Work Text:
"CAN SOMEBODY GET ME MORE BLOOD?!"
America was desperately trying to staunch the bleeding in the abdomen of a man who had been found in a burning car wreckage, with one of the wheel shafts going through his stomach. He's losing blood so quickly, and he has multiple third degree burns- it's not looking good at all-
South Korea ran up to him, tossing him a walkie-talkie. "ICU's calling."
"Goddamnit-" America fumbled with the walkie-talkie, which was sliding around in his bloody hands. "Here, help stop the bleeding, I'll take the call-" He ran off into the hallway, clicking into the call.
"ICU." The cold, deep, accented voice of one of the ICU nurses came through the walkie-talkie, and America bit down a groan of frustration.
"Male Hispanic patient with major third degree burns, impaled in the abdomen with a wheel shaft, shattered calf, coded twice, and bleeding excessively-"
"Was he drunk while he was driving? Did he take any drugs?" Russia asked, boredom filling his tone.
"?? He's been unconscious the whole time, the car was completely wrecked, there's no way to know if he was inebriated-"
"Please try to find out if you can." America was fairly sure he heard tongue clicking on the other side of the line. "What's his name?"
America gritted his teeth. "He's a John Doe."
"Age?"
"John Doe."
"How old does he look?"
America opened his mouth to reply, then got distracted by South Korea's yell of "FUCK, HE CODED AGAIN!" After regaining his bearings, he turned his attention back to that absolute annoyance of an ICU nurse. "He looks like a potato left in the oven for six hours, but I guess he's an adult-"
"Family?"
"JOHN DOE, RUSSIA! JOHN DOE! J-O-H-N D-O-E! WHAT DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT JOHN DOE? DID YOU EVEN GO TO MEDICAL SCHOOL?"
Russia sighed. "If he was in the car, wouldn't his driver's license be with him?"
"Set on fire. Gone up in flames. Left in ashes just like the patient will be if you don't stop wasting my fucking time-"
"If you have no more information to give me, this call is over. ICU out." Russia hung up.
America choked indignantly, but the phone was already beeping. Deciding not to waste any more time, he threw the phone on the desk with a clatter and ran back to the room-
"HOW CAN SOMEBODY CODE FOUR TIMES IN TEN MINUTES?!"
~~~
The curtain shielding the room America was in swished open, and he looked up to see the triage nurse and a woman who looked to be in her 40s or 50s. The woman seemed to be in pain, and she was limping slightly.
"Hi ma'am, my name is America, and I'll be taking care of you today. What's going on?"
"I've been having a really- bad headache- and- vomiting a lot," she coughed. "I can't breathe- very well- and my ankles are-" She coughed some more- "swollen."
America looked up. She does seem to be very short of breath, he concluded, noting that she could only get a few words out per breath. "Okay, sit down. On a scale of 1-10, how bad is your headache?"
"Probably about an 8."
America nodded. "What's your name?"
"Tina May- Larkins." She plopped down on the bed, seemingly relieved to get off of her feet.
America searched her name in the hospital database, and a file came up with a profile picture matching Tina's face. "Alright Tina, and do you take any-"
The hospital curtain swished open again.
America's head snapped up, only to see Russia standing in the gap between the curtain and the wall, arms crossed. "You have Room 3's files, да?"
America suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I do, but give me a minute. I have a patient right now."
Russia uncrossed his arms and put one hand on his hip, leaning on the wall with his other forearm. "Хорошо."
America went back to Tina's file, scanning through the pages. Something caught his eye. He turned to his patient. "Tina, it says here that you have Type 1 diabetes. Are you taking anything for that?"
"No."
America tried his best to make his double take subtle. He blinked a few times and stared at Tina, praying please, please be joking.
Her face was 100% serious.
"I believe God will help me." She continued, without an ounce of humor in her voice. "I don't need inorganic medicine for Him to do his miracles."
America chanced a quick glance at Russia, seeing if he had the same reaction as America did. Russia was staring incredulously at the patient, eyes slightly wide. He met America's gaze, and the two of them communicated silently, both agreeing on two things for once.
Russia walked over and looked at the file, then leaned close to America so Tina couldn't hear what they were saying. "What was the chief complaint?"
America blinked at the proximity, leaning back just a bit. "Vomiting, shortness of breath, swollen ankles, and a bad headache."
Russia opened his mouth again, and America answered the unspoken question. "Pain is rated 8."
Russia glanced at the file again, brows furrowed. He turned back to America. "Diabetic nephropathy?"
"Most likely."
Russia straightened up, clearing his throat. "Alright, Ms. Larkins, come with me." He offered his hand out, and Tina took it, wobbling out of bed.
America bit back a snort. The height difference between Tina and Russia was almost comical.
When the two of them were almost out of the hospital room, Russia looked back at America, and rolled his eyes very clearly. America huffed out a laugh.
After they left, America turned back to his computer. Maybe the cold ICU nurse had emotions after all.
~~~
It was about 10:30 at night when the flow of patients stopped. Given that it was the end of their shifts, Russia and America were in the dingy staff parking lot, somehow having parked next to each other. Russia started to get into his car, but then he stopped, stepped out, and looked at America again.
