You're playing with the big boys [Sealand]

Peter had been between the radio communications booth and the radar station ever since his breath caught and he realized someone was here that wasn't supposed to be here. Who it was, he couldn't quite say, though he knew certainly that another Nation was with them. He couldn't say what kind of submarines they were, either- he only had primary radar, telling him that the submarines were in his territory and submarines, but not at what depth or even what exactly the size was. It was an old technology. So were his radios, which lead to the current problem.

"Unknown vessel, please respond, this is the Fort Roughs. You've entered the sovereign territory of the Principality of Sealand, please state your nationality and confirm your intentions. Unknown vessel, please respond..." Peter frustratedly put down the microphone. "What frequency are they even using?" he said, exasperated. It wouldn't surprise him if it was an uncommon one, intended to be difficult to intercept. The problem was that he had to manually figure it out, one guess at a time. He didn't have the technology to do anything otherwise. And this was hard. He'd already checked several common frequencies. The unknowns were coming closer.

"Jamesie! Jamesie, tell me you know how to make this work better?"

"Peter, you're older than I am," his Boss replied.

"That's not the point, Jamesie!" he whined, before sighing and putting his head down in his hands. "I don't know who it is! It could be an honest mistake, but it could also be someone attacking me! There's a Nation with them too and I still can't contact them how do I even make sure they don't collide with the fort if I can't get their exact depth readings and I just-" he stopped, and started pacing. He was nervous. The submarines were still moving. Behind him, someone started on a new frequency: "Unknown vessel, please respond..." Outside, there were some winds, and Peter suspected it was going to storm soon. He wasn't thinking about that much, but it was in the back of his mind, another complication to a situation that he couldn't figure out how to fix.

That was when one of the subs started to surface. Peter didn't have to look; he knew instinctively that the Nation was in it. He started stammering.

"Jamsie. Can- can you make sure everyone directly on deck knows enough? You know, about me? And then- then I want you to leave, I'll call you if I need diplomatic assistance, go and take care of Freddy-"

"Peter. I need to stay up here."

Peter was about to argue more, but then he saw exactly who was standing on top of the boats. "James, go, now."

"Sealand, I think this requires my-"

"JAMES BATES! THIS IS DANGEROUS, YOU'LL BE HURT, HE'S REALLY, REALLY DANGEROUS, DO YOU NEED ME TO GET-" he froze. He shook his head. "I mean... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

There was a quiet for a few moments.

"It's been so long, but I still do things like that too, y'know." And Peter didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything at all.

"I... I'm going to go down there..." he finally said before squeezing his Jamesie's hand and leaving the room, deciding that Russia wasn't likely to come up to the radio tower, anyway, not unless Peter let him up, and Peter wasn't going to. He wasn't going to. (Outside, it still looked like it might storm).

He walked down the deck quietly. He had his rifle on his back, but it didn't feel very useful all of a sudden. While Russia wasn't going to be made of steel and therefore somewhat protected from direct physical wounds, Peter had no idea how quickly he would heal and had his doubts that he could really do much to the man at all if things went badly. So things couldn't go badly.

He walked and he walked until he reached the edge of the deck and was looking down. "Mr. Braginsky," he finally said, his voice strained under the slight insult to the man that he probably would never pick up. "It's you," he continued, and then found his tongue stuck at the back of his throat, unable to come up with much more to say at all. He quietly wondered what would happen if the winds were to suddenly change and the man was pushed off his boat. Some part of Peter hoped that happened. After all, Peter could imagine that, even if the both of them were in the water, Russia would wind up worse off. Peter had spent a long time becoming a very, very good swimmer, mostly because it would have been dumb not to, living where he did. He doubted Russia would have done the same.

But then again, nothing was knocking Russia off of that boat.

Continuing in a strained voice, trying to sound a little bit bigger than he was, he kept going. "Do you want to explain why I can't reach your submarines? It was annoying! And also, I would have sent you data so you didn't run into anything."

(His other question was: how did your subs get into the North Sea, what are you doing here, and will it hurt me? But he didn't ask that one. He didn't dare.)

