(Whoo! Romance! I HATE IT. Oh, blame Evil for doing this. She is evil. She told me to go with this ending.)
It was as he had said, there was no way they could make this. America and Russia had been busy gathering their own stockpiled weapons (Though America had lost some due to the war.) And during this it had dawned on America there was a zero percent chance of this working. They were bound to be stormed from all sides any day now. The only way they had to keep track of current events was an old radio in Russia’s house that could only signal in to any broadcasts when the constant snowstorm let up; Which was almost never. And even then, the broadcasts were almost always in code.
Still, they’d gather around the radio at mealtimes and listen hard to the static, searching for the signal. The news they did get was mainly war reports about how successful they had been at invading America’s house. Mexico and Canada, who knew America for a long time as his neighbors, had been suggesting America had fled. They argued that it was uncharacteristic of America to not put up a fight, and that what little resistance they had been getting was poor and unorganized. They had expected more from the grand super-power of the world.
Russia had assured America that no one would be able to find them, but he still wasn’t sure. They made plans during the days and nights, stocking up weapons and doing their best not to starve. They didn’t have much food to spare, as America wasn’t even in his own house and Russia couldn’t ask for extra food from her sisters Belarus and Ukraine without seeming suspicious.
As they grew hungry together, they also fought more. The two of them were never quite keen on each other anyways, America always being a bit pushy on Russia and Russia always getting irked by America. They’d yell back and forth about their differences and when they got tired, they would continue in a hoarse whisper. Some days they’d not speak at all for hours, occasionally glaring when their eyes met.
It wasn’t always fighting though. Sometimes when they both had worked for a long time, Russia would call in the night early. She’d take out a few bottles of vodka and the two of them would drink in front of the warm fire, chatting about the unimportant things in life. They both enjoyed nights like this, and though neither of them would admit it. They could relax and pretend they were with their old friends, instead of with each other. But now all they had was each other, whether they liked it or not.
It was another night for America in the cold. It was his turn to check up on the warheads and weapons, looking for any broken or unusable ones. There were many old weapons Russia had that she wasn’t even sure what they were. America and Russia had been sorting for ones they could use. Use to blow them selves up. The plan still didn’t seem right to America. He could maybe imagine Russia going down with a bang, but then again he could imagine Russia doing many things. But he could never think of himself going down like that. He was sure he would be the last one, the best one. America wanted to live forever.
Russia remained adamant that her plan would continue. She didn’t seem to mind the idea of dying. She practically embraced it, telling America to start looking forward to the day they executed the plan. America would often search Russia’s face for sadness when she said this. Actually, he searched Russia’s face for any sort of emotion. She always seemed to have the same dreamily content face, one that wouldn’t change no matter what news she brought.
Sometimes, America would think. Not just have thoughts cross his mind. No, he would contemplate. He thought about Russia’s plan, and his death. He thought about his old allies and new enemies. And he thought about Russia. He didn’t mean anything by his thoughts, but his mind was a personal place where he felt he could think the impossible. To him, Russia was an interesting person. She wasn’t pretty to America at all, with her broad face and her weird, almost white hair. She had large eyes, which was usually a plus, but her eyes were a pale gray that honestly creeped him out. Her personality was definitely not pleasant, often having quick mood swings between being a kind and polite to being violent and terrifying. The change would happen all the time, without warning. Russia seemed to realize when she changed, but she didn’t seem to care.
There’s a light in the distance. It surprises America a bit, to see a light. He was so used to the land being lit only by the sun and stars he had forgotten how lights looked from a distance. America scurried up to his feet and ran inside. Russia is working out plans while listening to the radio. She looks up to him without facing him, just looking from the corner of her eye.
“Vhat is it? Is there problem with anything?” She says, quite possibly annoyed, though it’s hard to tell.
“Lights- There are lights outside. They are human lights, a land vehicle of some kind.”
Russia looks bothered at this. She curses a few words in her language under her breath before speaking, “Ve must set plan up now. It is time, even if ve are not ready. Ve shall have to do our best.”
America can tell Russia has lost her calm as her accent get thicker. As she gives instructions, her voice is mixed in with scattered words in her language. Her choppy hair is brushed aside as she maps out the final plans, the times of the launch. And yet his immediate doom is the last thing on America’s mind. He can’t help but admire Russia now, for her ability to stay calm and work towards her death. She had accepted her death as a mere fact, something that she’d just have to deal with. Even if it was early.
Russia may have homely to America before, but maybe that had changed. Maybe it was the sense of death in the air as the lights of cars grew brighter and brighter, but right now Russia seemed beautiful. It was a different kind of beauty then some of his other lovers like Iran and Iraq, but one more based on inner beauty. Not really on her inner personality, which often scared him, but more on deepness. Russia seemed to be beautiful in the way that she was strange. different. There was much more to her then what America knew, so much that he would never know. That was what made her alluring.
Russia looks up at America, looking nervous more then anything, “You are going to help me, yes? Vhy aren’t you doing anything?”
America is suddenly feeling nervous himself, unsure of what to do, “R-right, I’ll get to work...” He drags out a few sheets of calculations and tries to set his mind to finishing the plans. But he can’t. There’s no way he wants to help kill Russia.
America sighs, getting up again, “I-I can’t do this any longer, Russia.”
Russia gives him a look, “Vhat?”
He takes a breath, “I’m not sure how I can explain this to you, but... I like you. No, that’s too weak... I love you. There. I think I’m in love with you, Russia, because...” America’s voice falters. He doesn’t quite understand the answer himself.
Russia’s face is one of shock, like a man watching a murder. But her face is red, and America realizes she is blushing. It doesn’t quite suit her, but it isn’t a bad effect. It makes Russia look cute, like a school girl talking to her crush. “Vell... Я не уверена …”
Usually America is annoyed when he can’t understand someone, but Russia language suddenly seems endearing. They kissed then, almost like long-lost lovers. They didn’t speak as they enjoyed each others company as the nearby lights came closer and closer. When the vehicle was only about ten minutes away, Russia suddenly got up. She ran out to the storage bunker, leading America on with hints bout what they were going to do there. America wasn’t one to be lead on, but he was feeling amorous right now.
At the bunker, Russia was already gathering something from a desk. When she saw America, she shuffled the desk quickly and put something away behind her. America tried to get a better look, but Russia threw her hands around his shoulders and pulled him closer. There was a faint sound of beeping and of sirens, but America heard none of it. He lost himself to Russia, and as they locked lips the sirens wailed into the night. He knew, somewhere deep in his mind, that these were bombers. That he was finished. But the only thing on his mind was Russia.
There was a click and a beep. He was aware that the roof was opening, that the night air was rushing in and that the missiles were leaving. As they started to power up, the heat intensified. The sirens were loud now, the bombers were dropping their bombs. But to America, there was only Russia.
Russia whispers under her breath as the lights hit maximum and the heat burns their skin. There’s no need to yell. America hears her, hears her loud and clear.
“Сегодня может быть наш последний день, но это день, когда они будут вечно помнить. Мы жили, мы умерли. Мы не проигравших в этой войне....”
