A Hitman's Miss

Chapter Eight

"May I have more?"

Russia's eyes followed Meri's hand as it jerked out in the general direction of the sink. He swore he could see every vein in that shaky hand: Meri was tensing with all of his might.

"J-just fucking pour your own water, and wash your commie germs off of the cup when you're done!"

Russia nodded, and as he filled his glass, out of the corner of his eye he watched Meri double over and let out a muffled scream into his hands. Then, Meri stood up and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm gonna go get changed. If you move even an inch from that spot, I'm... I-I'll..." Meri threw his arms up and stormed away, not finishing his threat.

The man was erratic. That was for sure. Maybe Meri was a similar case to East... But he didn't seem to have a caretaker. East had Father, and Russia knew his father was very good at keeping the man's sick mind together. Meri had... that one foreign friend and the 'Can' man. But Russia couldn't be sure that they weren't sick as well. They were three flimsy cards leaning on one another for support, a slight breeze from falling over. East under Soviet was like a feather on a sturdy wall, much more secure.

Russia finally brought the glass to his lips after he had stared at the bottom for a few minutes.

He wouldn't mention it, though. He couldn't risk scaring off his chance of finding out about NATO, and consequently, the attempted assassin.

He set the now-empty glass down in the sink just as Meri walked back into the room. He gave the smaller a glance over. Run-down shoes on his feet, damaged blue jeans, a dirty, white shirt, and the criminal's sunglasses.

Meri stretched his arms out above his head. "How do I look?"

Russia squinted at the man's covered eyes. The man looked like a bug: two big, shiny black eyes staring back at him.

"Horrible. Why are you wearing those?"

"Well, well I-I just thought they looked kinda... slick, don't they?" He pushed the shades even further up his face.

Russia scoffed. "No, too big for you. And they are my only lead. Take them off." His skin felt prickly, and anger led the funeral march of his hangover throughout his brain. It seemed like the assassin manifested himself just in those glasses: he was staring back at him through Meri's eyes.

He took a step forward, and Meri took one back.

"Well-- I should expect a commie like you to be bad at recognizing good styl-"

Russia slammed his hand down on the wall next to Meri's head, hard enough to dent the plaster slightly. The man jumped in surprise, but surprise quickly faded into a smug look as Meri evenly met Russia's gaze for the first time. "You're paying for my wall."

Russia didn't like that. He pinched the bridge of the glasses and ripped them off Meri's face. Instantly, Meri seemed to shrink, in spirit and in body, as if a lot of hot air had suddenly rushed out. He still looked focused, but now, he was staring up, past Russia and at the ceiling.

Russia stood up fully, allowing Meri to scramble away, and then pocketed the glasses in his big fluffy coat.

Meri let out a raspy sigh and tugged at his hair, looking very distressed. Perhaps at Russia's criticism of his fashion. But he deserved it-- Russia needed those glasses.

Finally, he stood up straight and pointed at Russia. "Fix that damn ribbon of yours: we're going downtown for breakfast."

Russia hesitated, but eventually, he did take his ushanka off and adjust his blue headband to cover his sickle and hammer. He wasn't sure why he did it; it wasn't as if Meri deserved his respect.