America felt his eyes on the side of his head. "What?"
"You look kind of pale." Russia noted. "Is everything okay?"
America stared at him in confusion. "My skin is white, Russia. As in, literally the same shade as a piece of paper. I don't get what you mean by 'pale.'"
"I know, I have eyes." Russia snapped back. "It's just..." He made some vague motions to his face, which only increased America's bewilderment.
Russia shook his head. "I don't know, you just... don't look right. Both of us work in medicine. I can tell when someone's not feeling that great."
America rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Ninety minutes of sleep last night and no sustenance for the past 30 hours. Is that not 'great' enough for you?"
"..." Something crinkled as Russia rustled through his bag, and America barely had time to process the half-eaten sandwich in a plastic bag that was practically shoved in his face. "I didn't have time to finish lunch today."
"Oh, thanks." America said, surprised. He unwrapped the plastic and looked at the sandwich, staring at the circular bite marks along the top. "Did you already eat half of this?"
"America, I know you had to manually scrape literal shit off of a patient's walls at least two times today. Don't pretend this grosses you out."
"Oh, no, it's fine." America shook his head. "I was just wondering. Seriously, thanks." He took a bite out of the sandwich. "Did you make this yourself?"
Russia nodded a bit. "It's my go-to."
"It's really good." America popped down the last bit and crumpled up the plastic, balling it in his hand. "I know I already said thank you twice, but again, thanks a ton." He smiled at Russia brightly before getting into his car, which was not something Russia was used to seeing.
Russia blinked a few times, not sure why his stomach felt weird. "Um... you're welcome." He muttered quietly, knowing America probably wouldn't be able to hear him through his closed car window. "..."
I don't think I've ever had a nice interaction with an ER nurse before.
He stood there for a while, before finally getting into his own car and leaving.
~~~
When America exited the ER unit to go to his car, he found Russia standing in the hallway.
"Did you eat lunch today?" Russia asked, a little too quickly.
America aggressively groaned. "Did you see the horde of patients from that multi-car crash that came at eleven today? No. I couldn't eat." He exhaled a little. Hopefully that ramen place is still open.
Russia dug into his bag and pulled out a sandwich again, this time fully intact. "Here."
America looked at him quizzically.
"I didn't have time for lunch today either. Um, the horde." For some reason, Russia wasn't looking at him.
"... Then shouldn't you eat this?" America frowned. He had yet to open the bag.
"I'm not hungry." Russia replied, still not looking at him.
"Dude, you need to eat." America took the sandwich out of the bag and started to tear it down the middle. "Here-"
"Нет! Uh- no- you can eat it, I don't-" Russia backed away a bit, shaking his hands.
"What? No, I'm not letting you go hungry-"
"I have to go!" Russia's voice seemed three pitches higher than normal, and he turned around and started walking away far too quickly. "Just take it! Goodbye!"
"... Bye?" America responded, confused.
Russia was gone.
"..." America stared at the sandwich, flustered and bewildered.
Well, it's a nice sandwich.
Cheeks a bit warm, he took a bite into it, trying not to think too much about how Russia was acting when he gave him the sandwich. There probably wasn't anything to overthink anyway.
~~~
Eventually, the sandwich thing became a bit of a routine. Each day they ran into each other, whether it was 12 pm or 1 am and America hadn't eaten yet, Russia would drop a plastic bag with a slightly mushy sandwich into his hands before walking away, not responding to America's shout of "thank you!"
One night, after a particularly tiring shift, America stumbled into his office, bleary-eyed with wet hands. If he hadn't washed his hand and changed his scrubs like the hospital required him to, he would've been covered in blood.
People had died that day, under America's care. There was a sweet old grandfather who had a heart attack, and America was the one who had to give the order to stop resuscitation. And then a baby girl who had SIDS. Today was far from the first time America had been in those situations, but that didn't make his heart hurt any less.
Still, through the madness and toil, there was something to ground him now, something he could look forward to with every passing day. America hadn't had the time to meet Russia that day, but even so, an innocent, plastic-wrapped sandwich sat atop his desk, unperturbed amongst the mess of files and supplies strewn about on the hard black top.
America smiled.
He ate the sandwich alone in his room, only pausing when he felt something that was not a cucumber in between his teeth. Slowly removing the sandwich from his mouth, he discovered a slip of paper in between the two slices of bread, indented by his teeth.
495-609-7658
You can talk to me if you're feeling stressed.
~~~
Sandwich Man
hi this is america
you're texting me already?
I thought this was for stress stuff
I'm always stressed :D
...
it's 3am
go to sleep
by that logic u should be asleep too >:)
just go to bed
u firstttttt
no
yeeeessssss
no
yeeeeeeeesssssssssss
bye
nighty night :3
don't ":3" me
:333
I will shove a scalpel down your throat
America flopped into his bed, giggling.
~~~
Sandwich Man
Ringing...
America looked down curiously at his phone. Russia? Calling him? That was strange. For one, they'd never called each other before, and two, Russia wasn't usually the one to reach out...
He picked up.