Russia was highly infuriating, Peter suddenly remembered, as the man decided to comment on his own slightly less-than-polite greeting simply by looking at him a little oddly, smiling, and telling him that he could see. That wasn't what Peter had intended at all, but he didn't really think Russia cared. It had been an insult! A childish one, but an insult! There was a reason Peter wasn't calling him "Mister Russia" like he did most nations, instead using the man's last name. Most nations probably wouldn't notice, but to Peter, that was the closest he'd come to insulting Russia without getting himself in trouble, by denying him the title of his Nation. An insult!

The wind was picking up a little bit, and the waves were getting choppier. Peter pretended not to notice. He knew it was going to storm, had known all morning, but he really, really hoped that it wasn't choosing the timing it seemed to be choosing. Ah, well, he couldn't change the weather, so he'd ignore it. "Of course it's outdated," muttered Peter, before shaking his head, "But it's a RADIO! How- why wouldn't- when on earth did people suddenly decide to stop using them!" he finally burst, letting out a little bit of his frustration at Russia. "Because I don't know when that happened! How ELSE am I supposed to hail people! I couldn't even tell what flag you hailed under! So yeah, it's a little outdated, almost entirely analogue, BUT IT'S NOT LIKE PEOPLE JUST STOPPED USING RADIOS!" And maybe Peter was a little sensitive when it came to radio. Mr. Bates had originally found Sealand in an attempt to start an (illegal) radio station. He liked the thing, okay?

Whoops. That- that had been a little bit more temperamental than he'd intended it to be. Peter rubbed the back of his head. "I mean- sorry- I've just-" he threw his hands in the air in an attempt to explain the feeling that his mouth seemed incapable of putting into words. "Nevermind," he mumbled, realizing belatedly that the entire rant had perhaps been a little stupid, "though you should know better. If I haven't joined Daddy's side to get equipment, I'm certainly not after yours." He nodded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world before rocking back on his feet.

And then Russia just kept talking and Peter's stomach fell to his feet. Oh. Of course. He hardly heard the comment about Latvia, though almost instinctively he said "Shut up!" in a hissed shout from under his breath upon hearing Russia start talking about him. Russia was, of course, infuriatingly right. He couldn't tell anyone about where Russia was. He already knew that. Just, Russia was in the North Sea, this close to his Jerk Brother? In the North Sea, potentially close to his Daddy? Oh, that made him feel guilty again, and he hated it. He shouldn't feel guilty! He was doing this right! There was absolutely nothing wrong with his actions! Just... his family...

"...do you think I have better contact with them than I seem to have with you?" he finally said. "I can't tell them, even if I wanted to." (He could mention it on the radio. He'd have to be subtle, and he'd have to frame it as a warning of some kind for his people. He didn't entirely know where Russia was going anyway. Besides, he doubted his Brother listened to Radio Essex anyway.) "I'll probably mention this to my People, though. If they get caught in the crossfire because I didn't say anything-"

Thunder rumbled. Peter froze. No. Bad timing. The wind was picking up. Very, very, very bad timing. He looked up. Very, very, very bad timing. Go away. Now was not the time to start storming. See, here's where the problem came in: it wasn't like he or Russia could just stand around outside in a thunderstorm. Already Peter unconsciously glanced towards the door. No, standing where they were in a thunderstorm was a very bad idea. So Peter would go inside, but what would Russia do? He'd seemed to like the wind a moment ago, and Peter's further sinking stomach made him realize that he probably wasn't about to get back in that submarine...

Maybe Russia, having so much land, would forget how fast a storm could come in at sea? Because if he did, maybe he wouldn't ask, and Peter wouldn't have to let him onto the fort. Maybe the waves would knock Russia into the water? Doubtful, but possible? Peter wasn't going to mention it. Nope, wasn't going to say anything about it. He'd pretend he'd trailed off because of some reason that wasn't thunder. Yes. 

(There was only one nearby room, you see, that didn't have some of Peter's People in it and he REALLY didn't want Russia in it- but he wasn't letting the Nation anywhere near his People.)

Stupid storm.

