(fanfiction) Tell Me Why He Cares (1/?)

[yaoi_rox_me_sox]

Title: Tell Me Why He Cares (1/?)
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.



America bumped the door to his office open with his hip, carefully balancing a coffee in each hand. With a yawn he closed it with the back of his heel and approached his desk. The iced mocha in his left hand was placed in the mini-fridge. Once it was put away America fell into his plush office chair with a sigh of relief, allowing his eyes to stay closed as he breathed in his triple shot coffee. He brought it to his mouth and almost moaned as the steam caressed his lips. Finally the liquid was in his mouth and he already felt more awake, more aware, more alive.

America opened his eyes and gave a high-pitched yelp as he noticed Belarus standing by the door.

“Holy shit!”

The intruding nation just continued to watch him, her expression never changing. America’s shouting, cursing, and spilling coffee all over his desk and pants didn’t move her at all.

“What the hell are you doing?” America asked bitterly, mourning his undeserving coffee. He did have enough awareness without the caffeine to notice the darkening of Belarus’s expression, and considered backtracking, but she spoke first.

“I’m observing you.”

“…uh huh.” America groaned tiredly. “And why are you doing that? Spying for Russia or something? Cold War is over, or so everyone tells me.”

“I’m not here for brother.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“You,” Belarus stated plainly. For the first time America was almost glad his coffee was gone, because he would have likely dropped it at that point anyway. He waited a moment for the Twilight Zone music to set in, or someone to jump out proclaiming it was April Fool’s in their country, but he was disappointed with only awkward silence.

God did he want to suck the coffee out of his pant leg, because he definitely needed the caffeine.

“You’re here for me?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Belarus gave what America assumed to be a withering look. On anyone else it would have looked as if she was peeling your skin from your flesh with her eyes, but with her these things had to be taken into context. “I am here to observe you.”

America continued to stare at her, expecting further explanation, but disappointment was the dish of the day. He even moved his hand as if to urge her on to continue, but to no avail as she just stared back. Had she even blinked yet?

“Ok, fine, I’ll bite; then why are you observing me?”

“To see what it is that Brother sees in you.”

“…what?”

“Yes, what.”

America felt ready to rip his hair out. Instead he took a deep breath, composing himself. “No, what I mean is… never mind. Can you just explain this to me as if I have no idea what you’re talking about? But seriously, I don’t.”

“Why should I?” Belarus asked, tilting her head to the side. How was it she could look so pretty but still be so goddamn creepy, America wondered to himself.

“Well, I dunno, maybe because you’re in my office.”

“I told you, I am here to observe.”

“Yeah. In my office. Waiting for me.”

Belarus gave him a blank stare, and it occurred to America that this was the girl who stalked Russia. Simply laying in wait in someone’s office wouldn’t seem out of line at all to her. Thankfully she decided to pity him and started to explain, saying, “I wish to marry Brother.”

“Yeah. I think we all know that.”

“Good. That makes this easy then,” she said, and despite the chance she had to smile and ease the tension - which rated at least a red alert at this point - Belarus still gave him a blank look. America almost pitied the poor, unused smiling muscles. “I wish for Brother to return my love, but I do not know how. The last several decades you have somehow caught his attention and held it like few have. If I want Brother to give me attention, I must learn what it is about you that he finds desirable.”

It was all America could do to stay sitting upright and cognizant. Finally he just gave in, bending over and practically ripped the door off the mini-fridge as he opened it to find the iced mocha he had bought for brunch. He tilted his head back and commenced to chug the entirety of the grande drink down. Once he had crushed it, placed it on his desk, and took a moment for the brain freeze to melt, he finally looked back at the girl watching him from beside the door.

“…What?”

“Do you not understand your own language?” Belarus almost smirked at him. He could see the corner of her lips twitching. But it wasn’t helpful at all.

“No, believe me, it’s not the words that confuse me,” America clarified, finally feeling his mental processes getting back up to speed. “What makes you think that Russia finds me desirable? In case you don’t recall, he almost destroyed the world because of how much he hated me and my freedom.”

“Actually, you forced Brother to protect himself,” Belarus stated, a spark of something akin to a death sentence flickering in her eyes.

But this wasn’t a subject that America would let up on.

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. I’ll have you know--”

“That is beside the point,” Belarus interrupted, and America almost pouted. “While I agree that there is not any reason for him to have any feelings for you but hatred, that does not erase the fact that he does find you intriguing.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Do you recall a certain window that was cracked shortly after the situation with Cuba--”

“Whoa, how did you know about--?”

