(Fanfiction) Tell Me Why He Cares (2/?)

[yaoi_rox_me_sox]

Title: Tell Me Why He Cares (2/?)
Character(s)/pairing(s): America, Belarus, Russia, England, Canada, Ukraine, possibly others; America/Belarus, mentions of past Russia/America, one-sided Belarus/Russia (basically awkward love triangle. That Russia isn't aware exists.)
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for language. Later the rating may go up.
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of previous gay, incestuous feelings, BELARUS, coffee addiction, later there may be a sex scene, not sure yet.
Summary: “If I want Brother to give me attention, I must learn what it is about you that he finds desirable.” With those words America finds himself involved with Belarus in ways neither of them expected.



“Do you like brother?” America looked up, searching Belarus’s expression. There was no death threat in her eyes, so he assumed she was asking and not accusing. This didn’t change his answer either way however.

“Nope.” He went back to his work, smirking when she look at him pointedly, agitated with his response and lack of explanation. America glanced back up and, in a faux surprised voice, asked, “Oh, sorry, did you want more of an answer than that?”

“America,” Belarus started, and if he wasn’t just imagining things it looked like she was reaching under her skirt for the knife she had strapped there. That was always a good sign that the joke had gone too far for her liking. America put up his hands in a joking sort of surrender, feeling the slightest of a cold sweat break out across his brow.

“Alright, alright, I get it.” He put his pen down next to the papers he had been working on, considering how best to continue. “Look, let’s be honest for a second, ok Bela?”

“Belarus.”

“I know your brother isn’t a completely bad guy,” America said, ignoring her correction. And he wasn’t completely lying; he and Russia had gotten along once upon a time. That was however before he went crazy. Since the collapse of the USSR though, he seemed to be emerging from his insanity, occasionally showing signs of who he once was. “But let’s be frank: he and I sort of were at war for, oh, about forty years, give or take.”

“But you have been at war with many countries with whom you get along now,” Belarus pointed out. “Like England.”

“Well, yeah,” America admitted, scratching the back of his neck, “But see, England’s family, so I had more to gain by moving on from that. Russia though?” Here he shrugs. “Frankly there’s no reason to overlook all the shit he did.”

“But then why were you sexually involved--?”

“Let’s not talk about that, ok?”

It was quiet for bit, and seeing no change of expression America picked up his pen to begin working again when Belarus spoke again. “But what about just who he is? If you had not had the Cold War?”

America sighed. “Look, he’s a commie, ok? And I don’t deal well with those socialist types.”

“Your brother Canada has socialized healthcare though, does he not?” What was with this girl and pointing out all the contradictions in his life? America had to take a deep breath and think about that one.

“Well, see, Canada can’t help it. He’s too nice to everyone and ends up hanging out with a bad crowd. He can’t help but be peer-pressured into being a socialist! I told him not to hang out with Cuba, and to this day he won’t listen to me about how Netherlands is getting him hooked on dope, and nothing personal, but he even hangs out with your sister.”

There was a distinct chill that ran through the room and America could have sworn it got a bit darker. Belarus peered out at him from under the fringe of her bangs and he thought for a moment he may turn to stone.

“No one,” she starts, deep and low and deadly as she actually grabs the handle of the knife and slides it out of its sheathe, “talks badly about my sister.”

America was up on his feet and physically retreating back a foot or two, stammering, “Whoa, whoa, wait, I don’t mean she’s a bad person, I mean, it’s just that she associates with your brother--”

“You dare insult my brother?” Ok, the creepy I’m-going-to-kill-you smile was seriously disconcerting. Belarus got to her feet, bent over a bit so that her hair fell to the sides of her face. America could swear her eyes were glinting with malice from behind the silken hair. She started to go around the table and he started moving the other way, doing his best to keep the table between them.

“Wait wait wait I just mean - shit put that away - look, she could be giving Mattie socialist ideas and - seriously fuck is that necessary?” Belarus, finding the desk coming between her and her victim jumped onto it. America would deny it to his grave but deep down he knew he screamed like a girl. “I’m sorry, I take it back, I take it back!”

America was backed up against the wall, the knife tip pressed just under his chin. The freakish glint was gone from her eyes, but Belarus still looked ready to kill in an instant.

“Do you really?”

