11 - An Understanding
Title: An Understanding
Characters: Russia, Israel OC, America.
Rating: R for violence. Warning: this chapter contains strong anti-Semitic language and violence against women.
Summary: 1903 - the Kishinev Pogrom marks the beginning of a new wave of antisemitism in Russia, and America gets to be a hero.
TCE is co-written by wizzard890 and pyrrhiccomedy.
---
Moscow. April, 1903.
Israel wasn't sure which hurt worse: Russia's fist slamming into the side of her face, or the fact that she couldn't defend herself against it.
She hit the floor, hard, and was only saved a mouth full of broken teeth by the hand gripping her wrist, grinding the bones into one another. A small noise of disapproval filtered through the ringing in her ears.
"On the ground already, Amaris? I'm disappointed. I expected such a fight out of you." Russia wrenched her arm upwards, twisted it behind her back. She shot back to her feet, unresisting, biting back a snarl of pain. He pulled her in, sharp, until her shoulder blades were crushed against his chest; his breath is hot on her neck. "Don't tell me you're giving up."
Israel craned her neck and tried to meet his eyes, that too-calm gaze she knew was burning into her back. "I have a name, you bastard," she managed, licking the blood off her lips.
Russia buried his free hand in her hair, jerked her head back. "But names are for nations, dear Amaris. Not for refugees." He twirled long dark strands around his fingers, and tugged, not-quite-playfully. "Not infestations."
Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, forced into a contemplation of the rafters. The tiny bedroom was too quiet around them, quaint and warm, and the bedclothes were trailing on the ground, still disturbed from the moment, a quarter of an hour ago, when Russia had stormed in and pulled her out of bed by her hair. She shifted under Russia's hands, and hated that her head only came to the center of his chest. "Fuck you." Her fingers curled into claws, and she whirled around, ignoring the shrieking pain the lanced up her arm, and dug her nails in beneath his left eye.
She was rewarded with another backhand to the face.
Russia advanced on her, bleeding sluggishly from four ragged lines in his cheek, and, with a hideous, lopsided smile, slammed her into the pinewood desk in the corner. The world went white and hot for a moment as her head smacked the corner. She blinked, tried to clear her vision, and felt a telltale dampness seeping down the back of her neck. Then a hand closed around her throat.
"Why did you do it?" Russia asked gently, a sick counterpoint to the way he was crushing Israel's windpipe. "I've taken such good care of you, and I thought we had an understanding."
Israel surged up, kicked frantically. Her legs tangled in her skirt, and she barely caught Russia a glancing blow on the calf. "I didn't touch that child," she hissed. Breath stuttered, turned stale in her lungs, and she scrabbled at the hand on her neck.
"But who else would? So underhanded, so false? Hallmarks of your people." Russia leaned down into her face, cocked his head. Their lips were almost touching, and Israel felt her stomach turn. "The papers said you ate him...I don't know if I believe that, but a murder is a murder. What happens to the body is beside the point."
"What're you going to do with mine, then?" Israel's voice was raw. "Hang my head from your rafters?"
Russia laughed a little, then, and his smile widened. He nudged his cheek against the side of her face, almost nuzzling. "I haven't decided yet."
They were interrupted by someone hammering on the front door, far below. "Russia!" A man's voice, shouting. "Let me in!"
Russia stiffened, and his hand tightened convulsively around Israel's throat. He looked towards the bedroom door, still ajar, down the hallway, towards the stairs. For a sliver of a moment, it felt as though he was going to let go. Then he turned back, forced her harder against the desk. "Don't get excited. You and I are far from finished."
"We're not finished until I pay you back for this, you son of a bitch." Israel ran her tongue over her split lip.
Russia smiled. "Good girl."
There were footsteps in the downstairs hallway, and then she heard the door creak open. Lithuania's unsteady voice floated up the stairs. "Oh...h-hello...listen, it's not a--"
"Who are you?" the visitor demanded. Then, "What's going on in there?"
"I'm--Lithuania, listen, it's not really a good time--"
"I heard screaming! Where's Russia?"
"He's--he's busy--" Lithuania sounded helpless.
"Oh, I just bet he is."
"No, stop--you can't come in--you really can't come in--" Lithuania's voice was drowned out under rapid footsteps on the staircase.