Peter looked at his feet. There had really been no need for Russia to rub it in. He'd had a stupid moment, and he understood that full well. So he just blushed and looked at his feet. He just- radios were awesome, and no one could convince him otherwise. They just always worked, and he could almost understand how. There was just- oh, nevermind. He doubted anyone else would entirely understand his opinion on radios, though he'd tried before to explain it to his (very amused) Daddy. They were just so much better than whatever else had been come up with since then. Yes. There was nothing else to be said.

Peter couldn't help but snort at Russia's next comment. Mother Russia. This man, Mother Russia, just, the image Peter got in his head- Okay. Okay, maybe he had to try really, really hard not to laugh at the image of Russia (Russia!) in an apron, baking cookies, waiting for a kid to come from school- pfft. There was just something so inherently absurdist about the idea. He couldn't imagine Russia as ever being parental at all, really. He could imagine Russia pretending to be, vividly, thanks to the few odd stories from Latvia, but he couldn't imagine the intimidating older nation actually doing any parent-y things. He couldn't imagine the man sitting down and reading stories or teaching kids how to swim or playing with them or just hugging them at night when they were scared and had another nightmare about them all just being gone, gone, where had they gone and why had they left him? 

He laughed because Mister Bates and Russia? Nothing alike. Daddy and Russia? They were both intimidating, but the difference was in that Daddy only was ever intimidating on the surface. Russia, Peter suspected, was just as twisted and frightening all the way through to the core. He didn't even deign it with a response.

But the next statement got quite the rise.

"SHUT UP!" screamed Peter, making a noise somewhere in between a shot puppy and a lion cub crying for its parents, with only a bit of the someday intimidating roars and barks of them both underscoring the noise's yelp of sudden pain. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" he screamed, halfway from drawing his weapon before he remembered where he was looking, who he was looking at, and just how bad of an idea it was. Part of him didn't care. This creature had shot his Daddy. No one shot his Daddy. No one hurt his Daddy's best friend, either. Part of him tore at him with grief, only restrained by the fact that they couldn't actually die. "You- you-" he had tears in his eyes. "Just SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP-" and he couldn't do anything-

(He could get stronger, and then they wouldn't have to fight people like him anymore. But Peter didn't know how to do that, not without more people getting hurt, and he still remembered too much to go to war, still hated it too much, but sometimes he wondered-)

Peter's ears rang and he shook his head. Thunder rolled. He cared a lot less. He tried not to cry. For a few moments, it was only him and the wind, one smooth motion away from making the Russian fall in the water in a very not-silly way. But he couldn't. Not really. (Would he be any better?) Slowly, very slowly, Peter's muscles stopped tensing. He remembered exactly why he disliked Russia. He took the moment to look at the sky, slowly. He was not sure of what exactly to say, but not certain he could say much without getting himself in trouble. Breathe in, breathe out, double the time- wasn't that what he was taught once to help him calm down?

So he just finished answering the man with a final "Don't be ridiculous, that would echo too much, we have an intercom," he snapped. The wind had gotten quite high, and the water was beginning to become quite choppy. Peter's eyes were stormy, but for two reasons, one being his now extremely poisonous mood. Oh, he was not happy. And to top it all off, there it was, Russia asking to come up. He'd leave Russia to fall into the water, he really would; he'd practically been asking for it. He would, except Peter had ended up underwater during a thunderstorm once before and even for a Nation who had moved his room from the main fort to the newer underwater section because he liked the sound, it had been plainly terrifying, even if it had only been for five minutes. They were five of the hardest minutes of treading, swimming, and trying very hard not to panic that he'd ever had. And, as much as he'd like Russia to fall into the water, the fact remained that Peter was the strongest swimmer Peter knew, and he'd probably nearly drowned twice.

With heavy, somewhat reluctant footsteps, he walked to the nearest ladder. Before lowering it, he looked up and signaled quietly. Clear the deck as best you can. He didn't want Russia anywhere near his People. But then he lowered the ladder. With a metal clang and a splash into the water, it falls to the sea. "You'll have to step a bit, maybe jump," he advised. "It goes a bit underwater, so if you fall into the water, reach for it. The water can get bad under these conditions, though it's definitely not as bad as it could get." He didn't reach a hand to the top of the water. Russia could get up by himself. Instead, he had to figure out where he was going to put the Russian, there were only three top-deck rooms he knew would be open, and all three were locked. Of course, opening Mister Bates's room or Michael's room was out of the question, so he only really had one option. Just, he really didn't want to, but he couldn't have Russia just anywhere...

