Crossing Borders [Hetalia]

одиннадцать - risky business

and yes, that absuredly long russian word up there is actually "eleven"

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"She's a what?!"

"A country," Ivan says again simply. Like he's commenting on the sunny skies currently enveloping the country.

To this, Arthur's brows hike upwards and his lips twitch into an unbroken line. He brings a hand to his forehead as though contemplating whether or not he should inform Ivan that he has no sense of urgency through an elaborate verbal assualt that would leave him hoarse and fatigued. 

He decides against it, as he's rather fond of his life and would prefer not to hand it over to the hulking Russian. "How long have you known?" he grumbles at last, dropping tiredly into cushioned chair set behind him.

"Ah... since the last World Meeting?" 

Arthur's spastically twitching eye is considered unavoidable. "That long, hm?" He mumbles something indecent beneath his breath, then, louder, he asks, "Well, you've kept it to yourself all this time; what's the point of telling us now?"

Yes, there is an us. Alfred stands center-stage, positioned half-way between Ivan and Arthur, mouth agape and eyes wide (completely disregarding Valentina's image of him up until this point). He's yet to speak after Ivan's ill-timed announcement and Arthur's begun to worry he's gone into some sort of shock.

"You see the pretty little fairies, da?"

"Oi, it's not just--"

"And perform the sparkly magic?"

Arthur leans back in his chair, his curiosity piqued. His elbows propped up on the armrests, he steeples his fingers, tips tapping rhythmically, thoughtfully, against his chin. "You want me to retrieve her memories using magic," he guesses, correctly, as it were, as Ivan's smile gains life and vigor even as Alfred's trance shatters and he yelps, "She's a what?!" much like Arthur did.

Neither country acknowledges that Alfred has even spoken.

"I'm going to ask you again: Why now?" Arthur takes into his hands the cup of tea he'd been enjoying before Ivan's arrival, allowing himself a tentative sip, savoring the heat radiating from the dainty porcelain. The teacup again settled at his lips, he peeks above the lip of the drink, watching Ivan. "You could have asked me the moment I arrived here, or anytime since, really. I doubt her amnesia's bothered you much; perhaps you even prefer it. So why now?" he repeats.

Alfred is suddenly behind him, his monstrous strength applied to shaking Arthur's shoulders like a petulant child wanting for its mother's attention. "Dude!" - Arthur's tea clatters to the ground, the cup broken, the drink puddling on the carpet - "If you can help her, do it! Who cares why he's asking now? You shoulda offered way before now!"

A weighted sigh falls from Arthur's lips as he irritably swats the young nation's hands away and leans a cheek on his knuckles. "Whatever your reasons" - he waves a hand in Ivan's direction - "I had my own for not offering sooner. I do, in fact, know a spell that would bring back all of Valentina's memories, but magic never comes without a cost, which you would know if you bothered listening to me every now and again."

Sheepish, Alfred scratches at the back of his neck, a soft chuckle rumbling in the back of his throat.

Ivan shrugs with the air of one saying I've always thought you were crazy; I have no reason to apologize.

Another eye twitch.

"In any case," Arthur manages to bite out through gritted teeth, "the consequences of returning her lost memories all at once could be... problematic." He holds up a hand to halt Alfred's imminent barrage of fruitless questions; the American's cheeks puff out indignantly. "Processing that much information without staggering it could cause some rather serious damage to her mind. And then there's the possibility that the real Valentina is nothing like the girl we've come to know. Her country - or state, or providence, or region - could loathe the rest of us." 

It's a notion not easily countered. Unless bound together in an alliance (or if a nation expresses blatant neutrality and reacts similarly to all prospective countries - like Switzerland), nations aren't generally on good terms with one another. Wars spark over petty arguments; liberation from tyrannical rulers causes animosity between neighbors.

If Valentina's national identity was revealed to be an enemy of any or every of them, what would they do?

Still.

Alfred, who's since folded himself into an uncomfortable but bearable position ensconced in the drooping couch cusions some feet away from Arthur, lets out a derisive snort. "Details, details." 

Arthur goes to throw the remains of his fractured teacup - on track to nail the dangerously impulsive blonde just above Texas - only to pause as he adds, "It's Val, guys. Do ya really think she's gonna change that much just 'cause she's got her memories back?"

There isn't much to say to that, a statement both philosophical for its insight but oh-so moronic for its narrow-mindedness, a fact Arthur's lost all will to combat. He wishes for Alfred's naive belief to be true, though, more than anything. Great Britain has a notable lack of friends; he'd be remiss to lose one in such circumstances.

"Ivan." The Russian man's gaze has to yet to leave Arthur's. "I shouldn't say it's your place to decide for her, but... are you sure? I say, you'll be the most affected by this..."

"She is wanting for it, too," is Ivan's only response.

Arthur can't detect any hesitation in the man's voice, but it's implausible to think he is one hundred percent sure of this decision, what with those bristling shadows slinking through his violet eyes.

The Englishman stands, dusting his hands together, absently flicking a few minuscule flecks of cooling tea from his fingertips. He clears his throat. "Alright, then. I'll have the necessary things sent over from my home. We'll do this tomorrow."

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Whoa. Another chapter. Two in one day. Must be the excitement getting to me. Cause guys. Guess what? 

We're nearing the end. 

...Aha. Yeah. 

Enjoy that fantastically darling picture of Russia on the side to make up for the saddening news.