Israel twisted her fingers into Russia's scarf and jerked his head down. "You really want someone to see this? …Do you?"
The door slammed open.
She saw a flash of blond disappear behind Russia's back, and then new hands closed on Russia's shoulders and jerked him back. "What are you doing?" he cried. "Stop it!"
Russia didn't let go, and Israel was yanked to her feet as he staggered back and pulled her with him. She gasped around the weight of his fingers, and she could smell the blood staining the collar of her nightgown.
His voice--casual, like he was talking about the weather, the bastard--rumbled through the cloud of pain. "What are you doing here?"
"Russia, let her--let her go!" The intruder shoved between them, and--this was someone she should know, she thought, dimly; she recognized him, he had been by the house before. Some friend of Russia's, if he had friends. She watched him grab Russia's wrists, hesitate, and then dig his fingers hard into the weak points. "What's gotten into you?"
"This is none of your business, America," Russia snapped, his attention completely off Israel now. His eyes were fixed on the intruder.
America. Of course. She squinted, tried to focus on him. Young, good-looking, torn between fury and panic, and trying to reason with Russia.
Reason with Russia.
She'd laugh if she had the breath. Poor thing. He was fighting a losing battle.
He scrambled at Russia's fingers, tried to pry them off--she gagged harder--and then whipped back to face the larger nation. "Let her go," he pleaded. An awful pause. "I--don't want to hurt you. Just…stop."
Another, longer silence. Then Russia threw Israel to the floor, put all his weight behind it. She stumbled and landed hard on her left wrist. A sharp crack split the air and her teeth chopped cleanly into her lower lip.
Russia turned to America and gave him smile. It was entirely genuine. "I didn't know you were coming. How was the trip?"
America ignored him and dropped to one knee at Israel's side. He cupped the back of her head and rested a hand on her arm to steady her. "Jesus--miss, are you all right?"
Israel wheezed and struggled to sit up. She cradled her wrist against her chest. Every muscle was screaming, but she set her jaw and glared at Russia. "I'm fine," she hissed, never taking her eyes off the huge nation looming over America's shoulder.
America slipped an arm around her shoulders and helped her up, leaned her back against the wall. He whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it gently against the blood that spilled over her chin. Serious blue eyes searched her face. "What's your name?"
Russia's eyes were narrowed, she saw, glued to the few inches of space between her and America.
So. That's what this is.
Something cruel and satisfied teased at the corner of her mouth. Israel let the soft wad of cloth slide across her cheek, although it wasn't doing much to mop up the blood--just smearing it around. She turned her face into America's fingers. "Israel."
A flicker in his eyelids, of surprise. She was used to that. Then he offered her a reassuring smile. "It's good to meet you. I'm America." She held his eyes for a few seconds. He pressed the handkerchief into her hand--her uninjured hand--and looked from her to Russia, his arm still draped protectively over her shoulder. "What the fuck is going on here?"
"We were having a discussion," Russia replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Amaris was trying to explain her disgusting behavior towards my people."
Israel's head snapped up and she pushed back against the wall, fighting to get to her feet. "Fucking liar!"
America's arms closed tight around her, restrained her. Russia's face went carefully blank. "What is she supposed to have done?" he demanded.
"Killed a child. And possibly ate--"
"Don't you dare!" Israel cut in.
He continued, unperturbed. "Ate him. Though I don't know how she stays so bony while existing on a diet of children." His eyes raked over her body, lurid and contemptuous.
America's expression changed. His arms shifted around her, turned sheltering. "Is there any proof?"
"With her people?" Russia's lip curled. "What proof do I need?"
America's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't be ridiculous, America. The only reason she's with me is because the rest of Europe has spent the last five hundred years learning her true colors." He met Israel's furious gaze, and she suddenly wanted, more than anything, to tear his throat out with her teeth. "Her people are a plague, and they've poisoned my country for far too long."
America turned a bewildered look on Israel, then back to Russia. "What are you...I've met her people. I mean...if we're talking about...I've got a ton of Jews who live at my place. They're nice folks. I-I mean--God--even if something did happen to that kid, it can't seriously be worth..." his fingers curled a little into the sleeve of her shift. He looked back to her, then, and settled her gently against the wall. He caught her eyes, for a moment, then rose and turned on Russia. "Is this how you do trials, over here?"