"Hey, Russia! What's up, man? Not like you to call."
Russia was silent for a few seconds, before responding. "...Hi, America. How was your day?"
America whistled, adding more broth to the soup he was cooking. "Ah, normal stuff- schizo patient tried to climb out of the window 'cause he was convinced he was Spider-Man - your daily dose of angry moms insisting their seventeen-year-old daughter with her water breaking ain't pregnant- oh yeah, there was this one guy who came in with a bunch of bananas stuck up his ass - I mean, we get patients with things stuck in their butts all the time, but bananas is a new one! He..."
America continued rambling on about his day, but he noticed that the snarky interjections Russia usually made just... weren't there. The only things that came from the other end of the line were dry, quiet, chuckles, and those only happened maybe once every ten minutes.
Eventually, he became concerned enough to stop barreling on. "You're being really quiet. Is everything okay?"
"..."
"Russia?"
When Russia finally spoke, his voice was hollow. "Six-year-old leukemia patient."
"..."
It didn't take a genius to figure out what Russia meant.
America quickly opened up his computer. Russia's address was in the hospital faculty database.
He stared at the bubbling pot. I made enough for two meals, intending to have dinner for tomorrow night... but I'll be able to cook tomorrow as well, right?
~~~
Russia quietly groaned, resting his head on his table.
He had called America about an hour ago, hoping that his voice would distract Russia from everything that had happened that day- America's voice was loud, and stupidly cheerful, and it sometimes brought back memories of arguing with him over the hospital phone- but strangely enough, it cheered Russia up. Russia had been happy enough to just sit there in his apartment with a cup of tea, listening to America ramble on and on, letting that voice distract him from... everything else.
And then America just randomly hung up, with no text or anything to clarify what was going on. He hadn't called Russia back either.
And now Russia was sad again.
The dregs of his tea were cold and bitter now, and Russia just watched the rain hammer against the window, thoughts a blurry, gray, mess. He was contemplating just going to bed and crying himself to sleep, and-
Knock knock knock.
Russia startled, standing up from his chair, pushing it back with an unpleasant screeeeech. Who was outside his door at this hour? He went to the door and opened it, hoping it wasn't Jeff the Killer or something.
It wasn't Jeff the Killer, but-
America stood in the beige-painted hallway, soaking wet and holding this weird pot that admittedly smelled good under his arm. "Hey."
Russia blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, wondering distantly if he was hallucinating. "Why are you here?"
America glanced away abashedly. "Uh- I noticed you were feeling down on the phone call, aaaannnddd I was making dinner, and your salad sandwiches are really good at making me feel better, so-" He lifted the pot. "Soup."
Russia didn't say anything, unsure of how to respond. He just rose an eyebrow at America dubiously, partially in an attempt to act like his stomach hadn't just melted down and remolded into a bunch of fleshy butterflies doing sprints on his intestines.
"...Chicken noodle soup. It's still warm." America added.
Russia snapped out of his stupor, and gently pulled America inside. "Geez, come in. It's so wet outside. You're gonna catch a cold if you don't rest in a place with heating."
When America came inside, Russia tried to sit him down on the couch and wrap him up in a nice sherpa blanket, but America insisted on setting the soup down on the table, grabbing two bowls from the pantry, scooping soup into the bowls, getting them both utensils, and sitting with Russia at the table to eat. Russia spooned a bite of golden liquid, hosting chunks of chicken and celery, into his mouth. "How do you like it?" America asked.
It was... warm. The broth was savory, and tender noodles seemed to dissolve in Russia's mouth, sending a wave of heat and comfort through his body. He could just tell that it was homemade, that every slice of carrot had been cut with love, that the stock had been poured in with careful precision only possible by hands holding an intense amount of care and dedication...
"It's good." He said weakly after swallowing a mouthful of chicken. "...Thanks."
"Chicken contains tryptophan, which the body uses to create melatonin and serotonin. I've always loved to make this soup whenever I'm feeling down, since it physically helps put you at ease... seems like you needed that tonight."
America's voice was so tender and kind, a contrast to the abrasive, boisterous front he put on at work. Russia felt heat flood his body again, not just because of the soup. His shoulders relaxed, and he had this urge to be closer to the American, to wrap his arms around him and put his head on his shoulder- but it wasn't like he was going to do that. He didn't know how America would react, and they were also sitting in two separate chairs. Touching would just be awkward.
They ate in silence for a while, slowly savoring the taste of the soup and the presence of the other person next to them. America's arm brushed against Russia's sometimes, and Russia found himself relishing the contact.
When Russia was about halfway done with his bowl, America nudged him gently. "Hey, I'm sorry if this is an intrusive question, and you don't have to answer, but... what happened today?"
Russia sighed and put his spoon down. He was quiet for a few moments. "A little girl I've been taking care of died today." His voice sounded nearly numb.
He didn't look at America, but he could feel the other looking at him with patient, concerned eyes. "She had leukemia, and towards the end, we knew there wasn't any hope left... I knew she was going to die when I started working with her... I've been taking care of her for the past four months, so I knew it was going to happen, but..." He sighed and rested his chin on his palm.
