Looking For Alaska

Chapter Nine

"This looks throughly beaten," Alfred stated, moving the whisk around the bowl. His cellphone was held between his ear and his shoulder.

"There is absolutely no way it is done, already," Francis argued.

"But I've been doing this for, like... A million years!"

"It has been three seconds."

"But, Papa-!"

"Don't 'But, Papa' me, Mister. You keep going." Alfred whined, continuing the apparently tedious task. Ivan, in need of some water for him and his apprentice, walked into the kitchen, spotting Alfred hard at work with an apron tied around his waist.

"I had no idea you were so domestic," Ivan stepped up behind him, tugging on the knot, lightly. Alfred shrieked, having been completely oblivious to Ivan's arrival, and dropped the phone into the bowl.

"No..." his face fell, "Goddamn it."

"What happened?" Francis wondered from the submerged device. Alfred picked it out of the bowl and wiped it off with a paper towel before returning it to his ear momentarily.

"Hold on a sec, Papa. Ivan just walked in and I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind for making me drop my phone."

"It fell into the bowl, didn't it?"

"Hold on a sec, will ya?" Alfred tossed the phone onto the counter before turning to face Ivan, who stood much closer than Alfred had originally expected.

"Uh... What's the idea?" Alfred's confusion drained into annoyance, "Do you get kicks out of scaring the living daylights out of people?"

"Yes," Ivan replied, resting his palms on the counter by Alfred's hips, "Any other questions."

"What the hell are you doing in here, anyways?" Alfred demanded, feeling the colour suddenly rise in his face, "I thought you were in the middle of a lesson."

"I came in for water," Ivan replied. He moved on of his hands to tug on the waist ribbon of the apron, "And then I happened across this. You wear aprons when you cook?"

"Only when Papa- I mean... Francis won't tell me what to do until I gave him photographic proof I was wearing it. Part of me thinks he was just looking for blackmail material, though."

"Why didn't you try calling your brother?" Ivan raised an eyebrow, "He could help you, couldn't he?"

"He's at a polar bear exhibit all day," Alfred grumbled, glaring at the floor, "And now I'm stuck with this guy."

"Oh, you poor baby," Ivan cooed, his hand sliding to rest of Alfred's hip, "I couldn't possibly imagine what you're going through."

"I... Well..." Alfred's mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"Ah. If it isn't the first sparks of love," Francis' voice interrupted them, "You boys be safe now."

"Oh my god, shut up!" Alfred yelled, reaching for the phone. Ivan sighed, realising he's lost him, again, and let him have some room. Alfred didn't stop yelling into the phone until the Russian was gone.

"Mon petit," Francis laughed, when Alfred took a moment to breath, "You are going to hurt yourself if you do not calm down."

"Let's try something else," Alfred said, tossing his latest dish into the sink.

"But you were doing so well," Francis pointed out.

"I don't want to make that. It was too hard," Alfred grumbled.

"Sometimes you need to work a little harder on things to make them work," Francis explained, "Not everything is going to be easy - Especially when others are involved."

"We're not really talking about the kitchen anymore, are we?" the American tucked his face into his arms.

"Is there something you want to tell your Papa, mon précieux?"

"Not... Really?"

"Let me rephrase that; Is there something you should be telling me?"

"Pfft. No. I don't even tell Arthur this stuff and he's got as much a right to know as you. More even."

"I am offended by that statement. Angleterre wouldn't see love if it smacked him in the face."

"Woah, woah, woah! Who said anything about love?" Alfred objected.

"I can see the trait is genetic," Francis sighed.

"We're not even genetically related," Alfred pointed out, "You guys found me in a field."

"Shh. Don't talk like that, Mon petit! Next you'll be saying I'm not your real Papa!"

"Well, technically-"

"Non! Are you trying to make me upset?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"This is pretty good," Andrew stated, shovelling his fork into his mouth.

"I'm glad you like it," Alfred beamed, "I had to deal with your sleazy grandfather to make it, so..."

"You honestly didn't have anyone else to call?" Ivan questioned.

"Not that I trusted to teach me properly," Alfred shook his head, "He may be a Frenchie wuss, but he can sure as hell cook. Actually, when I first met him, he tried too convince me to be one of his territories with food."

"What did Arthur offer you?" Andrew wondered.

"Nothing," Alfred replied, "He was just really sad looking, you know? I pitied the guy. Good thing, too. Imagine if poor Mattie'd had to deal with that pompous loser all the time."

"What about you, Dad?" Andrew turned to Ivan, "You never talk about your childhood." A silence fell over the table and Alfred shot his a look. Though he certainly didn't know everything about the Russian, his own parents had mentioned Ivan's childhood being a rather poor one. He'd felt pretty bad for the guy and they'd even been friends way back when. Those times were long gone, though, and a seemingly permanent rivalry now stood in its place.

"Well," Ivan finally spoke, "There isn't much to say. Your aunts and I spent our time alone, often. I do not have a lot of stories worth sharing."

"Oh," Andrew's brow furrowed, "What about Mom? Didn't you know him?"

"Way back then? Nyet. He was younger than even you are now then," Ivan replied, "Arthur kept very strict rules over him, refusing to share him with anyone."

"I remember meeting you for the first time," Alfred stated, lifting his chair to be on two legs, "I was just a kid, then. You remember?"

"When you wandered over the border?" Ivan remembered all right, "How could I forget? I found you crying on the doorstop of an abandoned shop."

"He was crying?" Andrew giggled, "Just because he was lost?"

"I was, like, five!" Alfred justified.

"Incredibly cute," Ivan continued, "He didn't have glasses back then, but that hair curl of his is apparently a birthmark. He even was wearing a little dress."

"You wore a dress?" Alaska demanded.

"With a little red bow," Ivan added.

"Everyone wore dresses when they were little!" Alfred clarified, his face red in embarrassment and irritation, "I bet you did, too, Ivan!"

"We will never know," he replied, smoothly.

"Uhg! You're insufferable! Just eat your dinner!"