I left it late. Eeeh. D': Footnotes!
Note: A lot of this chapter came out of my class notes on the Cold War, so that's why they're uncited.
Saint Petersburg was called Leningrad until 1991. (It was also Saint Petersburg before the Russian Revolution.)
Ivan's paranoia is loosely based on the concept of trauma triggers but the USSR in general was quite paranoid of the United States during this time.
All three Baltic States (and also Poland) continued to resist throughout their time in the Soviet Union, but Lithuania in particular was noted for it.
The Soviet Union and the United States each was convinced that the other one was eager for nuclear war. It was a giant misunderstanding in a lot of ways.
The US on July 20, 1969 after Sputnik 1 launched in 1957.
Mikhail Gorbachev becomes Soviet Premier in 1985 and begins introducing reforms, one of the first of which is limiting the sales of alcohol--the idea was to reduce widespread alcoholism in the USSR.
According to my notes--even the Russian people were about sick of the USSR by this time. The earlier generation had been told that their sacrifices would give their children an easier life, which turned out not to be true. Also, the Russians were led to believe that they had it better than everyone else until WWII, when Russian soldiers were able to see the outside world with their own eyes.
The Sino-Soviet split came about after (and in part because of) Stalin's death and played out exactly like a bad breakup but with weapons.
News in the Soviet Union was very strictly controlled until the advent of glasnost in 1988. Also, that Pepsi commercial featured Michael Jackson and was the first Western commercial on Soviet TV. 8D 8D 8D
The Baltic Way was a protest movement that helped get Gorby to denounce the secret protocol in the Molotov-Ribbentrop and got all three Baltic states that much closer to independence. And it was badass, I can't believe I'd never heard of it before.
Lithuania was the first country to declare independence, and got it in March 1990.
All three Baltic states joined the United Nations on September 17, 1991.
Alfred's 'world-weariness' comes from the general disillusionment that pervaded America during/after the Vietnam War, when many Americans were just Sick Of This Shit. Meaning, the government lying to them, the killing, the pointless war, et cetera.
...and that should be all! Thank you all so much for reading (and for sticking with me through my nonsense). Your comments made me soooooo happy, you have no idea. 8D I love this community and don't plan to stop writing for it any time soon, so I hope you will read things I write in the future!