"What was her name?" America asked quietly.
"Luna." Russia answered, voice hushed. "I used to play with her and tell her folktales - she always said she wanted to be like the Maiden Tsar." He chuckled sadly. "When I told her that the Maiden Tsar led a fleet of thirty ships, her immediate reaction was, 'I want to be her when I grow up!'"
America patted Russia's shoulder. "Did she know she was going to die?"
"Not until the last month. Her parents clung on to their little shreds of hope until the very end. They didn't tell her until... when the doctor told them there was nothing he could do, for the very last time... they didn't accept it until then."
"They were holding her hand in the last minutes of her life. They answered all her questions, and they told her they loved her... and she told them that too. Right before she died, she asked me if she was going to be the Maiden Tsar in heaven... I told her yes, and she smiled, closed her eyes, and died. Her parents didn't start crying until she died... they needed to stay strong for her. And I didn't cry until the day was over... I needed to stay strong for them."
His voice cracked at the end, and he covered his mouth with his hands. America saw a distinctive glimmer in his eye.
"Here, let's move to the couch." America coaxed Russia out of his chair and helped him to the couch, wrapping the sherpa blanket around them both.
Russia buried his head in his knees, and choked, muffled sounds came from his curled-up figure that indicated he was trying not to cry.
America wrapped his arms around the Russian, gently massaging his back and running his fingers through Russia's hair. "Hey, it's okay. You can cry. You don't need to stay strong in front of me."
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Russia turned and buried his face in America's shoulder, sobbing incoherently while America tightened his hold on him, humming softly and just being there. And somehow, that was the best thing he could've done.
Russia's sobs slowly died down to silent tears and sniffles, and he nuzzled drowsily into America's neck, feeling safe. Feeling home.
And at some point, he felt a soft kiss in his hair.
~~~
Sandwich Man
hey dude
do you like
eat
?
if I didn't, I'd be dead
yeah ik
but uh
you always give me your lunch
do you eat lunch??
...
oh god please don't tell me that's a no
...
uh
it doesn't matter
maybe I have something else to eat
you don't have to know
rude :p
wait...
does that mean you cook extra for me??
I'm honored ;)
...
good night
wait-
RUSSIA
RUSSIA COME BACK
I WAS JOKING
JUST TELL ME YOU'RE NOT STARVING YOURSELF PLEASE
...
poke
poke
poke
ugh
>:(
yes I'm eating
I don't look any skinnier do I??
now please stop spamming, I'm trying to get my sleep
yay!!
thank you :D
gn <3
~~~
The next week, America was typing notes on his computer when he heard the door to the room open, and saw France and Russia standing in the doorway. "Oh, hey guys! Russia, what are you doing here? Isn't it your day off today? Or are the ICU guys such workaholics that they come in on their days off- hey, what happened to your hand?" Originally teasing, America's voice changed to concern when he saw the white bandage wrapped around Russia's palm.
"Even China doesn't want to come to the hospital on her day off." Russia replied, taking a seat in the patient chair. "Somehow I sliced my hand open cutting carrots."
"America, you can take it from here." France left the room and closed the door.
America nodded at her and turned back to Russia. "Dude, that's unlucky. The one day you don't have to be here and boom, now you do." He laughed. "Did you sterilize the cut?"
"Sterilized and bandaged." Russia responded, holding his hand up. "Let's get this over with."
"Nice, I'll get you some stitches." America grabbed a needle and thread and gestured for Russia to put his hand out.
America noticed Russia's hat. "What's that? I've never seen that before."
"Oh, it's... well, it's called a ushanka. It belonged to my dad. I just like to wear it." He shrugged, clearly a little embarrassed.
"I've never seen you in that before."
"I don't wear it to work. Not sterile."
America nodded. "Makes sense." He paused. "It's cute, though."
Russia looked away a bit. "...Thanks."
They chatted a bit while America stitched up Russia's palm. Russia tried not to blush as he felt America gently holding his hand to keep it stable, even though America was wearing gloves. "Funny that I ended up taking care of you." America chuckled. "Maybe one day you'll take care of me."
"Please don't end up in the ICU," Russia responded humorlessly, eyebrows knitted.
"Aw, someone's worried about me~" America teased, although he had to admit that the fact of the statement had caused a few flutters in his stomach. "But like, I dunno. We can't predict the future. Nothing stopping a semitrailer from running a red light and T-boning me in the middle of the street-"
Russia stared him down, gaze dark. America was fairly sure he would've punched him, if America wasn't currently sewing up Russia's hand.
"Okay, okay, no more talking about our unpredictable futures and impending dooms." America finished sewing and clasped his hand over Russia's, being careful not to disturb the stitches. Technically this was already a risky move, but Russia's hand was pretty nice and warm... it would be fine if he was cautious...
He cleared his throat. "Um, well, your stitches are done. You can come back in a week to take them out, or if you want to take them out yourself..."
"I'll take them out myself." There was a slightly flustered note in Russia's voice, but it wasn't too obvious.
"Okay, I'll get you surgical scissors." America removed his hand from Russia's and stood up, grabbing a package and tossing it to Russia, who caught it in his good hand.