Oh, oh, that was- was Russia busy trivializing his reaction? Peter fumed a little bit more, watching the Russian chuckling. How on earth did Raivis put up with the man? Well, he didn't, now that Peter thought about it; Raivis didn't put up with Russia, he just let the man steamroller over him because Russia spent so much time making Raivis's self esteem shatter into lots of tiny little pieces. There was a reason he didn't like Russia, and it didn't all stem from the fact that he was a massive jerk.

That didn't mean that Russia was making it easy to remember that, of course, as he responded only with an admonishment of Peter's behavior that made Peter glower for a moment. Peter was not just a non-entity! He was legitimately upset! He might be little, but he did, in fact, know how to shoot his rifle! The only reason he wasn't firing it was because that would be stupid and not really fit the situation. He just didn't want to, was all. Russia was standing on top of a submarine with no lifejacket on (and the part of Peter that had spent hours upon hours learning water safety winced at this fact), for crying out loud! He didn't have room to get out of the way!

So maybe Peter felt a little vindicated when Russia did, in fact, fall into the water (though once again, the part of him that thought of water safety as a required skill for survival winced). His mood lifted slightly, and he couldn't help it. He giggled, though his expression was somewhat concerned. Not really that concerned, mind you- Russia had just told him that he'd shot Peter's Daddy, and Russia remained that person that hurt Latvia over and over again- but a little, tiny bit concerned about what would happen if Russia's flailing did not get his head above water. Who had taught the man how to swim, anyway? The conditions were bad, but wasn't that the point of learning to swim? Maybe that was just Peter. Actually, yes, that was probably just Peter, seeing that he'd grown up in the middle of the ocean. Still. It was an important thing.

He continued to giggle once Russia started grabbing for the ladder, though he suddenly realized that he'd probably want to cover his mouth. Peter imagined Russia wouldn't be too happy to catch him laughing at him. It was just- where had Russia learned to swim? He just looked so, so- so silly! Peter admonished himself. No. Stop giggling. The part of him that knew the situation was still serious attempted to get his thoughts  back on track. SERIOUS. THE SITUATION IS SERIOUS.

But really, this was kind of hilarious.

Peter watched with a not-really-extinguished amused smile as Russia made his way up the ladder. Still feeling a little vindictive, he continued to refuse to help Russia get up the ladder, instead watching him struggle to the top and end up standing there, looking very much like a cat that had been thrown into a river. He was smiling, but it was mostly a twitchy, fake kind of smile. Peter's own was somewhat ridiculous. "You need more swimming lessons," he said cheerfully. "Also, you should always wear a lifejacket!" It was very, very clear that Peter was still very busy trying not to break into peels of laughter, and also making fun of Russia just a little bit. He couldn't entirely help it.

He paused for a moment and looked over Russia. He sighed. Darn you, lifeguarding classes that he'd sneaked into because he remained a little too physically small to take them normally. "Wait a moment." Thunder continued and the wind blew as Peter walked over to a first aid kit that was up against one of the walls. He came back with a blanket- close enough to a towel- and a heat press. "I'm going to assume you'll know if you're getting hypothermia and how to treat it but I feel obligated to remind you not to apply the heat to your arms or legs after watching you attempt to swim a moment ago," he said as he handed them over to Russia. "I'd offer you a change of clothes, but I doubt anything of mine would fit you," he continued.

And then he finally failed a check and had to use both of his hands to smother hysterical giggles again.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, it's really not that funny but it really is," he said, not looking sorry one bit. He looked up. It was probably about to start pouring any moment, so he suddenly grabbed Russia's arm in a steel trap of a grip and said "And now we should go inside, because I don't want to get as wet as you currently are." Yes. Inside. He should think about that, because laughing at Russia wasn't good for his health. He started dragging his weight forward, trying to lead Russia as he went.