“Or the time that Brother tried to convince you to let his boss visit your Disneyland--”

“Seriously, who the hell told you about that--?”

“Or shall we talk about when-”

“Ok, alright, I get it,” America interrupted hastily, putting up his hands as if to stave off the mentions of his past affairs. “Yes, Russia and I had some, er, stuff between us, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t still hate each other’s guts. I assure you, what we had was purely, um, well…”

“Hate sex?” Christ, America thought to himself, that completely blank face only made these comments all the more startling.

“Yeah, sure, that.” He sighed and began to rub his temple. “The point is, I really don’t think that Russia can even begin to see what is desirable about me because he’s too busy being a godless commie.”

“Brother is no longer a communist.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

With that America tossed the empty coffee cups and napkins into the trash - although America still seriously considered chewing on the napkins, if just to salvage the lost treasure - and flipped open his laptop. Surely Belarus would get the idea that she was to leave. Usually he would consider being nicer; but really, she was trespassing on his private property (ignoring the fact that they all shared this building since it was in the UN building). Besides, she actually wanted to be around that son of a bitch Russia, and that made her suspicious by association.

And really. Russia, have a thing for him? America was aware that he was an awesome guy that anyone would want to be with, but Russia was, well, Russia. He defied logic.

No matter. Belarus would just leave and that would be that.

“Now, if you’ll just look here and-Fuck!” England shouted, jumping back three feet when, as soon as he followed America into his office, he saw Belarus standing there, staring. America looked back at him as if to say, “Come on, are you serious?”

“B-Belarus, I, um…” The brit look to America imploringly but the young nation just shrugged.

“You get used to it. Now come on, you wanted to talk, right?”

England blinked confusedly, looking from Belarus to America and back again. Then he decidedly placed his attention on the American when she glowered at him. “Now, wait a minute, I can’t just act as if she - er, you, Belarus - isn’t here.”

“Sure you can,” America replied, already settling into his seat. “I have been for the past week.”

“Alfred!” England admonished, “You can’t just - I mean she’s - oh bugger it. Belarus, would you mind stepping out for a bit?”

She blinked back blankly. “Would you ask Brother to leave?”

That had not been what England had expected. “Er, well, yes, I suppose so.” With that Belarus turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door on her way out. The click of the door was all England needed to spin around and stomp over to America’s desk.

“Now. You. What on earth is going on here?”

America leaned back in his chair and groaned, whining, “Come on Artie, can’t we just drop it and work on this proposal?” England cocked a disapproving eyebrow at him and America rolled his eyes. “God, fine, you busybody. She’s stalking me because she thinks Russia has a thing for me and wants to know what it is about me he likes.”

“Does she now? Wonder where she got that idea.” England asked, and it was clear America was not happy to hear sarcasm underlining it.

“Hey now, don’t even! There never was, nor ever will be, anything between us, got it?” America protested. England looked as if he was going to refute that, but instead just sighed and shook his head. They had had this debate before, and the Brit had long learned that no matter how much evidence he had, America refused to budge on his position.

“Alright, fine,” he conceded, “we’ll just put that aside and continue to the point: she’s here to see what there is that’s likable about you?”

“Yeah, seems like it,” America replied with a shrug. England blinked at him.

“Dare I ask how it is you can act so blasé about this? Belarus has been stalking you. For a week. How do you not worry about that?”

America rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on Artie, I’m not stupid. Rest assured, I dropped some fake information to see if she was passing anything on to her brother. So far nothing has, so security wise I’m safe. So it’s nothing to worry about, right?”

England wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, asking him how he could be so goddamn suspicious yet completely lack common sense. But ultimately the question would be lost on his paranoid ex-colony. So, he decided to just state the obvious, saying, “Alfred. You can’t just let things go on this way.”

America replied, “What do you suggest? Because I told her Russia isn’t into me, and then I ignored her. And frankly, do you really think I can ask her to stop? This is Russia’s little sister we’re talking about; there’s no doubt she’s some psychopath that would get off on doing what I don’t want her to do.”

England pretended to ponder for a moment, pacing a few steps before leaning against the wood desk. “Oh, I dunno, you can’t deny her, and you can’t ignore her, what else could you do?” The Brit eyed America and almost threw up his hands when he got a blank stare. Instead he cried, “My god, how dense are you? If you can’t get rid of her unless she gets what she wants, give her what she wants.”

