Had he really been that withdrawn lately? Maybe he was under the misguided assumption that 10-year-olds liked their personal space.
Alfred just shrugged, drawing circles on his sheets. "When we first met, you'd move heaven and earth to spend time with me. Now it feels like you spend all your time at work. Did I do something?" He finally looked at Arthur, not with judgement, but with such genuine curiosity it made the older man's heart ache.
Now knowing if a hug was overstepping too much of a boundary, he awkwardly rubbed the boy's shoulders, trying to dispel such a horrid thought from his mind. "No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. Not at all, love. When I first brought you here, you needed that attention. You had just lost your parents and needed a support system. Once you started to go about things like they were normal, I thought it was okay to stop."
He should have explained himself earlier, instead of having Alfred feel as if it was his fault. This situation would have never happened if we had just done it in the first place. "I shouldn't have closed you out so suddenly, I just thought you were ready for your own space."
Alfred thought about the words and the meaning behind them, and though he didn't exactly agree, he knew Arthur was coming from a good place. "I guess that makes sense," he said softly. "I'm sorry for icing you. Guess it was a bit childish, wasn't it?"
Arthur chuckled at that, ruffling his hair. "When have ever NOT acted childish? Ah, but how can I expect any difference? You're still a kid, if not a very small adult."
"Sure, maybe you'll even reach five feet," Arthur teased, earning a punch to the arm from the kid. "Now, what do you say about a late-night ice cream dinner?"
with wide eyes. America scowled, making it clear to Russia that he was just as stubborn, so Russia had better not lie.
For a second, he thought Russia would anyways, but then Russia blinked, an unfamiliar look flitting in his eyes, and answered in the same bright tone he always used.
"My boss has me working hard."
And in a second, America understood everything. The reason no one would say anything about the bruises, not even Russia. The reason no one was surprised by them, no one tried to help Russia, not even his obsessed little sister, Belarus. Because no one could help. A country was a slave to their boss, whether they liked it or not. And no one could interfere.
Or maybe no one had ever tried.
"Seems like hard work." America speculated, beginning to calm down. "Probably makes for a good workout."
Russia looked at America like he was a puzzle Russia couldn't solve, purple eyes clouded with confusion.
"What?"
America ignored that.
"I've been needing to up my workout routine for a while," he mused, and Russia's smile began to slip as he started to understand. America's smile began to come back. "Alright! I've decided! I'm going to work with you!"
Russia was frozen, purple eyes wide in a way different than his innocent act.
America nodded to himself, pleased with his solution.
"I'll do it better than you too, I won't even get injured." He puffed out his chest. "That's why I'm the Hero!"
A hero wasn't someone who would just let their rival suffer, but a hero wasn't someone who would look down on their rival either. But America wasn't really looking down on Russia, both of them knew that. But if he didn't say it this way, if he didn't make a show...
Then that Russia, ever-proud and unbending Russia would take insult. And Hero's don't insult their rivals, except in banter.
Russia was so shocked he forgot to keep up his act, eyes narrowing as he pulled his scarf back down to talk to America - revealing the split lip America wasn't surprised to see he had - shame forgotten in the current situation.
"America," Russia said carefully, a thin line of threat in his tone, "What are you saying."
America grinned.
"I'm saying that it's rude of you to be working out in secret like that, so I'm going to come and do it too, so you don't get stronger without me."
A reason that was as much a lie as it was ridiculous, but one Russia couldn't refute. Russia, who forced himself to play a part, to smile no matter how he felt, to never glare or get angry. To that Russia, there was no way for him to argue against America without breaking his act, and America knew it. Both of them knew it.
After all, America too was acting, not a country who saw a friend being abused and wanted to help, but a rival indignant at the other pulling ahead. America, who knew his act well and played it within the box, had successfully caged in Russia, who couldn't refuse help without America admitting it had been offered.
Besides, it wasn't an offer. Russia couldn't say no even if he wanted too, because America wasn't listening.
Russia suddenly whirled on his heel, and America found himself facing that sturdy wall of a back he hated seeing so much.
"It is not a workout, but work." Russia said, tone strangely thick. "And does America have permission from his Boss, I wonder?"
Of course a country couldn't just offer another country aid without a whole diplomatic hoedown and contracts and deals and stuff, but...
"Yeah, don't lie to me. I'm onto you, Russia!" America scoffed away Russia's refusal. "And why would I need permission from my boss to work out? I'm allowed to hang out with whoever I want in my personal life."
And for a second, America though he saw something droop in Russia's strong shoulders, like the back in front of him wasn't so strong and unbreakable after all. But in just a second, it was gone, and Russia stood straighter and taller than ever.
"Fine. Then I will make you work-out until you bleed."
And America grinned.
"Go ahead and try, commie."
When America and Russia re-entered the meeting room together, people stilled, but America was no longer tense and angry, but relaxed and grinning, and Russia was no longer silently keeping to himself with his scarf pulled over his chin, but was beaming pleasantly and bickering with America, like the version of the two from earlier had never existed.
Canada didn't understand what happened, but relaxed anyways, relieved his brother wasn't starting another cold war. France exchanged a look with England. They should have known better. They knew best what it meant to be rivals, and not just enemies. Enemies, who took any chance to rip apart and destroy the other. Rival, who fought with honour and respect for eachother. And France flushed with shame as he realized how he'd discredited the young superpower, and England quirked a kind of smug grin as he watched his ex-colony with pride.
Somewhere at the other end of the table, a sister who has been snappish all day suddenly choked on a lump in her throat when she saw the two, and then quickly pretended her heart didn't ache that someone else had found a solution she couldn't find, that someone else had made her brother smile genuinely again.
And, as it turned out, two of the strongest countries in the world working together led to a lot less accidents and injuries, and the next time a meeting was held, Russia didn't have any more cuts or bruises, and the ones he used have had already healed.
America laughed like a hero, leaning back in his seat with his feet on the table, and pretended every muscle in his body didn't ache.
It turned out helping Russia work was a good workout after all.