Looking at Russia's stormy expression, Peter almost regretted laughing at him. Almost. It was simply that he found so little to laugh about in his current situation, right, and he figured Russia would understand that he wasn't really- okay, he was really making fun of Russia, but surely he'd be okay with it? (Who was he kidding, this was a horrible idea.) All the same, Peter's smug expression didn't really fade as he looked at Russia's sopping wet jacket and form. He'd been in a similar position many a time, but, apparently unlike Russia, Peter had a great love and affinity for water, especially the ocean. Peter would have been laughing at himself, really, if he'd wound up flailing about so spectacularly in the water. Well, that, and he'd be embarrassed, but in an amused, happy way.

Russia, however, did not agree, and this was made clear as a heavy hand pushed against his steely head. Peter winced as the pressure grew higher, somewhat glad that he had a thick skull. He refused to be intimidated! Russia was being ridiculous not to see how funny the situation was. "It wouldn't do much, watching me like that," he confided. "I've practiced lots and lots, and I've fallen myself once or twice, especially when I was little and didn't really understand that I shouldn't run around on the deck, especially when it is wet." He grinned, though it was an oddly toothy sort of grin, a grin hidden beneath the grimace born from Russia's heavy hand. The sky briefly lit up. "But I'd be glad to show you how to quickly recover, when I'm less likely to be electrocuted?" he continued, with a false genuiness that was practically burning his tongue.

Then Russia lifted his hand and Peter breathed out again. Her unconsciously rubbed his head, where the pressure continued to hurt. He shuddered to think of what would happen if Russia's wet hands (he had hardly noticed the water before now, actually) had been pressing down on a normal skull. It hurt bad enough with the metal one! Still rubbing it, he pushed the smile forward again. Russia took the offered blanket, and Peter sighed to himself gladly. Good. The last thing Russia needed to see was Peter's (stolen) hospital equipment, if only because that would force Peter to take him below deck, and the sea deck was not where he wanted Russia, not where he wanted such a dangerous man at all. He wouldn't let anyone like that too near his People, or that was the plan. Nope! That was not happening.

Oh. Russia was threatening him again. Luckily, this wasn't much of a threat, not to Peter. He grinned. "See, there's your problem," Peter unnecessarily explained. "Swimming is to keep your head above the water! I have no idea how drowning would help, other than to give you a healthy respect of the ocean. That's opposite the goal, you know?" He nodded as though this was one of the world's most obvious facts. "Besides, I've already done the whole 'drowning' thing, twice, actually." There was suddenly an odd edge to the boy's voice. And those weren't nice memories, either, not really. Both had some exonerating circumstances, though. The second time, he had been trying to escape a fire while half passed-out from smoke inhalation, so one could forgive him for a failure in swimming abilities. The first time... That was a long story for another day, a story he wasn't going to tell just anyone. "I can tell you, then, that it did nothing to help my swimming abilities, only perhaps by motivation." He smiled, and then turned away. It didn't really matter, not really.

The first spattering of rain and steadily approaching lightning started to torch the skies. Peter sighed. Inside it was. Russia had wrapped himself in the blanket. He wrapped his own hand around Russia, gripping just a little harder than he should. It would have, perhaps, been enough to bruise a normal human being, but Peter wasn't so sure it would bruise Russia. Russia, after all, wasn't a normal human being. He started walking. "Well, I don't trust you," Peter said honestly. "I'm really, super protective of my People, see? If I could prove you wouldn't hurt any of them, then maybe I'd give you a tour." He hummed quietly to himself. His eyes shifted. He looked oddly more resolute than he might have normally, oddly more capable and oddly more likely to pick up the gun strapped to his back and fire it. "You'd have to promise to follow me. It's surprisingly easy to get lost! Everything's made of the same materials, after all."

Still gripping Russia's hand, though he let out some slack into the grip, he opened the door and marched inside. "So we're going to stay in my old room! I'll admit that I partially left because it's super easy to bar the door from the outside (stupid Traitor) and it's a little empty but there's still furnature in it so you should be fine." And oh, Peter was extremely unexcited for this, but it would have to do. It would have to do for now, indeed. Hopefully everything went well? He'd make sure of it. Yes. Even if he did have to use that Traitor's trick to keep the door shut.

