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65 ‎ ‎ Aftermath Goodbyes

RUSSIA
Even after the sun had descended and the crowd had dispersed, working tirelessly into the night to fix infrastructure and settle amends, he remained in front of that hospital room, time losing its intervals and settling into an almost infinity.  

Vietnam had walked in halfway through the evening and told him of their choice to severage the Representative linkage. With UN and NATO confined to shackles and no longer a middleman between Neo and the real world, the modern presidents and departments were left effectively in the dark until Neo reached a period of stability. He had nodded, too tired to draw a conclusive opinion, and then Vietnam had sat with him too for a few minutes, mulling over his own loss. 

When he left it was when Canada had emerged, bidding an appreciative goodbye to WHO. He paused rigid when he saw Russia sitting on the padded chairs, awkward now that the acute crisis had came to a close. 

Russia looked up, knowing his eyes were red and bloodshot and he looked ultimately like he hadn't slept in a week. "How is he?" he croaked. 

"We managed to start his heart," Canada breathed. "But he's in a coma. WHO says the duration is indefinite. She says she doesn't know─ doesn't know if he'll ever wake." 

"God," Russia dragged his hands down his face, and his own heart felt like it was caught between pumping blood back and keeping it constrained still. At least not all hope had been lost for America... and yet, still, there was the immediate prospect of that light diminishing over time. "I'm dreaming. I'll wake up and I'll still be in NYC and I'll be dreaming." 

Canada took a seat too, a pained expression flickering across his face. "You really do love him." 

"You think?" 

"I just─" his voice dropped in volume, almost as if he was ashamed to say it. "I thought you lied too. I thought you and Reich had planned it. But he took the bullet for you and you stayed out here all night. Is there something I'm missing?" 

"I'd never lie if it meant risking all your lives." 

"Especially his," Canada chuckled hollowly.

Russia pursed his lips. "He must've been mad but maybe he wasn't mad enough to let me die in front of him. But I don't know the answer to your question either. Why did he do that?"

"We wouldn't know until he wakes, and by then, perhaps it's best not to bring it up," Canada said quietly. "I wonder. Is it fate that draws you to my brother? Him to you?"

"Is it?" Russia asked, more to himself than as a response. "I always thought of him. Mostly with hate for the first part, and I remember my friends always asking me about it. Why do you always talk about him? And when I got to know him better, beyond the facade and the show of superiority, I fell in love pretty easily."

"I suppose you have my blessing then," Canada sighed. "Provided─" 

Russia smiled. "...Yeah. Thank you," he added. 

Canada rose from his seat. "See you then, Russia. I haven't seen my parents in some time, and now WHO's pretty much kicking me out." His eyes darkened with grief. "I'll have to tell them a long, long story."

★

Night had fallen, and the day had rose, and when he finally made it home, Ukraine was wrapped in the warmth of a blanket and a steaming cup of floral tea by Belarus's side. He barely got a moment to embrace his sisters or acknowledge the painful change in home interior before his father spoke through the veil of shame and powerlessness. 

"Russia." Soviet's voice was enough to break him again.

"Father," he choked. 

He was expecting reprimandation, a telltale anger in the way the color had flooded from his face and his fists were balled, or perhaps, a return to drudgery and alcohol in their absence─ but Soviet did none of the sort and instead raced forward, his actions sharp and sober─ to embrace him. The scent of home immediately coiled around his senses, twining rosy circles in the same childhood comfort he had longed for.