Red Ascent: Sequel to Red Fall 26-28/?
A steaming cup was set before him, the vapors curling and dissipating into the somewhat chilly air. The china was chipped and cracked, the discrepancies in the pattern almost hidden by careful repair. Almost.
“I’m sorry I have to give you such poor china; I-I usually don’t have any guests,” his hostess said, politely embarrassed and flustered over its pitiable condition.
Slowly bobbing his head, Alfred took a tiny sip of the tea, searing liquid rushing over his lips; slightly stale, perhaps, but with an underlying flavor of peppermint, a sweetness that warmed from the inside. It wasn’t the taste that mattered, but the thought.
Though this certainly hadn’t been what he was expecting.
As soon as the country’s name had been spoken, the halls had become painfully silent, even deadly so. He had moved to repeat himself, but in three strides a hand had covered the lower half of his face, smooth leather brushing roughly against his lips.
“You say dangerous things, General; though I suppose it would be America, now, yes?” Ukraine spoke softly, carefully surveying the area for unwanted guests, “Such things are better said in other places; follow me.”
And how could he have refused?
Seating herself opposite to him, Ukraine set down her own cup on the tablecloth, fabric that was worn and yellow with age. She had shed her uniform jacket and gloves, clad in recognizable suspenders and crisp shirt, though the colors had darkened considerably to ravens and rubies. Shifting uncomfortably, Alfred returned his cup to the saucer, grasping his hands together on the table.
Did she know-know about his newly acquired memories of the past? And if she did-
Then whose side was she on?
He had always liked Ukraine; sure, he hadn’t know her but so well, but she had always had a smile for him, a kind word for a bad day, spoken in a gentle, caring tone; but if she was on Ivan’s side, then he would have to-have to…
He would have to silence that voice.
“So, um, Ukraine, why is it-”
“You remember; don’t you, Mr. America?”
The American felt his mouth dry, his throat constricting excruciatingly; as he tried to swallow the dust coating his tongue, he attempted to fumble together a response.
“W-what? I-I’m not sure w-what-”
Light laughter, airy, fleeting giggles of mirth.
“There is no need to lie; don’t you see? Your eyes give you away,” she said delicately, taking one of his cold hands into her warm one, “I’m on your side.”
With this admission, Alfred visibly relaxed, the tension ebbing away as he let her heat sink into his frozen fingers. Releasing a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, he gave her hand a squeeze, savoring the feel of the softness.
“You’ve changed a lot,” he whispered, a small smile tipping the corners of his mouth upwards. Fingering a few long strands of pale blond, she met his gaze, her eyes a mix of joy and unbearable sorrow.
“Everyone has changed, dear America,” she said quietly, sadly as she withdrew from his grip, stirring the already dissolved sugar in her cup, “But you most of all.”
Swallowing hard, the azure-eyed man allowed his grin to tremble as he took another sip of tea, the mint taste swirling on his tongue.
“I-I can’t remember anything from the time I’ve spent under-I-I mean with-here,” Alfred managed with difficulty, “The last twenty years are almost completely blank to me.” Pausing only briefly, Ukraine continued to turn the liquid, her spoon clinking unceremoniously against the porcelain.
“Perhaps-it is for the best.”
Alfred looked up in surprise, eyebrows arching in shock. She merely met this with a cheerless smile, demurely returning her hands to her lap.
“You would not like the person you were, Mr. America,” she murmured lowly; locking their gazes, the bespectacled man could see the flickerings of remembrance in her eyes.
“What do you mean?” he managed to whisper hoarsely.
“I do not recall when it was-when I met the new you for the first time,” she began, her voice almost hypnotizing in tone, “but I remember what happened with aching detail. My brother presented you to me, a gentle, guiding hand pressed at your lower back. ‘Older sister,’ he said pleasantly, ‘You know of Alfred, da? Little one, say hello.’”
Her mind was somewhere far away, trapped in the beginnings of dark, shadowy times; her stare was glassy and unfocused.
“Shyly, ever so shyly, you shifted in front of me, drowning in your too big uniform and hiding behind those golden strands of hair. Trembling, you took my hand, placing a light, chaste brush of a kiss upon it. ‘Miss Yekaterina,’ you said, trying so hard to summon a smile, ‘it is an honor to meet one of Moth-um, Ivan’s family. I hope we will become very close.’”