“Yes! I-I guess I shouldn’t judge your sister, she’s a nice person, please take the knife away from my throat.” Thankfully her expression mellowed back into the usual apathetic expression and she spun on her heel, sheathing the knife. America noted the amount of leg this granted him the privilege of seeing before wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

After watching Belarus carefully for a minute or two America finally moved back to his desk, gingerly sitting in the chair. He nearly jumped back out of it when Belarus spoke again.

“Besides, it is your brother who is the worrying one. I do not see why Hannah enjoys his company.”

America felt his eye twitch and glowered up at Belarus, asking, “Excuse me?”

“I am saying your brother is a bad influence on my sister.”
America found himself on his feet again, palms planted on the desk surface as he smiled at her darkly. “Are you really now?”

The thoughts going through Belarus’s mind didn’t make themselves apparent, but they weren’t fearful ones as America had been trying for. In fact, he could have sworn it looked like she was looking into a mirror.

“So, you care for your own brother?” she asked. America blinked, considered the knife-wielding nation before him, and nodded.

“Course I do. I don’t want to marry him, but I still love him.”

“What would you do if I did not take back my insult?”

“Well, I’d feel bad beating you up since you’re a girl, so I’d probably just threaten you.”

“With a knife?”

“Nah, I’m more of a gun person.”

Belarus nodded. “That is reasonable. I will not insult your brother if you promise not to insult my siblings.”

“Only Ukraine.”

“Brother too.”

“Nope. One sibling for one sibling.”

“Then what if I promise also to not insult England?”

“You think I care if you insult Arthur?”

Belarus gazed at him contemplatively before nodding. “Alright. I will not insult Canada, you do not insult Hannah.” America couldn’t help letting the darkness of the smile fall away, leaving only an agreeable grin on his face.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Bela!” He reached out to grab her hand, shaking it up and down before releasing it and settling back into his seat. Belarus looked at him in shook, not quite sure what had just transpired between their hands. Finally her face colored just the slightest and she glanced away.

“You will call me Belarus.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

If America could ignore the death threat at knife point and his own glaring daggers at Belarus - which was worryingly easier to do than it should have been - the atmosphere almost became one of camaraderie. Just a couple of violently protective siblings enjoying coffee and cocoa whilst one stalked the other.

America was starting to consider England’s opinion that he was insane.

After having spent over a week observing him, the last few days of which he actually interacted with her by choice, Belarus had come to notice several of America’s little habits and unconscious signals. When he tapped his finger it meant he wanted some coffee. When he was working hard but was stumped on a particular problem, difficulty, or even just something as simple as trying to decide on his word choice, he would drink some coffee. When talking to people on the phone - when he wasn’t calling them to excitedly tell them something but rather was being talked to or reprimanded - he would slump forward on his desk, rest his head on his hand that was propped on the desk, and stare longingly at his coffee.

Belarus didn’t quite understand this obsession with coffee that America had, but it was certainly quite an addiction. It was nearly as bad as Brother’s love of Vodka. Sometimes she was even tempted to say the American was further gone into his affair with his beverage, and that was quite a frightening thought to behold. America’s solution to most all things was coffee.

Today though, America was different. He was twitchy. He kept looking out the window. He tapped with his fingers what Belarus thought was a medley of dozens of different American songs against the wooden desk. He couldn’t look at his paper for longer than a minute or two before becoming distracted, looking at the wall where the bright sun light coming through the window landed.

And yet not once did America reach for the iced mocha he always had stowed away in his mini-fridge.

A small part of Belarus wanted to ask what was on the other’s mind, but she quickly reconsidered. No doubt the fool would take it as her having actual interest in his personal well-being, and that just wouldn’t stand. She was here to observe and understand him for the simple matter of finding what Brother found appealing. It had nothing to do with feelings for the idiotic American. None at all.

At. All.

It did not take long to find out however as suddenly America was on his feet, a brilliant smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Bela, let’s get out of here!”

“Belarus,” she clarified, yet again. How much longer was he going to continue with acting so familiar? “and what do you mean?”

“Outside!” America practically cheered. It looked to Belarus as if he was going to trip over himself in his excitement. “Come on, we’ve been cooped up for almost two weeks because of all this UN shit. And it’s sunny out.”

“But you have work, yes?”

“I can do it later,” America assured with that annoying smile. “Work can wait, but this sunny day won’t!”

Belarus stared at him quizzically. “There will be many more sunny days.”

“But I want to enjoy this one,” he insisted as he got to his feet, already putting all his paper work away. “It’ll be fun - we’ll go to the park!”

