(no subject)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DARLING LILICHEN! ILU!
Have a present.
Ukraine tied and retied the ribbon around her neck for the eighty-eighth time. She was anxious, tapping her nails on the arm of her chair, on the back of the seat in front of her, on the window that clearly displayed the ocean thirty thousand feet below her.
She was flying towards...well, towards the person that gave her the ribbon she wore. He had given it to her on the first of their too-few secret meetings, consisting of her sneaking out on the occasions her brother was too busy to note her absence and only one or two stolen kisses. She would return and Russia would frown, wondering if he only imagined the hint of maple underneath the smell of the snow that surrounded them all.
Her brother had looked at her suspiciously when he had accepted her independence too fast for a country so far west, and Ukraine had turned away from him and towards the celebrations, trying to fight her smile. That had been only a week or so ago, and now she fought the tears threatening to escape, joy for her people and for herself and for her Canada, so full of her children that she could feel his heart beating ever so faintly next to hers.
She had tried to sleep, drifting off a couple of times on this too-long flight with its multiple stops, but she was always jerked awake by turbulence, by the fear that her brother would step onto the plane with his pipe and that look on his face. She didn't like that her baby brother would try to intimidate her, the baby boy she used to tuck into the covers on top of the pechka, the boy who would come into the kitchen with sunflowers he had picked for her and little Bela. She worried for him, for what he had become, and the transatlantic flight only served to keep her fretting rather than sleeping.
But the beating of the heart that was not hers became stronger as the plane grew closer to its destination, and as they landed on the tarmac, Ukraine's heart was eclipsed. She felt as though her chest would burst and she once again willed away the tears forming from the force of love this double-heart pounded through her body.
She stepped into the arrivals lounge, clutching her bag so tightly her knuckles were white. She didn't need to scan the room; the shock of honey-blond hair she so loved was there, just a ways away, the crowd swarming around him. They walked towards each other calmly, Ukraine struggling to keep each footstep even, to not run, to not fall. They stopped just in front of each other, their eyes darting over the other's face, their hearts beating in time.
Canada smiled and gently reached out and placed his hand over hers on the handle of her bag. Ukraine finally cried, the tears catching on the upturned corners of her smile.
Have a present.
Ukraine tied and retied the ribbon around her neck for the eighty-eighth time. She was anxious, tapping her nails on the arm of her chair, on the back of the seat in front of her, on the window that clearly displayed the ocean thirty thousand feet below her.
She was flying towards...well, towards the person that gave her the ribbon she wore. He had given it to her on the first of their too-few secret meetings, consisting of her sneaking out on the occasions her brother was too busy to note her absence and only one or two stolen kisses. She would return and Russia would frown, wondering if he only imagined the hint of maple underneath the smell of the snow that surrounded them all.
Her brother had looked at her suspiciously when he had accepted her independence too fast for a country so far west, and Ukraine had turned away from him and towards the celebrations, trying to fight her smile. That had been only a week or so ago, and now she fought the tears threatening to escape, joy for her people and for herself and for her Canada, so full of her children that she could feel his heart beating ever so faintly next to hers.
She had tried to sleep, drifting off a couple of times on this too-long flight with its multiple stops, but she was always jerked awake by turbulence, by the fear that her brother would step onto the plane with his pipe and that look on his face. She didn't like that her baby brother would try to intimidate her, the baby boy she used to tuck into the covers on top of the pechka, the boy who would come into the kitchen with sunflowers he had picked for her and little Bela. She worried for him, for what he had become, and the transatlantic flight only served to keep her fretting rather than sleeping.
But the beating of the heart that was not hers became stronger as the plane grew closer to its destination, and as they landed on the tarmac, Ukraine's heart was eclipsed. She felt as though her chest would burst and she once again willed away the tears forming from the force of love this double-heart pounded through her body.
She stepped into the arrivals lounge, clutching her bag so tightly her knuckles were white. She didn't need to scan the room; the shock of honey-blond hair she so loved was there, just a ways away, the crowd swarming around him. They walked towards each other calmly, Ukraine struggling to keep each footstep even, to not run, to not fall. They stopped just in front of each other, their eyes darting over the other's face, their hearts beating in time.
Canada smiled and gently reached out and placed his hand over hers on the handle of her bag. Ukraine finally cried, the tears catching on the upturned corners of her smile.