Her eyes drew back into the present, returning to the uncomfortable silence of the situation; the briefest pause marked her arrival.
“Not Ukraine, but Yekaterina; not America, but Alfred; you were barely a shell of what you used to be, then. And there was nothing I could do but watch as Ivan led you further into the descent-watch as he took you to the darkness and beyond.”
His grip on the cup handle was harder than it should have been, he noticed, so he lessened his hold, trying to distract himself with a few tastes of hot liquid. Tucking long strands of hair behind her ear, she began to speak.
“I meant what I said, however; I am on your side. I will provide everything that I can for you, give you all I have, tell you all you want to know.”
Immediate response.
“I want the truth.”
Again, sorrow twisted the corners of her lips upwards, though doing nothing to mar the beauty of her face; it seemed as if the smile fit her countenance.
“You are saying dangerous things once again, Mr. America,” she warned gently, “if you are truly aware of what you ask for, I can do nothing but give it to you.”
Unflinchingly he met her gaze.
“What happened to our friends?”
What flashed across her face?
Regret? Happiness?
He honestly couldn’t tell.
“Many of them cannot be called friends anymore, dear America,” Ukraine said, studying her hands, “Some joined the Resistance, as you already know, but just as many have conformed to the new boundaries of society.”
“Conformed?” Alfred mumbled, the words feeling foreign and strange on his lips.
“They integrated into high society, into the families of the still rich and powerful or they were placed under Ivan’s direct command, buried somewhere deep within the fort, places you were and are never met to go. Some changed willingly, accepting the new situation and rules; others,” Ukraine paused as she searched for words to express her meaning, “-others did not.”
“Which ones?”
“I do not know about the whereabouts of all of them,” a speech spoken to her lap, pained and guilty, “I mainly know Resistance members; I cannot help you much there.”
For some reason, Alfred felt as if that wasn’t the whole truth, the entire story; but, he didn’t want to press his only available source of information too hard, too fast; already she looked to be in the beginnings of tears. At the mention of the Resistance, however, another question quickly came to mind.
“What happened to Lithuania’s eye?”
His question was met with deathly quiet, and when he looked up, he saw her nibbling at her bottom lip, anxiety smeared across her forehead.
“Ukraine.”
Still no answer.
“Ukraine, you prom-”
“Acid.”
It was now his turn to be silenced.
“Acid was poured into his eye, causing permanent, irreversible blindness in the one sight; it was a punishment; a punishment for initially refusing to fight in the planned war,” she said, her voice oddly detached. Snarling, Alfred tightly fingered the tablecloth.
“That-that bastard, Ivan is gonna get-”
“No, America.”
“W-what?”
“It was not my brother,” she said, the smile even more broken than before, “you were the one that did it.”
No.
No-no…
Toris had been the first one to accept him, to take him back after his long, long ordeal, even saying that the American had had the hardest trial of all. He had held him while he cried, comforted him when he had doubted, smiled at him-
The barest brush of lips against his forehead.
‘I believe in you.’
Inhale. Exhale. Inhaleexhale. Inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale-
“Mr. America?”
Oh god; oh, god- what had he done?
“Mr. America!”
Hatred; he deserved hatred instead of love-
“America!”
Click.
He felt it slipping away, something cold and vile taking over, deadening the blood pumping through his veins. In one indiscriminate sweep, Alfred knocked the tea cups and saucers to the floor, the shattering echoing loudly as the tablecloth ripped with a muted split.
“You’re lying!” he hissed violently, standing, eyes burning as he moved to push over his chair as well, “YOU”RE LYING!”
And, suddenly, his head was resting against an ample breast, arms cradled protectively around his neck and head. Though he struggled briefly, the anger began to fade away, the pure rage drowsing to sleep once again. Sparing a dazed glance to the broken bits of china, he began to sob, wrapping his arms around Ukraine’s slight waist as he leaned against her.
“It is alright, dear America,” she said, the ever present, sad smile still in place, “let it all out; you have been forgiven.” Murmuring foreign endearments into his hair, she slowly rocked him in place, humming a soft lullaby to calm him.
He wanted to say he was sorry, to apologize over and over until the end of time, but his throat was too tight, his vision to blurred to function; taking a shuddering breath, he continued to cry into her shoulder, dotting her shirt with warm tears.
Why was did it have to be this way?
And then there was a knock at the door.