"Throwing scissors around, very responsible of you." Russia chastised him, though there was definitely a twinkle in his eye.
"Hey, they're packaged!" America retorted, failing to keep a smile off his face.
"Alright, if you say so." The corners of Russia's lips poked up a bit, and he lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, standing up. "See you tomorrow."
America's grin widened. "See you then."
~~~
America couldn't focus that morning. He was still thinking about the previous day, when Russia had come in for stitches. Russia, Russia, Russia... that damn nurse had been at the top of his mind for a while now.
What's going on? He's not even here, why is he distracting me?
America rubbed his forehead. Lunch break was soon. I'll talk to Canada. He knows about this feeling stuff.
When lunch came around, America walked into the break room, seeing his brother, who was eating a panini. "Hey, Can-man, can I talk to you about something?"
Canada glanced up at him. "You and Russia finally realized your long-standing crushes on each other?"
"What?!" America screeched a bit, looking around wildly to check if anyone had heard. "I- I don't- what?"
Canada looked unimpressed. "Since the dawn of time, the two of you have been bickering like an old married couple. Some of my colleagues were actually speculating that the two of you were dating or something in secret. I don't really believe that, but it does seem like you have feelings for each other."
"I always argue with the ICU nurses- they're always asking for information I don't have-"
"Yeah, but you always spend more time on the phone with Russia."
"I-" America was at a loss for words.
Canada went back to his panini. "Also, people have seen you eating his salad sandwiches. He's, um, kinda famous for them. Cuba was wondering why he started bringing two sandwiches to work, and then we saw you with one of them."
"... well, I- wait, he brings two sandwiches?"
"Yeah?"
America's face was probably super red at this point. He rubbed his cheek, thinking back to all the meals Russia brought him. It makes sense that he was bringing two sandwiches... I thought he was just refusing to eat...
After a few minutes of America reeling over what Canada had just told him, he managed to form words again. "If that's the case, I guess-"
"Hey, Америка." A hand landed on his shoulder, and America almost passed out in shock. "Have you eaten yet?"
America turned around, trying not to look too flustered. "Uh, not yet."
Russia pressed a sandwich bag into his hands, not looking surprised. "Here."
"...Thanks." America backed away a bit, hoping Russia couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating. He opened the bag and took a bite out of the sandwich, still unable to meet Russia's gaze.
Russia nodded and walked away. "I'll go back to work now." He left the break room.
America just stood still, gathering the courage to turn back to Canada. As soon as he turned back around, Canada burst into laughter.
"Oh god, you're so infatuated with him." Canada laughed, banging his fist on the desk. "My sassy, put-together twin brother, looking like a tomato-"
"Shut up! I get it! I like him!" America collapsed in a chair and buried his face in his hands, just about ready to die of embarrassment. "You don't need to rub it in-"
Canada patted his shoulder, still giggling. "If it makes you feel better, he obviously likes you too. I could tell from his eyes. You should ask him out on a date, you know. He'll definitely say yes, unless he passes out from heatstroke."
"You're so mean." America whined. "I thought pediatric nurses were supposed to be nice."
"Nice to the kids, Mer." Canada stopped patting his shoulder, and America heard the sounds of chewing. Supposedly Canada had gone back to his lunch. "But maybe I'll be nice enough to set the two of you up."
America lifted his head and half-heartedly shoved Russia's sandwich into his mouth. "Shut up."
~~~
Canada held a potato and mayonnaise sandwich in his hands, staring at it with some interest.
He had been looking for a certain medication that day when an unfamiliar hand tapped his shoulder, and Russia had been standing behind him, holding the ever-familiar plastic bag. "Can you give this to America? I didn't get the chance to drop this off, and I need to leave early."
Canada smirked. "Yeah, I will. I'm sure he couldn't live a day without it."
Russia smiled slightly, which Canada found really surprising. The ICU nurse was known for having a bit of a stone face. Russia's eyes fluttered away from Canada for a second, something gleaming there that was unidentifiable. His cheeks seemed a little pink. "Thanks."
Russia left.
Canada chuckled to himself as he went back to rummaging through the medicine, sandwich tucked securely in his pocket. Love truly takes someone back to their teenage years. He had seen it on both America and Russia's faces - they mirrored the young people Canada saw on the streets sometimes, anxious and excited about stepping into new, unknown territory - first love.
He could've seen his brother and the ICU nurse as high school rivals, the rivalry dying down in the face of unexpected feelings that became the gossip of the whole school. The thought made him reminisce about his youth, which was nearly fifteen years past.
He and America got off their shifts at the same time, so they walked to their cars together. Once they reached America's car, Canada stopped him just as he was about to get into the car. "Wait."
America stared at him curiously. "Yeah... wait, what are you hiding behind your back?"
Canada winked at him and pulled his hand out from behind him, revealing the sandwich Russia had dropped off for America earlier. "A certain someone told me to give this to you." He winked.
America's eyes widened slightly, recognizing what it was. "Oh... thanks." He fought to keep a grin off of his face- and failed miserably.