Belarus opened her mouth to object - they were nations, they had hundreds upon thousands of days of good weather ahead of them, and paper work certainly couldn’t wait - but didn’t have enough time to do much more than squeak as she was yanked to her feet and pulled out the door.

America’s hand was hot against her wrist and Belarus couldn’t help but scold herself for enjoying the warmth seeping into her body from the contact.

What was worse however was how his hand slipped its way into hers and they didn’t separate until they reached the park, huffing and puffing from all the running and jumping around. When America turned and grinned before noticing the connection of their hands, he flushed ever so slightly and let go, calling for them to walk around the park some to cool off.
Belarus liked his flustered expression. It was… charming.

She stopped in the middle of the path, her eyes wide as she watched the back of America’s walking form. Had she really just referred to this ridiculous, coffee-chugging, hyperactive, idiotic fool of a nation as charming?

When America turned and asked her what was wrong, smiling as brightly as the sun warming his body, Belarus started to worry about where this mission was heading. Certainly she wanted to find out what Brother found intriguing about America, but she had never planned on being charmed herself.

Begrudgingly she followed America, keeping her eyes straight ahead at all times and reminding herself of cold winters sitting next to her beloved Brother.

With every step the brilliant sunlight further melted the memories and left Belarus with no defense against America’s innocent queries and laughter.

America hummed happily to himself as he watched the man in the stall pile ice cream on the cones. It was the second time that week that he had dragged Belarus from his office to get away from all the paperwork and silence. The first time, after once around the park, she had insisted that he get back to work as the next day was an important meeting for the Security Council. Which it was. So with that America conceded and they returned. The day after they saw little of one another; America had his long, arduous meetings while Belarus went out with her sister to do whatever it was they did. Belarus refused to comment on what they had done. But judging from the fancy outfit Ukraine wore the next day, he suspected they had been out shopping.

The idea of Belarus going out and shopping with her sister like a normal girl was both outlandish and deeply appealing. Maybe that was what did him in when they met again, only the second day after they had left the office together. He didn’t even sit at his desk, instead tossing his briefcase onto the surface and sloughing off his suit jacket before proclaiming he was taking the day off.

And by he, he meant the both of them.

Belarus was less then pleased to hear this, but America insisted that he was going to go out whether she came or not. But really, if she wanted to observe him, she may want to come along too. It was almost like blackmail, but he felt no guilt in it.

And that was how America found himself in Central Park, buying ice cream to bring back to Belarus who he had left overlooking the pond. Somehow the whole thing left him unable to stop smiling.

Finally the man at the stall placed the two cones - one a chocolate-vanilla swirl and the other a plain vanilla that he had asked the man to pour rainbow sprinkles over - into the little tray and told America the cost. He dug through his pocket, chuckling as if to say, “Oh, right, money, forgot about that with all these far more important thoughts.”

Once he had the money out and the man was taking it he grinned at America. “Nice day for a date, hmm?”

America blinked and glanced away, laughing awkwardly. “No, no, it’s not like that, just taking a friend out - er, well, no, maybe not a friend, but a fellow worker that I’ve gotten to know? Not like out on a date of course, but just as not-really-friends, you know?”

The man broke out in a bark of a laugh, shaking his head. “Relax kid! Don’t worry so much about it and just have a good time.”

“But really, it’s not!”

“Yeah, yeah, just get going before she gets bored,” the man replied with a wink.

America pouted his lip but let it drop. He would never admit it to anyone, but he had little evidence to combat the claim. And how could he no matter how assuredly he refused to even admit to himself, in truth he didn’t want to deny it.

Shaking his head, America tossed all his thoughts aside and with a skip in his step went to find Belarus. The adventure wasn’t long as she was right where he’d left her, sitting on the green grass just under the shade of a big tree. Belarus, despite her more aggressive tendencies, still had a certain lady-like quality to her. The way she folded her legs to the side; her head tilted up to watch the leaves rustle; her skirt settled around her like a barrier to keep other from getting too close.

It was no doubt his rebellious nature that made America fold his legs under himself and sit on her skirt when she didn’t immediately acknowledge his presence. Surely it had nothing to do with wanting her to always notice him or that he simply wanted to get closer to her, to move into her sphere of isolation.

Belarus startled at that, yelping and looking at him a bit shocked. America smiled apologetically as he realized she wasn’t ignoring him but was genuinely space out.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” America said, holding out her ice cream. “Peace offering?”