Russia laughed, and Israel had learned to hate that sound, rare as it was. "This isn't a trial. It's justice." He took a step closer to America, a strange light in his eyes. "I don't understand why you see a reason to interfere with that. After all, you're so...naively obsessed with it."
It didn't seem to even occur to America that he should be afraid. He stood straight, shoulders square. "I don't see how beating the everliving shit out of some defenseless girl has anything to do with justice."
"Because she deserves it." Russia ran his hand over the raw, open wounds on his face, and raised an eyebrow when it came away bloody. "And she certainly wasn't helpless."
"I'm just sorry I couldn't reach your eyes," Israel snarled.
Russia shrugged. "See?"
America just gaped at him. Then, "You don't know if she even did anything! Fuck, Russia, are you out of your mind? You can't just attack people for no reason!"
"I have a reason," Russia said patiently. "Which I've just explained to you. And so I've taken it on myself to correct her behavior. Why is this difficult for you understand?"
"Correct her..." America wavered on his feet for a moment, and then put his back resolutely to Russia. He knelt in front of Israel again. "Miss...come with me, okay? There's plenty of space in my house, and you shouldn't--you shouldn't...be here."
She didn't want to take his hand. At all. What she wanted, more than anything, was to stop existing on her own anger and the kindness of strangers. But that wasn't how things worked, now or ever.
Israel swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva and twined her fingers in America's.
He helped her gingerly to her feet and folded an arm around her waist, to support her. He turned a flat, cold look on Russia. "I'll send somebody around for her things, okay?"
Russia gave him a brief, sharp smile. "Fine."
Only years of living under the same roof allowed Israel to catch the flicker of--something, in his eyes.
The others had assembled in the sitting room closest to the front door--Finland and Estonia lingered by the back wall, and Latvia and Lithuania hovered near the entrance. America helped her ease her way down the stairs. Latvia clutched a pillow to his chest and threw a nervous look over her shoulder, and whispered, "Are you really leaving?"
"I'll get your coat," Lithuania murmured, and turned away down the hall.
Israel dropped a hand gently on Latvia's head. "It looks like it, doesn't it?" Her smile was quick, bloody. "Take care of yourself."
"Do all these people live here?" America wondered. Everyone ignored him.
"Here you go." Lithuania draped her long jacket over her shoulders, and gave her a brief, tight smile. He took Latvia's hand and steered him gently away.
Outside, freezing afternoon had bled into evening, and Israel allowed herself one look back at the nations gathered in the foyer. Just kids--all of them. And not likely to live to be much older. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself.
America had moved his arm from around her waist to the outside of her jacket, below her shoulders, and he led her gently down the sidewalk. He wet his lips and hesitated before he spoke. "So...are you really Israel?"
"No. I've been lying." A small smile strained at the edges of her cracked lips.
"I'm sorry, I just--"
Her hand brushed gently against his shoulder. "You just thought I'd been killed by Babylon years ago. So does everyone." She felt--damn it, she felt grateful. And she didn't want to hear that awkward note in his voice. So she looked up and him and added a footnote: "Now there was a bitch."
"Well, uh, I didn't exactly know who the..." he trailed off into mumbling and blushed a bit. "But yeah, I thought you were...I mean, I was pretty sure you didn't..." He gave up. A second passed. "Does...Russia do that kind of thing a lot...?"
She shrugged and winced and tried to remember the last time she saw a nation blush. "Not to me, no. But I can't speak for anyone else."
"There were so many people..." he sounded a little distant. "And he has his sisters, too, doesn't he? I mean, I knew he had an empire, I just didn't think..."
"And how do you hold an empire?" She sounded tired. "Even Rome wasn't above using force when he needed to. What did you think Russia was doing?"
"England never..." But that trailed off into an uneasy silence.
Israel made a noncommittal noise and wondered how old, exactly, America was.
"I-I guess...I had heard stories..." he faltered. "I mean, people say a lot of things about Russia. But with me, he's always been..."
"Different?" She let out a small, mocking laugh. "And now you've seen him like that." An image of Russia's eyes, lingering on America's hand around her waist, flashed through her mind.