Canada laughed and patted America's shoulder. "Just doing my brotherly duty."
America blushed and quickly opened his car door, putting his bag inside. "Bye, Can."
"See you later."
America opened the sandwich when he got home, smiling at the taste of something that had now become home. After a few bites, he just looked at the sandwich for a while, adoring the familiar sight of the sandwich that had mayonnaise, boiled potatoes, carrots, and for some reason, pineapple - it was by no means a gourmet meal, but it was made from love, and America felt like that meant more than the work of any number of Michelin star chefs, and-
Wait, was that white thing poking out of the sandwich... paper? Again? He thought back to the first time he'd found a note in one of the sandwiches, when Russia decided to give him his number.
He pulled it out.
America,
I'm too shy to say this to you in person, or at least I don't think I could do so without tripping all over my words and completely ruining any chance I may have had with you, so here's this- I'm sorry if you think this is the coward's way out, it kind of is. I just don't trust myself enough to be able to tell you this to your face without throwing up or something.
Is it weird for me to say that, in the past few months, I've... grown really fond of you? God, I'm blushing just writing this right now. You used to be really annoying, you know I could never get the information I needed out of you to take care of someone - it's still the same now - but you're also really sweet, and funny, and you always cheer me up, and I just- I really like you, America. I don't know if you feel the same way, but I want to say this to you, and take this opportunity while I have it.
So... if you feel the same way, will you go on a date with me?
It's totally fine if you don't want to, please don't feel pressured to say yes - and I'm really sorry if this feels lackluster, I don't know how to express what I'm feeling. I just like you, and I hope you feel the same way back... and I don't know how to tell you otherwise.
With love, and a shit ton of embarrassment,
Russia
America stared at the note for what must've been a solid minute, brain short-circuiting in shock.
Wait... no way... he wants to go on a date with me...
YES! YES, YES, YES!
America starting jumping and dancing around in his kitchen, screaming and singing some incoherent nonsense- he didn't even know what he was saying, just that he was over the moon with joy, just on the absolute top of the world-
When the adrenaline ran out, America found himself on the floor, panting hard, absolutely exhausted and face steaming from all the running around and dancing he just did. Still reeling from shock, a wide grin spread across his face, and he started giggling. He was definitely going to accept Russia's date offer...
He rolled around to lie on his back, still ecstatic. He didn't really know if he could just go up to Russia and say he accepted the date offer - besides, accepting in the same way that Russia had asked him would be cute, right?
Okay, so... food time. America got out the ingredients for meal that he thought Russia would like, humming to himself as he did so. At some point, he couldn't resist putting on a playlist of corny pop love songs, singing them to himself in the kitchen while he danced around chopping up vegetables and things.
After about half an hour, when the meal was done and lovingly packed into a Tupperware, America took a Post-It note and wrote his reply on the back.
I really like you too, Russia. I could say stuff about sandwiches and things but there's not much space on this note so I'll save it for later.
That being said, I definitely want to go on a date with you :D
XO, America
~~~
"Hey, ICU." Russia picked up the phone, internally preparing for the ER staff to roll a gravely injured patient up to his unit, and not give them any of the information they needed to take care of whoever this was long-term. It was part of his daily life at this point, but it was annoying.
"Hi, we've got a- ..."
Russia stilled when he heard America's voice on the other end of the line - it wasn't exactly a surprise, they'd been in this exact situation more times than they could count, but today specifically, it was a bit awkward.
Why? Russia had found a Tupperware of chicken noodle soup in his office the night before, with a short but efficient note written in America's sprawling handwriting, basically saying that he returned Russia's feelings and was interested in going out on a date.
He'd nearly passed out when he saw the note, and had been riding on a euphoric high of anticipation for the past fifteen hours. But he'd wanted to have his next conversation with America about the date, and stuff... not over the phone about a random patient.
The line was silent for a few seconds, both of them thinking about the fact that they both knew they liked each other, but hadn't talked about it yet.
He heard America clearing his throat. "Um... it's a nineteen-year-old Caucasian girl, around 140 pounds, who overdosed on fentanyl. We gave her naloxone, and she's stabilizing, but she's going to need to be supervised for a while."
Russia started writing the case down, biting the inside of his cheek. I've pictured my conversation with him today at least ten thousand times, and the last thing I expected it to be about was fentanyl. "Alright, we'll prepare a room. Do you know her name?"
"Melissa McNeil."
It was quiet for a few more seconds as Russia looked for Melissa's file. Normally Russia would ask for more information, but Melissa's info popped up quickly and America had given him more off the bat than normal. He decided to just end the call, since it was getting stiflingly awkward. "Okay, thanks."
"..."
Russia swallowed. "Are we going to talk later today?"
"My shift ends at 7."
Russia nodded, then realized America couldn't hear him nod. "I'll... see you then."
America hung up.
Russia just sat there for a second, blinking. That was... a lot less chaotic than his phone conversations with America usually were, although that was probably because both of them were admittedly not as focused on their actual jobs as they were supposed to be. He exhaled and went back to work, getting up to prepare Melissa's room.
~~~
The two of them met in the parking lot that night shortly after 7.