“…Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Yes, I believe I am,” England stated, crossing his arms and giving America a stern look. “Just… be your regular, obnoxiously chipper, dreadfully hyperactive, in-your-face-to-a-fault self. Either she’ll get it, or she’ll be scared off.”

America considered him for a moment. “Was that a concealed compliment?”

England just threw up his hands and started to leave, yelping again when he found Belarus standing directly in his path. “B-Belarus!”

“I thought that perhaps you would be done by now,” Belarus stated. “Are you?”

“Ah, yes, I believe so,” England replied, glancing back at America and giving him a look. “I’ll just be going now. Be good.”

Belarus just stared at him blankly, and as he strolled past England looked at his younger brother one last time. The look on America’s face was as easy to read as a book: pretend she’s not Russia’s sister, pretend she’s not Russia’s sister, pretend she’s not Russia’s sister.

Before he closed the door, England heard America pipe up, saying, “Hey, Belarus, why don’t you sit down? If you’re going to be here anyway, you should be comfortable, right?”

“Are you getting ready to leave?” Belarus asked as America got up, yawning tiredly as he stretched his back. He blinked, a bit startled to hear her speak after hours of silence, and glanced down at his watch. 1:30 AM.

“Well, we do have that meeting at 9 tomorrow,” he admitted, scratching his head. “I still have a few things to finish up though, and notes to review before giving that speech…”

“Can you not do that tomorrow in the morning?” she asked. “It would be best to review right before you give a speech, yes?” Again America blinked at her, shocked not just that she was talking to him again - other than was necessary they didn’t talk at all since the beginning of the week - but that she was even giving him advice.

America couldn’t help grinning for the first time that week. “What, don’t tell me you’re tired already!”

Belarus glowered, hearing the challenge in his voice. “I am not tired. You are the one who yawned.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he teased, saving and closing the documents on his laptop as he watched her over the top of the screen. Belarus’s glare grew darker, and for some reason that just tickled America’s funny bone. Maybe England was right for once. “You know, Bela, that’s almost kind of cute-”

With a loud bang his laptop was slammed shut and Belarus was on her feet, giving him what almost looked like a sneer.

America didn’t have time to contemplate that however as his mind started whirling with the fact that his work might not have finished saving. He cursed loudly, swiftly opening it and praying to God that his work would all be there. As the screen loaded he glared back at the girl. “What the hell was that for?!”

“You will refer to me as Belarus,” she stated simply before turning and leaving. As the door shut behind her America wanted nothing more than to call up England and tell him to shove it.

When the files all came up though, his enraged soul was soothed some, and he recalled that that moment before she went batshit crazy that she hadn’t seemed all that bad.

And America wasn’t one to give up so easy.

“Morning,” America greeted as he walked down the hall to his office, spotting Belarus standing outside it. She glared at him with a hint of bitterness.

“You changed your lock.”

“Ordered that a week ago actually. It just took a while for them to get it installed I guess,” America replied, pulling out the card key the handy-men had slipped under his hotel room door. With a swipe the green light lit up and he opened the door, backing into it to hold it open for Belarus. She stared at him but finally walked in, refusing to acknowledge his chivalry. But no matter. America followed her over to the desk, tilting his head to indicate she take a seat in the seat across from his.

Instead of moving to his own chair though he handed her a paper cup of coffee that had been nestled in the cardboard carrier along with his iced mocha. Belarus looked up at him inquisitively.

“That is your coffee, yes?”

“Nah, I already downed mine,” America explained, holding the cup out to her again. “I got this one for you. I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just got it with some milk and sugar. Better too sweet than too bitter, right?” He smiled at her brightly, expecting her to smile back at his generosity.

Instead she just blinked and stated, “I do not like coffee.”

Well. That was a bit of a killjoy.

“Oh,” was all he could really manage, too shocked to even move his hand. Not only had she turned down his generosity - coffee wasn’t cheap! - but she turned down coffee.

What kind of monster other than England would do that?

America coughed awkwardly, allowing the blanket of silence to fall between them again as he sat down in his chair and put the iced mocha away. Not wanting the hot coffee to be wasted he started to sip at it, shuddering happily as it filled his mouth with warmth. How anyone could not enjoy the orgasmic sensation that was drinking coffee, he would never know.

Twenty minutes later, as he finished his slow savoring of the beverage and reviewing his notes for the UN meeting he needed to be getting to, America peeked under the silence blanket, asking, “Hot cocoa?”

“What?” Belarus looked a bit startled to have him talking to her again. Well, as startled as Belarus could look. It was more like her eyes had widened a bit.