America remained silent, eyes downcast, evidently unwilling to defend someone he'd just caught beating her.
There was no reason for her to be sorry. If he had been stupid enough to let Russia pull the wool over his eyes, that was his own fault. Everyone hated Russia. Not as much as they hated her, but--still. Her fingers curled in the sleeve of his coat, almost of their own accord. "Life's hard, isn't it?"
It wasn't sympathy, but it would have to do.
"He's still my friend," he said, but there was a hollow little note of--disappointment, in his voice. His eyes flicked towards her. "Sorry. I just...he's always been there for me, and maybe I can...talk to him..."
Israel held his gaze and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her overcoat. "Maybe. But I hope you know when to give up."
He laughed at that--soft, humorless, and his eyes briefly closed. "No--sorry, I just--" he made an odd, stiff smile; "No…I don't think that's really a quality of mine at all."
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-The Kishinev Pogrom was a days-long, anti-Semitic riot that took place in Chişinău, the capital of the Bessarabian province of the Russian empire. The riot started in that particular city, but the violence and anti-Semitic sentiment spread quickly across the country. It was touched off by the murder of Mikhail Rybachenko, a young Christian Russian boy. Despite the obvious guilt of one of his relatives, the Russian anti-Semitic newspaper Bessarabetz insinuated that he had been murdered by the Jews. The violence sparked by this quickly spiraled out of control, with the Russian government doing little to nothing to stop it.
-There was a international outcry against the utterly unconcerned response of the Russian government. America was especially furious, and covered the horror of the riots closely in papers like the New York Times. Both President Theodore Roosevelt and former president Grover Cleveland spoke out against the violence, pressuring Tsar Nicholas II for reform.
-The Kishinev Pogrom marked a turning point for Russian Jews, proving to them that their country would no longer care for and protect them. Millions of them immigrated to America, hoping for safety and new opportunities.
-Blood libels directed at Jews are the false accusations that they use human blood in the preparation of certain aspects of their religious rituals and holidays, with the blood of Christian children being especially coveted. These falsehoods began to circulate during the 12th century in Christianized Europe.
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This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.
Characters: Russia, Israel OC, America.
Rating: R for violence. Warning: this chapter contains strong anti-Semitic language and violence against women.
Summary: 1903 - the Kishinev Pogrom marks the beginning of a new wave of antisemitism in Russia, and America gets to be a hero.
TCE is co-written by wizzard890 and pyrrhiccomedy.
---
Moscow. April, 1903.
Israel wasn't sure which hurt worse: Russia's fist slamming into the side of her face, or the fact that she couldn't defend herself against it.
She hit the floor, hard, and was only saved a mouth full of broken teeth by the hand gripping her wrist, grinding the bones into one another. A small noise of disapproval filtered through the ringing in her ears.
"On the ground already, Amaris? I'm disappointed. I expected such a fight out of you." Russia wrenched her arm upwards, twisted it behind her back. She shot back to her feet, unresisting, biting back a snarl of pain. He pulled her in, sharp, until her shoulder blades were crushed against his chest; his breath is hot on her neck. "Don't tell me you're giving up."
Israel craned her neck and tried to meet his eyes, that too-calm gaze she knew was burning into her back. "I have a name, you bastard," she managed, licking the blood off her lips.
Russia buried his free hand in her hair, jerked her head back. "But names are for nations, dear Amaris. Not for refugees." He twirled long dark strands around his fingers, and tugged, not-quite-playfully. "Not infestations."
Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, forced into a contemplation of the rafters. The tiny bedroom was too quiet around them, quaint and warm, and the bedclothes were trailing on the ground, still disturbed from the moment, a quarter of an hour ago, when Russia had stormed in and pulled her out of bed by her hair. She shifted under Russia's hands, and hated that her head only came to the center of his chest. "Fuck you." Her fingers curled into claws, and she whirled around, ignoring the shrieking pain the lanced up her arm, and dug her nails in beneath his left eye.
She was rewarded with another backhand to the face.
Russia advanced on her, bleeding sluggishly from four ragged lines in his cheek, and, with a hideous, lopsided smile, slammed her into the pinewood desk in the corner. The world went white and hot for a moment as her head smacked the corner. She blinked, tried to clear her vision, and felt a telltale dampness seeping down the back of her neck. Then a hand closed around her throat.