America chuckled, trying to break the tension. "Isn't this kind of the same situation we were in the first time you gave a sandwich to me?"
Russia blushed, averting his gaze. "I guess."
That night, that first sandwich, had been the start of something new... was this about to be the beginning of something again?
"So..." Russia swallowed. "You want to go on a date with me, right?"
America hid his mouth behind his hand, feeling himself heat up in embarrassment, but also giddiness. "Yeah. Um... is 9 or 10am this Saturday alright? I don't know why it feels a little strange to do dinner, but we could, like, meet in the morning and go to a coffee shop - if that's alright with you..."
Russia couldn't keep the cheesy grin off of his face, the now-familiar sensation of butterflies awakening from their chrysalides fluttering to life in his stomach. "Sure, I can do 9. Do you want to talk about the specific place?"
"I... I have a place in mind, if that's okay."
Russia's interest was piqued. "You do? Where is it?"
"Oh, it's just this café a few minutes away from here. I go there sometimes in the morning, I just really like the vibes, and I think you would too. Unless you're thinking about going to a different place-"
"No, no, no, it's fine." Russia shook his head. "I was just curious. I'd like to check it out."
"Okay, I'll send you the address later."
~~~
Russia parked his car on the sidewalk a block away from the address America sent him. He got out of his car and stared at the red leaves fluttering in the wind, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Autumn was coming into full swing, and there was a distinctive but not uncomfortable chill in the air. He pulled at the hem of his sweater nervously, trying to muster up the courage to just walk down the block and have his first date with America. He stood at the door of the coffee shop for a few minutes, mind racing.
The sound of feet pattering behind him got his attention. Russia turned around and saw America running up to him, wearing a soft red flannel and black jeans. "Sorry." America panted. "Did I keep you waiting?"
Russia shook his head, cheeks warming. "I just got here." He scanned America's figure. "You look nice."
America's face went pink. "Thanks." He reached forward to adjust the collar of the shirt Russia had worn under his sweater, letting his fingers trail down the other's arm, just a bit. "You too."
Russia smiled, touching the other's hand. He felt America thread his fingers through his, curling them around each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
America opened the door, leading Russia inside. A bell tinkled as they entered.
"Hey guys, what can I get for you today?" The peppy barista - whom America mentioned was also the shop owner - popped up behind the counter in front of them, tapping away at the order screen. "Oh, America- you brought a new guy?" He looked down at their linked hands. "Boyfriend?"
"We're trying the dating thing out, so maybe." America squeezed Russia's hand and shrugged.
"Ooh, I wish you the best of luck! So... orders?"
Russia cleared his throat nervously. "Um... any recommendations?"
America stifled a chuckle.
"Oh, we're kinda famous for our hot chocolate." The barista winked.
"... But this is a coffee shop?"
"Yeeessss- but we're known for these." The barista ducked down under the counter, and came back up with a bag of multicolored marshmallows in hand. He shook them teasingly, putting a finger to his lips.
America looked at Russia for confirmation, then turned back to the barista. "Alright, we'll get two hot chocolates, then."
"'Kay, I'll have those up for you in a second. Have fun on your date!"
"Thanks, see you!" America waved at the barista before walking away, leading Russia to a small table with one-person couches on either end by the store's window. They each took a couch, sitting across from each other.
A few minutes later, the barista walked by again, two mugs of steaming hot chocolate in his hands. "There ya go!"
Russia picked up his mug and peered into it. "That's a lot of marshmallows."
"Wouldn't be famous if it were a normal number of marshmallows." America took a sip of his hot chocolate. "Mmm."
"Imagine that barista was actually a gang leader, and the marshmallows are actually used to drug people so he can kidnap them." Russia commented nonchalantly before trying the drink.
"That would actually cut out, with the AK-47 he has hanging in the back room." America glanced at the door behind the counter for a second. He turned back to Russia. "But how's the drink?"
"It's really good. We should go here again."
America smiled warmly, liking the implication behind that statement. "Agreed."
The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while. Every so often, the bell would ring and someone would come in, but overall the shop was pretty quiet. They just enjoyed each other's company. It was a bit strange, hanging out with each other in a romantic, non-medical space - but Russia would like to get used to this.
"So... what do you like to do outside of work?" Russia asked, looking at America over the rim of his half-full hot chocolate mug.
America thought for a moment, humming. "Fencing. I've been doing it since I was about six."
Russia's eyebrows shot up, intrigued. He grinned. "Really? Damn, I wish I could do sports. Fencing sounds really cool."
"It's really fun, kinda expensive though. I still really love it." America took a sip of his drink. "I probably would've been a professional fencer had I not been an ER tech."
Russia whistled. "Wow. Mine feels lame now."
"Your hobby? What is it?"
Russia glanced away slightly. "Book binding."
"Lame-?! Rus, that is the actual opposite of lame! You mean you can just- pick up a book and randomly change the packaging to your heart's content? That's so- wait, when did you start doing this?" America's eyes sparkled.