Giving him a wary look, Belarus took the treat from him and appeared to be inspecting it. Her brow raised just the slightest. “What are these colorful things?”

America looked back, appalled. “Wha-what do you mean? Are you telling me you’ve never had rainbow sprinkles on your ice cream?”

Belarus’s wary look turned withering as she replied, “We do not have a great need for ice cream, let alone these… how do you call them?”

“Rainbow sprinkles!”

“Yes. Those.” Despite how cool her voice sounded, the more America’s jaw dropped in horror the warmer her smile got. Certainly compared to anyone else it was still a cold smile, like comparing a summer in New York to a summer in Arizona. But anyone accustomed to New York would appreciate the warmth of its summer, and in the same way America appreciated Belarus’s smile.

Well, if he ignored the fact that she smiled warmly because she enjoyed his bewilderedness.

America suddenly grinned his megawatt grin. “Well, try it! Come on!”

Belarus shook her head at his enthusiasm but nevertheless lifted the cone to her mouth. She paused for a moment.

“Alright, but only if you get off my skirt.” America rolled his eyes but lifted his hips, shoving the skirt to the side so that he no longer sat on it.

“There. Now, try it!”

With a sigh Belarus hesitantly took the very tip of the ice cream into her mouth, looking vaguely contemplative as the substance hit her taste buds. America watched anxiously, asking, “So? Do you like it? It’s awesome, right?” Belarus did not respond, simply tasting the treat in her mouth with a flat expression. The eager nation started to bounce where he sat. “Come on! You’re killing me here!”

Belarus blew air out her nose almost like a laugh but swallowed. “It is… not bad.”

“Not bad?” America asked, aghast. “Not bad? Come on, give me something that’s not a double negative!”

“Fine,” Belarus conceded, turning her head to look away. “It is… good.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

America beamed from ear to ear at that. He had given Belarus her first taste of rainbow sprinkles, and she had liked it. On top of all that, she continued to lick her ice cream cone despite the slightest of flushes to her face.

Belarus was downright adorable when she blushed like that.

Too pleased to even be able to chide himself for the thought, America set to work devouring his own treat. He was already about half-way through when he took the time to look over at his companion again. Glancing at Belarus’s face brought him to her eating her ice cream, and before he could stop it found himself intrigued by the motions of her pink tongue. It was really, really distracting, and he would later decide that he really should have gotten her chocolate or strawberry or anything that wasn’t white and melted on her lips that way and-

Um. Well. That was certainly a funny feeling.

“America?” America blinked, realizing that Belarus had noticed his staring. Immediately the entirety of his face was filled with molten blood and before another word could be said America shoved the entirety of the rest of the ice cream, cone and all, into his mouth.

If there was one thing that could stop even the most rampant of awkward daydreams, it was a massive brain-freeze. Even as he started to recover, there was a spiking pain in the middle of his forehead and the distinct pounding of Yankee Doodle against the inside of his skull in ironic agony.

When he started to become cognizant again, America was shocked to find Belarus’s hand on his shoulder. When he looked over at her, he regretted in instantly. Belarus had bent over the slightest, looking up at his face with worry not just appearing at the corners of her eyes as would be expected, but filling them to overflowing so that even her brows knitted in slight anxiety.

The icy bits of his brain instantly melted, and he feared the sudden heat wave that would be hitting the nation so hard that Lincoln would be frowning up at him from a melted puddle that was once his monument.

And, on top of it all, he had no more ice cream to bring on another brain freeze. Shit. Not good.

Ignoring the burning heat in his cheeks, America stammered out, “M’fine, just brain freeze” and with an audible “flump” fell backwards onto his back. Out of the corner of his eyes America saw Belarus shrug - had he ever seen her do that before? - and look away, presumably at the pond across from them.

America’s brain still ached from being flash-frozen and his stomach was filled with giddy butterflies and Belarus was really rather pretty and the damned ice cream man’s words continued to mock him through the haze of his thoughts and-

--Could this be a date?

The thought was a bit terrifying, if America was to be honest with himself.

But he bit his lip, gazing up at the blue sky and willing the thought along with everything else out of his mind. He would enjoy today dammit, and that was final. Worrying about unnamed emotions was just going to be a killjoy.

They didn’t even need to be named, right? It wasn’t like it would matter in the long run. Whatever they were would either make themselves known or just go away.

What trouble could they actually cause?