"Why did you do it?" Russia asked gently, a sick counterpoint to the way he was crushing Israel's windpipe. "I've taken such good care of you, and I thought we had an understanding."
Israel surged up, kicked frantically. Her legs tangled in her skirt, and she barely caught Russia a glancing blow on the calf. "I didn't touch that child," she hissed. Breath stuttered, turned stale in her lungs, and she scrabbled at the hand on her neck.
"But who else would? So underhanded, so false? Hallmarks of your people." Russia leaned down into her face, cocked his head. Their lips were almost touching, and Israel felt her stomach turn. "The papers said you ate him...I don't know if I believe that, but a murder is a murder. What happens to the body is beside the point."
"What're you going to do with mine, then?" Israel's voice was raw. "Hang my head from your rafters?"
Russia laughed a little, then, and his smile widened. He nudged his cheek against the side of her face, almost nuzzling. "I haven't decided yet."
They were interrupted by someone hammering on the front door, far below. "Russia!" A man's voice, shouting. "Let me in!"
Russia stiffened, and his hand tightened convulsively around Israel's throat. He looked towards the bedroom door, still ajar, down the hallway, towards the stairs. For a sliver of a moment, it felt as though he was going to let go. Then he turned back, forced her harder against the desk. "Don't get excited. You and I are far from finished."
"We're not finished until I pay you back for this, you son of a bitch." Israel ran her tongue over her split lip.
Russia smiled. "Good girl."
There were footsteps in the downstairs hallway, and then she heard the door creak open. Lithuania's unsteady voice floated up the stairs. "Oh...h-hello...listen, it's not a--"
"Who are you?" the visitor demanded. Then, "What's going on in there?"
"I'm--Lithuania, listen, it's not really a good time--"
"I heard screaming! Where's Russia?"
"He's--he's busy--" Lithuania sounded helpless.
"Oh, I just bet he is."
"No, stop--you can't come in--you really can't come in--" Lithuania's voice was drowned out under rapid footsteps on the staircase.
Israel twisted her fingers into Russia's scarf and jerked his head down. "You really want someone to see this? …Do you?"
The door slammed open.
She saw a flash of blond disappear behind Russia's back, and then new hands closed on Russia's shoulders and jerked him back. "What are you doing?" he cried. "Stop it!"
Russia didn't let go, and Israel was yanked to her feet as he staggered back and pulled her with him. She gasped around the weight of his fingers, and she could smell the blood staining the collar of her nightgown.
His voice--casual, like he was talking about the weather, the bastard--rumbled through the cloud of pain. "What are you doing here?"
"Russia, let her--let her go!" The intruder shoved between them, and--this was someone she should know, she thought, dimly; she recognized him, he had been by the house before. Some friend of Russia's, if he had friends. She watched him grab Russia's wrists, hesitate, and then dig his fingers hard into the weak points. "What's gotten into you?"
"This is none of your business, America," Russia snapped, his attention completely off Israel now. His eyes were fixed on the intruder.
America. Of course. She squinted, tried to focus on him. Young, good-looking, torn between fury and panic, and trying to reason with Russia.
Reason with Russia.
She'd laugh if she had the breath. Poor thing. He was fighting a losing battle.
He scrambled at Russia's fingers, tried to pry them off--she gagged harder--and then whipped back to face the larger nation. "Let her go," he pleaded. An awful pause. "I--don't want to hurt you. Just…stop."
Another, longer silence. Then Russia threw Israel to the floor, put all his weight behind it. She stumbled and landed hard on her left wrist. A sharp crack split the air and her teeth chopped cleanly into her lower lip.
Russia turned to America and gave him smile. It was entirely genuine. "I didn't know you were coming. How was the trip?"
America ignored him and dropped to one knee at Israel's side. He cupped the back of her head and rested a hand on her arm to steady her. "Jesus--miss, are you all right?"
Israel wheezed and struggled to sit up. She cradled her wrist against her chest. Every muscle was screaming, but she set her jaw and glared at Russia. "I'm fine," she hissed, never taking her eyes off the huge nation looming over America's shoulder.