"High school." Russia laughed. "It's so embarrassing, actually - I started doing it because my friends and I wanted to hide porn from our parents." His voice faded into a quiet mumble during the last part of his sentence, and he covered his face with his ushanka flap, red.
America screeched in laughter, having to place his mug down on the table so he didn't spill hot chocolate everywhere. "BAHAHAHAHAHA- oh my god- you?! Out of all the people, you were the one sneaking around porn? Wait-" He dissolved into giggles again, holding his stomach. "That's so funny - man, I kind of wish I was your friend in high school. Dang."
Russia was hiding his face behind both ushanka flaps now, but America could tell he was giggling as well. "You didn't even have to be my friend, you just had to go to my school. We actually ran a black market of sorts using my bookbinding skills."
"Wait, no shit. Really?"
"Yeah, we would take stuff like hentai and erotica, and disguise it as fiction books or school textbooks, prices depending on length." Russia lowered one of his hat flaps slightly, looking at America through one eye. "That was actually how I had my bi awakening."
"Sheeeeesh." America ran a hand through his hair. "And you never got caught? There was never one nosy mom who decided to open up her child's 'textbook?'"
Russia shrugged. "Man, I don't know. We were just teenage and horny and had a person who bound books oddly professionally on hand. It was weird."
"There's actually so much I don't know about you." America's eyes shone as he chewed on a marshmallow. "Apart from the time I went to your house, we haven't actually interacted outside of work."
Russia nodded. "It's a bit strange." He paused. "It's nice, though."
America took another drink from his hot chocolate, then frowned when he tasted the powder dregs at the bottom of the cup, looking into it to see a few drops of liquid swirling around the bottom. Damn, I finished really fast.
Russia had his cup on the table, and by the looks of it, he had finished too. He glanced at the bartender. "Is he going to get annoyed if we stay here too long?"
"Actually, he probably will." America sighed. That date had gone by too fast. "I'll go pay."
Russia started to get up. "Are you sure? I-"
"Nah, my treat." America smiled at him.
After the bill was paid, the two of them left the coffee shop and stood outside for a while, both silently reluctant to leave. America cleared his throat. "Um- I don't actually have anything to do for the rest of the day, so we could continue walking around if you want?" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"That sounds really fun." Russia linked their hands together again, rubbing his cheek. "Where do you want to go?"
Well, they actually ended up going to a lot of places. They walked around downtown for most of the day, going to a museum, a movie theater, a park, and a bookstore before eventually ending their date at a late lunch/early dinner around 4pm. So much for not having dinner on the first date.
And, well- they got to know each other a lot better. Was it possible to fall for someone harder in one day? Neither of them would've thought so, but when America squealed, wrapped his arms around Russia and started shaking him at the movies, spilling popcorn all over the floor and both of their laps, or when Russia started ranting about Romance era artists and America saw a shine in his eye that had never been seen before... both of their minds may have been changed.
They were back at the coffee shop at the end of the day, since that was where their cars were. Russia was positively glowing, and America felt more alive than he had been in years, the spark of new love alighting both of their faces. Russia squeezed America's hand, and America looked up at him, nose pink from the autumn chill. "Thank you for an amazing day." Russia said softly, staring into the other's blue eyes, ones he had seen so many time but never got tired of looking at.
America grinned at him. "You too." Then, without warning, he wrapped his arms around Russia, burying his face into the other's shoulder in a warm hug. Russia, after a second of shock, reciprocated, melting into the sweet embrace.
Eventually, America pulled away and pushed a stray strand of hair behind Russia's ear. "See you on Monday."
"Yeah, I'll see you there." Russia turned away, smiling like a little kid. He heard America walking in the other direction, a slight skip to his step.
For the first time in what felt like forever, both of them were looking forward to work again.
~~~
Three months later, America walked into the break room, wiping his hands dry on his scrubs. His face split into a grin when he saw his boyfriend, who made eye contact with him and slid a sandwich bag to the seat next to him, patting the table.
"Hey, Rus." America plopped down into the hard plastic chair, pulling the sandwich out of the bag.
"You really couldn't have told us that Mr. Massive Exit Wound had a morphine allergy before we tried to give him painkillers and stitch his stomach back together?" Russia reprimanded him, taking a bite out of his own meal.
"Hey, we were kinda focused on, y'know, the fence spikes sticking through his torso and not his medicinal allergies." America shoved Russia in the shoulder lightly, laughing in good fun.
Russia pushed him back, shrugging. "Hey, when you get off tonight, do you want to go back to my house? I know you were excited for the new... deceased ocean movie or whatever that was called. We can watch it together."
"You mean Deadpool and Wolverine? Heck yeah!" America pumped his fist. Then he snorted. "You're still calling it deceased ocean-"
"I didn't know this guy before last month!" Russia raised his hands defensively.
America laughed, before shoving the last bit of the sandwich in his mouth and looking at his watch. "Shit, I gotta go back to the station. See you later, babe." He leaned over and kissed Russia briefly before leaving the break room.
Russia smiled to himself as he looked at the sandwich in his hands, wondering how something as simple as potatoes shoved in between two slices of bread could've led them here. But no matter how it happened, this incident wasn't one that he'd regret.