Peter huffed slightly. He didn't feel much like explaining himself, even as Russia taunted him back for accidentally mentioning that he'd drowned before. Still, he couldn't quite bit back a muttered "You try to swim while you're on fire." He then proceeded to stick out his tongue at the Russian for just a moment before stopping. He doubted that increased Russia's opinion of him in the slightest. Ah, well, Russia could make fun all he wanted to. Peter had been alive for just a bit more than a century, after all, and lived on the ocean, and it had only happened twice, both times when his swimming abilities had somehow been compromised. He didn't need to explain himself, anyway, not to Russia of all people. He was, after all, a super massive jerk-face. He didn't get to hear stories like that.

It was strange, then, that Russia squeezed his hand back, and Peter wasn't certain what to make of it. Peter had just grabbed it in the intention of moving Russia around only where Peter wanted the man to be, preventing him from, Peter wasn't sure, running off and doing jerk-face things, he supposed. It wasn't supposed to be nice or anything. Stupid Russia. At least he still seemed to be a little bit irritated. Or, wait. That was a bad thing? He wasn't supposed to irritate him too much, Peter was pretty sure, because that could get him in trouble. Then again, since when had Peter even cared about getting in trouble at all? He'd be fine! He, after all, had a gun, and, as far as Peter could see, Russia did not. Peter didn't really want to use the gun, but he would, he really would if he had to!

Oh, wait, he was talking again. Peter scoffed. "Right. I'll believe your trustworthy when Raivis starts leaving your house without scars," he muttered, though it was perhaps not loud enough for just anyone to hear. Scars didn't have to be physical, and Peter knew that fact well. Yeah, when his first friend finally seemed safe, that would be when Peter let himself trust Russia at all. "You should intend to keep all of your promises," Peter continued, his voice much louder now and reading with the tones of someone who thought his words were obvious. "I mean, I never make promises I don't intend to keep! I don't really make promises all that often, then, 'cause I figure they're important. You shouldn't ever break them, never ever." He nodded, quite sure of himself. Promises were important, and Russia wasn't really helping build Peter's trust in him whatsoever. Not with the weird way he was talking.

At the mention of the radio, Peter perked up slightly dragging Russia under the roof just as rain started to patter on the metal ceiling, sending echoing clanks down the halls. "It's not much of a radio tower," he explained, "but it's got a sign we rigged up that says "ON AIR" and a booth where we can make things sound better while we're recording! It's kinda old, though, and it's really just set up with two laptops, but GarageBand still works!" He rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly. "But I really like my mic! I got it- um, well it's probably a good fourty years old, but it's super nice! No one else can touch it, 'cause it's pretty fragile. Most good mics are." He glowed brightly. He liked talking about his radio stuff. He was actually probably talking a bit too much. Whoops. Whatever. Russia said he'd wanted to see the place, so he couldn't begrudge the description.

The halls, even top deck, looked confusing to some bystanders. To Peter, though, they were easy, innate knowledge. He almost literally could not get lost. He rolled his eyes at Russia's next comments. "I can only bar the door of I'm standing outside of it," he reminded Russia. "I probably won't even the door unless you're being really ridiculous but I doubt you'll get to that point." And the door wouldn't be looked until Peter was safely outside, but Peter wasn't going to mention that part, the part where he didn't want to be locked in that room, ever. He'd lock that away with how he had rearranged all of the furnature in the room when he first met Paddy Roy Bates and the fact that the cabinet in the corner held a lot of things he'd rather not look at. Lock it away and pretend it wasn't there.

"Anyway, here we are," he said, just a little bit quieter. He pulled a small rope from around his neck with six keys on it and unlocked the door before pulling it open. Inside, against the back wall, was a desk with an old typewriter on top of it, to the left was a bed that had been stripped of sheets at some point. A cabinet sat in the corner near the desk. The room was actually somewhat empty in general, probably because Peter no longer lived in it. Still, signs persisted that he once had. The right wall had a Sealandic flag painted on it, though if one looked closely they could see it had been painted over a scratched-off and worn-down British one. There were still some drawings on the desk. They were oddly mechanical, filled with lots of detail but little shading, as though whoever had learned to draw them had learned from owner's manuals and plans rather than from art itself. One of two had Peter and Raivis standing together, looking relatively happy. Others really were plans, grand plans for radios and boats and countries that weren't to be.