America slipped an arm around her shoulders and helped her up, leaned her back against the wall. He whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it gently against the blood that spilled over her chin. Serious blue eyes searched her face. "What's your name?"
Russia's eyes were narrowed, she saw, glued to the few inches of space between her and America.
So. That's what this is.
Something cruel and satisfied teased at the corner of her mouth. Israel let the soft wad of cloth slide across her cheek, although it wasn't doing much to mop up the blood--just smearing it around. She turned her face into America's fingers. "Israel."
A flicker in his eyelids, of surprise. She was used to that. Then he offered her a reassuring smile. "It's good to meet you. I'm America." She held his eyes for a few seconds. He pressed the handkerchief into her hand--her uninjured hand--and looked from her to Russia, his arm still draped protectively over her shoulder. "What the fuck is going on here?"
"We were having a discussion," Russia replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Amaris was trying to explain her disgusting behavior towards my people."
Israel's head snapped up and she pushed back against the wall, fighting to get to her feet. "Fucking liar!"
America's arms closed tight around her, restrained her. Russia's face went carefully blank. "What is she supposed to have done?" he demanded.
"Killed a child. And possibly ate--"
"Don't you dare!" Israel cut in.
He continued, unperturbed. "Ate him. Though I don't know how she stays so bony while existing on a diet of children." His eyes raked over her body, lurid and contemptuous.
America's expression changed. His arms shifted around her, turned sheltering. "Is there any proof?"
"With her people?" Russia's lip curled. "What proof do I need?"
America's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't be ridiculous, America. The only reason she's with me is because the rest of Europe has spent the last five hundred years learning her true colors." He met Israel's furious gaze, and she suddenly wanted, more than anything, to tear his throat out with her teeth. "Her people are a plague, and they've poisoned my country for far too long."
America turned a bewildered look on Israel, then back to Russia. "What are you...I've met her people. I mean...if we're talking about...I've got a ton of Jews who live at my place. They're nice folks. I-I mean--God--even if something did happen to that kid, it can't seriously be worth..." his fingers curled a little into the sleeve of her shift. He looked back to her, then, and settled her gently against the wall. He caught her eyes, for a moment, then rose and turned on Russia. "Is this how you do trials, over here?"
Russia laughed, and Israel had learned to hate that sound, rare as it was. "This isn't a trial. It's justice." He took a step closer to America, a strange light in his eyes. "I don't understand why you see a reason to interfere with that. After all, you're so...naively obsessed with it."
It didn't seem to even occur to America that he should be afraid. He stood straight, shoulders square. "I don't see how beating the everliving shit out of some defenseless girl has anything to do with justice."
"Because she deserves it." Russia ran his hand over the raw, open wounds on his face, and raised an eyebrow when it came away bloody. "And she certainly wasn't helpless."
"I'm just sorry I couldn't reach your eyes," Israel snarled.
Russia shrugged. "See?"
America just gaped at him. Then, "You don't know if she even did anything! Fuck, Russia, are you out of your mind? You can't just attack people for no reason!"
"I have a reason," Russia said patiently. "Which I've just explained to you. And so I've taken it on myself to correct her behavior. Why is this difficult for you understand?"
"Correct her..." America wavered on his feet for a moment, and then put his back resolutely to Russia. He knelt in front of Israel again. "Miss...come with me, okay? There's plenty of space in my house, and you shouldn't--you shouldn't...be here."
She didn't want to take his hand. At all. What she wanted, more than anything, was to stop existing on her own anger and the kindness of strangers. But that wasn't how things worked, now or ever.
Israel swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva and twined her fingers in America's.
He helped her gingerly to her feet and folded an arm around her waist, to support her. He turned a flat, cold look on Russia. "I'll send somebody around for her things, okay?"
Russia gave him a brief, sharp smile. "Fine."
Only years of living under the same roof allowed Israel to catch the flicker of--something, in his eyes.
The others had assembled in the sitting room closest to the front door--Finland and Estonia lingered by the back wall, and Latvia and Lithuania hovered near the entrance. America helped her ease her way down the stairs. Latvia clutched a pillow to his chest and threw a nervous look over her shoulder, and whispered, "Are you really leaving?"