“Hot cocoa,” America repeated. “You do know what that is, right? Do they have it over in that Eastern European area…?”

Belarus finally showed a slight variation in her face by cocking a brow at that. America hated how everyone else seemed to be able to do that but him. “Yes, I have had hot chocolate before. But I do not understand why it is relevant.”

“Well do you like it?”

“Yes, but--”

“Excellent!” America cheered. He stood and shoved the rest of his papers into his briefcase, humming happily to himself. Belarus gawked at him confusedly.

“I still do not understand.”

“You will!” With that America was up, strutting over to the door. “Now come on, we’ve got a UN meeting to get to!” The female nation warily got up from her seat and followed after, considering America carefully as she walked through the door he held open for her.

“Morning!” Canada greeted as he walked up to America in the line at Starbucks. The American grunted in response, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Canada couldn’t help chuckling. “Sorry, you are a bit of a zombie in the morning, eh?”

“Morning people,” America groaned, mouthing the words as if they physically hurt him to say. The barista handed him his huge coffee and he tossed his head back, chugging about half of it before stopping for air. He blinked, and like a switch had been flicked, the light in his eyes was back. Finally he looked at his brother, and managed to smirk. “So what are you doing here, Mr. ‘I only drink coffee from Tim Horton’s’?”

Canada rolled his eyes. “We both know that even though it’s better than your Starbucks, somehow yours is the only one I can ever find abroad.”

“‘Better’ my ass,” America quipped before suddenly smacking himself in the forehead. “Jeez, I almost forgot! Barista?” Once he had the man’s attention he asked, “Sorry, can I add a hot cocoa to my order?”

“Alfred,” Canada reprimanded, “there’s a long line! You can’t just add onto your order!”

“But I don’t have time to wait,” America protested. “If I wait in line again I’ll be late, and I can’t just leave her waiting in the hallway.”

“That’s rude though-wait, she?” Canada considered the awkward grin on the other’s face. “Al, who’s waiting for you?”

America glanced away, laughing as if to cover up the fact that he wasn’t sure how he felt about this topic anymore. However, Canada knew that laugh and lifted a brow at him. This made America pout a bit.

“How does everyone know how to do that?”

“Do what-Never mind,” Canada sighed. “But seriously, what’s up?”

America finally let out a deep breath and shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just, uh, well…” Suddenly the Barista called out his iced mocha and the newly ordered hot cocoa - Canada suspected this was due to the fact that America liked to flirt with the workers there to get free things. The nation brightened up instantly, picking up the little cardboard carrier and quickly blurted out, “Yeah Belarus is sort of stalking me right now but Arthur said to be nice and maybe she’ll stop and I wanted to get her some hot cocoa since she doesn’t like coffee and I don’t want to leave her waiting in the hallway so nice talking to you Mattie, bye!”

And he was off, racing with his drinks and not stopping to look back. Canada blinked and considered what he’d just heard, but even once he had his drink he had to find a table to sit at. He knew his brother better than likely anyone else, and he knew something was off beneath the surface. America was dealing with some assortment of feelings he didn’t know or want to handle.

This in and of itself was scary. But knowing that Belarus was involved made it horror movie-esque.

“What?” Belarus asked, glancing down at the drink hovering in front of her face and then back at the idiotic American’s grinning face.

“For you,” he said. “I bought you some hot cocoa because you said you like it.”

Not really sure how to turn down the offered beverage without America continuing to pester her about it, Belarus took the drink with some feigned reluctance. His resulting smile was so bright and genuinely happy that Belarus found herself rushing into the room once he’d opened the door for her, desperately hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat rising in her cheeks. It was foolish! What kind of a person would be so overjoyed that someone would take a drink they got for them? America was acting as if he actually cared if she liked the drink or not, and that was puzzling all on its own.

What was worse though was how, no matter how mediocre the hot chocolate itself was, Belarus cradled and savored it, feeling the warmth of it spread up into her chest. There had to be something America had slipped in, because even if they didn’t talk, every time he caught her eye the heat in her chest grew worse. She didn’t know what this new drug was, or how it could be triggered by such a specific visual stimuli, but whatever it was, it was diabolical.

When they left for lunch, and consequently the rest of the day for more meetings, Belarus was so caught up in her thoughts that it wasn’t until after walking back to her room with Ukraine that she realized that America had called her Bela when he said his parting words.

Worse than that, he didn’t just say good bye.

America had said “See you tomorrow” with a smile on his face.