A snow-white hand slammed onto the table, and Antarctica glared at America, pure anger flaming in her eyes. The entire meeting hall fell quiet, so her next words were clearly audible.

"Why do I fight you?" she snarled, venom dripping from every syllable. "You disgust me! No one was even certain I existed until the 1800s, and even then, no one even bothered to visit until several decades later! You sit here with a thriving economy and allies and a competent military, slowly but surely trying to erode me away, but it won't ever be enough to stop me! Scars and pain have never stopped me before, and your damn invasions won't stop me now! If it takes everything and anything I have, I will fight against you! I would rather DIE than join you, you bitch!"

She flung the pamphlet nearest to her at the stunned American's head and stormed out as it bounced off of his temple, snow swirling around her in her fury.

There was a stunned silence.

"I think I'd better go after her," Russia said at last.

"Why would you bother going after a total freaky nut like that?" America said irritably, rubbing the growing bump on his head where the pamphlet had struck.

"She is the most dangerous place on the planet," Russia said darkly. "It was stupid to make her angry, Mr. America. Unless you want another Cold War, I suggest you shut up now, da?"

He strode out of the hall, catching up with Antarctica outside. Her white-blonde hair, paper-white skin, and white fur coat made it almost impossible to find her in the blizzard, but he knew where she liked to go to be alone. Sure enough, he found her sitting on the cliff that overlooked what would have been his sunflower fields in the summer, her ice-blue eyes the sole sign that she was alive. He sat down next to her, studying her carefully. She had her coat unbuttoned over her bleach-white shirt and matching pants, and she seemed to be enjoying the temperature.

"Don't you get cold, da?" he asked after a while.

Her blue eyes stared straight ahead, but she answered quietly, "Yes. But your place is very warm compared to mine."

There was another silence.

"You should be in the meeting," she said dully, closing her eyes.

Whenever she did this, she was so white that she nearly vanished into the snow, and he laid a hand on her shoulder just to make sure she was still there as the snow fell thicker than ever.

"You are more important, little one," he said quietly. "You should be there as well, da?"

To his surprise, she laughed, a beautiful sound that made him think of penguins and polar sea birds.

"My land area is only slightly smaller than yours," she said amusedly, and he sensed that she was smiling. "However, 'little one' sounds nice. You can keep calling me that." Her eyes opened, and he blushed slightly. She had moved closer to him than he'd thought. "Russia . . . they don't know what it's like to be alone. I don't want to go back to that meeting. Ever."

"I know."

"What?" She looked up at him, icy eyes confused.

"I know what it's like to be alone."

"Russia . . . Ivan . . . you are my only friend," Antarctica said softly. "But you are also in history books long before me."

"Da, but I have been alone," he said quietly. "Nobody likes me. They all left. And . . . I . . . am alone."

Antarctica moved towards him so suddenly that he yelped, but her warm cheek merely pressed against his as her arms wrapped around him tightly. She was hugging him tightly in a way he hadn't even realized he missed. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he hugged her back, burying his face in her soft white hair.

"You're very warm," he said in a muffled voice, willing himself not to cry.

"There are liquid pools on my surface," she said softly, her warm breath tickling his ear. "The cold cannot freeze them. Lava flames under my ice, burning through even the most extreme temperatures. I am not as cold as everyone thinks; perhaps you are the same way?"

He lost his resolve and broke down, crying into her neck. He didn't know how, but she had found a way to open up his soul, and, most surprisingly, she didn't hate him for what she saw. No one had ever simply accepted him before, and he didn't know what to do now that someone had. So he simply cried in her arms as she whispered soft reassurances to him, stroking his platinum hair with her pale, white fingers. Eventually, he managed to gather himself together again, and she took his face between his hands.

"Russia," she whispered gently. "They may have left, but I will not. I love you, and as long as you love me, I will stay with you. War will not come between us. I promise."

He gazed into her icy blue eyes, those cold eyes that were so warm and loving.

"I love you," he said at last, voice hoarse from crying.

She smiled, and then took him entirely by surprise by what she did next – she kissed him.