Oh, how he hated this.

"After you," Peter muttered, releasing his hand from Russia's and gesturing inside.

Occasionally, it hit Peter that Russia might not actually always mean to be a jerk, but that just meant he was a deluded jerk and didn't really help Petet stop wanting to yell at him. There had been, for example, that one time when he was much, much younger and he'd thought he could go up to the man after a world meeting and demand that he treat Raivis better. That... hadn't gone well, to say the least. He'd gotten in massive trouble, Raivis had gotten in massive trouble, and Peter learned that he couldn't accuse Russia directly to his face because it would do more harm than good. Plus, it hadn't done anything. Russia had proceeded to make it abundantly clear that he thought he wasn't doing Raivis any wrong at all.

This was another one of those times. Peter hadn't meant for Russia to hear his muttered comment about Raivis, and nearly winced when Russia replied. He hadn't wanted Russia to hear that at all, and if Raivis got in trouble because he'd accidentally said something stupid Peter wasn't sure he'd forgive himself. But Russia's response- wasn't that just in character? "Not exactly what I meant," Peter said in an even quieter voice, and even as he spoke, his voice faded out more and more until he could barely hear himself speak, touching the border between thought and statement. "'Cause he's not normally hurt like that, really..." He shook his head and kept on walking. It didn't matter. Well, it did matter. It mattered a whole lot, but Russia wasn't going to understand that and there was no point of trying to convince the man now, no point to thinking about it right now when Peter was forced to admit he couldn't really do much at all.

He frowned openly at Russia's comment about promises. "Who says I can't change that?" he said. It would almost be petulant, if it wasn't just so honest. Peter truly, desperately thought that he'd change that some day, and why not start now? "It's not as though I never lie," he continued, being completely honest. He lied just a little bit more than he should, probably, but it wasn't entirely his fault (it was entirely his fault)! It was just, well, sometimes he had to steal things, and sometimes he did things that most people would say were illegal but Peter didn't really think should be and what was he supposed to say? "Yes, I'm bouncing my internet signal off of your military satellites, would you mind terribly if I continued?" "Besides, it's not a promise if you don't intend to keep it. Like I said, I don't make promises often. It's just- I mean, it's not like I can't say one thing and do something- I mean- I'm not going to convince you today, am I?" He sighed. Yeah, getting into an argument about principals with Russia was dumb. He should probably just move on. It was like arguing with a brick wall (but someday he'd go back and show Russia, he really would-)

He shook his head. No. He wasn't going to think about things like that today because Russia was right here so he didn't really have time to think about things he might imaginarily do, right? The man was dangerous. Instead, he vaguely listened as Russia made another comment about wanting to see his radio station. Why did he want to see the radio station so badly? It wasn't anything all that interesting, really, it was an AM radio station designed to broadcast only a short distance. It was some of the computer work that was more intricate, and not all of it was directly in the broadcasting room, anyway. "Maybe I'll show you," he said despite himself. He didn't really want to let Russia to convince him to take him on a tour, but...

...Well, when Peter heard Russia tell him his room was depressing, well, that might have been the final straw. He looked down. He was honest tempted to say that if it was depressing for Russia, well... but he'd gotten over that (sort of, kind of, maybe) and it wasn't a problem anymore (maybe, almost, honestly it still hurt). Instead he forced cheerfulness onto his face and said "Wow! I guess I really haven't been here in a while..." He laughed and it was probably a little bit more forced than normal. "Sorry, I guess. I just knew no one would be in here. And I figured we'd stay here, though I guess if I radioed ahead or something we could do a tour, I mean, I still don't trust you enough," he tried to explain, "with my People, I mean, but that's okay I don't even let my Jerk Brother near too many of them, right?" He laughed again.

"Never mind. Let's just stay here a bit." With that Peter walked across the room and sat in the desk chair, pulling a wrench out from one of the drawers. He played with it in his hand before picking up the typewriter and examining it. He needed something to do. Yeah. That's do.