There’s a dull thud as the pipe falls to the snow covered ground, slipped through slackened fingers. Ivan lowers his head, casting his face into shadow. Lithuania thinks that he sees him shaking.
“Go,” Ivan whispers to the German standing on his left. “Go. Go home.”
Prussia doesn’t believe him at first. Doesn’t dare. But then he casts off his scarf, face alight with a million different emotions, and runs with barely a backwards glance.
Estonia and Latvia stand and gaze at the coat-tails as they disappear. Ukraine closes her eyes and turns away. Natashya doesn’t move as her brother’s eyes dull that little bit more, clockwork unwinding and dying and seizing.
Liet reaches to take her hand, and, for the first time, she lets him.
-
One year later Lithuania packs his bags and walks through his prison for what he hopes is the last time. Ivan is standing at the doorway. “You are leaving me?” he asks, not really a question.
There was a time when Liet would have quailed at these words, but that is not today. “Yes.”
Russia doesn’t croon under his breath as he once did. His pipe stands lonely watch against the wall, metres behind them. “If you are leaving, the others will be wanting to go too.” Russia’s childish voice is lower and older than he remembers, his eyes less luminous. “Ukraine, and Estonia and Latvia and…”
“…Yes.”
It’s odd that now, of all times, Liet feels some kind of emotion welling up inside of him as he watches the Russian blankly staring back. He knows what he is condemning this man to: he has seen the Prussian whirlwind in and out of their lives, has seen the Great Bear walk, head down, from Berlin back to Moscow without a word. He knows that he will step out of the doors of the Soviet Union and unwittingly take the others with him, and Russia will be left alone.
Lithuania knows the pain of an empty house. But he also knows, now, to take what he wants when he can. “I’m sorry, Ivan.”
Deep down he means it. Then he walks out the door and leaves the Motherland behind. Belarus doesn’t say goodbye.
When Feliks sees him standing on his doorstep he pulls him roughly into an embrace, laughing all the while.
-
“He made me leave.”
Liet serves the coffee with a vague sort of smile on his face. He fills her cup with rock sugar and a long dash of cream, stirs it with a silver spoon. “…Maybe he was trying to tell you something,” he offers.
Belarus lifts her saucer and raises an eyebrow, not amused. “You are wrong, as usual. My boss is talking long with my brother. Soon I will be back and my brother can be happy again.”
The steam rises in calm eddies above his cup. Lithuania doesn’t know what to think, but the look on Russia’s face the night he walked away is still fresh in his mind. He turns his cup in his hands, once, twice, three times and he sees his own reflection staring back.
“I…I hope so.” And he does. He hopes that it is possible for Ivan to be happy again, but at the same time, he wonders if Natashya is able to do it. Belarus may not be Latvia’s fairytale idea of a sibling, but she is not as unfeeling as she would like to believe.
Natashya brings her hand down from the windowpane after she looks out at the Lithuanian landscape around them. She lowers her gaze to the rue flower sitting in the vase between them.
“Do you think…do you think it will be alright, Lithuania?”
He looks up at her, and thinks of Feliks and Ukraine and Latvia and Estonia, about families and races and almost-wives and almost-brothers and almost-brothers-in-law, and somehow nothing seems so black and white anymore. His hand takes hers on the table. It’s cold from the window. His is hot from the coffee and he decides to meet her halfway at lukewarm.
Of Rue and Powder Sugar (5/5)
“Go,” Ivan whispers to the German standing on his left. “Go. Go home.”
Prussia doesn’t believe him at first. Doesn’t dare. But then he casts off his scarf, face alight with a million different emotions, and runs with barely a backwards glance.
Estonia and Latvia stand and gaze at the coat-tails as they disappear. Ukraine closes her eyes and turns away. Natashya doesn’t move as her brother’s eyes dull that little bit more, clockwork unwinding and dying and seizing.
Liet reaches to take her hand, and, for the first time, she lets him.
-
One year later Lithuania packs his bags and walks through his prison for what he hopes is the last time. Ivan is standing at the doorway. “You are leaving me?” he asks, not really a question.
There was a time when Liet would have quailed at these words, but that is not today. “Yes.”
Russia doesn’t croon under his breath as he once did. His pipe stands lonely watch against the wall, metres behind them. “If you are leaving, the others will be wanting to go too.” Russia’s childish voice is lower and older than he remembers, his eyes less luminous. “Ukraine, and Estonia and Latvia and…”
“…Yes.”
It’s odd that now, of all times, Liet feels some kind of emotion welling up inside of him as he watches the Russian blankly staring back. He knows what he is condemning this man to: he has seen the Prussian whirlwind in and out of their lives, has seen the Great Bear walk, head down, from Berlin back to Moscow without a word. He knows that he will step out of the doors of the Soviet Union and unwittingly take the others with him, and Russia will be left alone.
Lithuania knows the pain of an empty house. But he also knows, now, to take what he wants when he can. “I’m sorry, Ivan.”
Deep down he means it. Then he walks out the door and leaves the Motherland behind. Belarus doesn’t say goodbye.
When Feliks sees him standing on his doorstep he pulls him roughly into an embrace, laughing all the while.
-
“He made me leave.”
Liet serves the coffee with a vague sort of smile on his face. He fills her cup with rock sugar and a long dash of cream, stirs it with a silver spoon. “…Maybe he was trying to tell you something,” he offers.
Belarus lifts her saucer and raises an eyebrow, not amused. “You are wrong, as usual. My boss is talking long with my brother. Soon I will be back and my brother can be happy again.”
The steam rises in calm eddies above his cup. Lithuania doesn’t know what to think, but the look on Russia’s face the night he walked away is still fresh in his mind. He turns his cup in his hands, once, twice, three times and he sees his own reflection staring back.
“I…I hope so.” And he does. He hopes that it is possible for Ivan to be happy again, but at the same time, he wonders if Natashya is able to do it. Belarus may not be Latvia’s fairytale idea of a sibling, but she is not as unfeeling as she would like to believe.
Natashya brings her hand down from the windowpane after she looks out at the Lithuanian landscape around them. She lowers her gaze to the rue flower sitting in the vase between them.
“Do you think…do you think it will be alright, Lithuania?”
He looks up at her, and thinks of Feliks and Ukraine and Latvia and Estonia, about families and races and almost-wives and almost-brothers and almost-brothers-in-law, and somehow nothing seems so black and white anymore. His hand takes hers on the table. It’s cold from the window. His is hot from the coffee and he decides to meet her halfway at lukewarm.
“Yes,” he says. “I think it will.”