"I'll get your coat," Lithuania murmured, and turned away down the hall.
Israel dropped a hand gently on Latvia's head. "It looks like it, doesn't it?" Her smile was quick, bloody. "Take care of yourself."
"Do all these people live here?" America wondered. Everyone ignored him.
"Here you go." Lithuania draped her long jacket over her shoulders, and gave her a brief, tight smile. He took Latvia's hand and steered him gently away.
Outside, freezing afternoon had bled into evening, and Israel allowed herself one look back at the nations gathered in the foyer. Just kids--all of them. And not likely to live to be much older. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself.
America had moved his arm from around her waist to the outside of her jacket, below her shoulders, and he led her gently down the sidewalk. He wet his lips and hesitated before he spoke. "So...are you really Israel?"
"No. I've been lying." A small smile strained at the edges of her cracked lips.
"I'm sorry, I just--"
Her hand brushed gently against his shoulder. "You just thought I'd been killed by Babylon years ago. So does everyone." She felt--damn it, she felt grateful. And she didn't want to hear that awkward note in his voice. So she looked up and him and added a footnote: "Now there was a bitch."
"Well, uh, I didn't exactly know who the..." he trailed off into mumbling and blushed a bit. "But yeah, I thought you were...I mean, I was pretty sure you didn't..." He gave up. A second passed. "Does...Russia do that kind of thing a lot...?"
She shrugged and winced and tried to remember the last time she saw a nation blush. "Not to me, no. But I can't speak for anyone else."
"There were so many people..." he sounded a little distant. "And he has his sisters, too, doesn't he? I mean, I knew he had an empire, I just didn't think..."
"And how do you hold an empire?" She sounded tired. "Even Rome wasn't above using force when he needed to. What did you think Russia was doing?"
"England never..." But that trailed off into an uneasy silence.
Israel made a noncommittal noise and wondered how old, exactly, America was.
"I-I guess...I had heard stories..." he faltered. "I mean, people say a lot of things about Russia. But with me, he's always been..."
"Different?" She let out a small, mocking laugh. "And now you've seen him like that." An image of Russia's eyes, lingering on America's hand around her waist, flashed through her mind.
America remained silent, eyes downcast, evidently unwilling to defend someone he'd just caught beating her.
There was no reason for her to be sorry. If he had been stupid enough to let Russia pull the wool over his eyes, that was his own fault. Everyone hated Russia. Not as much as they hated her, but--still. Her fingers curled in the sleeve of his coat, almost of their own accord. "Life's hard, isn't it?"
It wasn't sympathy, but it would have to do.
"He's still my friend," he said, but there was a hollow little note of--disappointment, in his voice. His eyes flicked towards her. "Sorry. I just...he's always been there for me, and maybe I can...talk to him..."
Israel held his gaze and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her overcoat. "Maybe. But I hope you know when to give up."
He laughed at that--soft, humorless, and his eyes briefly closed. "No--sorry, I just--" he made an odd, stiff smile; "No…I don't think that's really a quality of mine at all."
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-The Kishinev Pogrom was a days-long, anti-Semitic riot that took place in Chişinău, the capital of the Bessarabian province of the Russian empire. The riot started in that particular city, but the violence and anti-Semitic sentiment spread quickly across the country. It was touched off by the murder of Mikhail Rybachenko, a young Christian Russian boy. Despite the obvious guilt of one of his relatives, the Russian anti-Semitic newspaper Bessarabetz insinuated that he had been murdered by the Jews. The violence sparked by this quickly spiraled out of control, with the Russian government doing little to nothing to stop it.
-There was a international outcry against the utterly unconcerned response of the Russian government. America was especially furious, and covered the horror of the riots closely in papers like the New York Times. Both President Theodore Roosevelt and former president Grover Cleveland spoke out against the violence, pressuring Tsar Nicholas II for reform.
-The Kishinev Pogrom marked a turning point for Russian Jews, proving to them that their country would no longer care for and protect them. Millions of them immigrated to America, hoping for safety and new opportunities.
-Blood libels directed at Jews are the false accusations that they use human blood in the preparation of certain aspects of their religious rituals and holidays, with the blood of Christian children being especially coveted. These falsehoods began to circulate during the 12th century in Christianized Europe.
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This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.