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Summary: Russia and China reminisce about their time together throughout and beyond the Cold War. Written for RoChu Week 2017 (@rochuweek).
Read Part 5 on AO3 or FF.net
A/N: So - this is something a *little* more lighthearted for RoChu Week. Because the prompt is laughter, and I ain't sadistic enough to make them suffer all the way through RoChu Week. Enjoy!
Beijing, March 27th 1969
Russia rapped his gloved hand on the door, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited for a response. He knocked on the door again, louder, his chest bristling with hope as he heard gentle footsteps approach. The door creaked open by the slightest, China’s dark eyes peering out.
‘What are you doing here?’
Russia placed his hand to his chest, not sure if he found China’s annoyance amusing or hurtful. ‘Comrades can’t visit each other?’
China scoffed. ‘They’re not supposed to try to bomb each other, I know that for sure.’
‘You know those are only rumours!’ Russia chuckled. ‘My boss would never plan to do such a terrible thing.’
China’s brow raised. ‘So then you’re just… stopping by for a friendly visit.’
‘Of course.’
China clacked his tongue. ‘Lies. You’re visiting out of pity! I know you. Your boss has something bad in mind and you’re trying to make up for it.’
Russia paused, mumbling for an excuse. China had been, as always, quick to read him.
‘And anyway,’ China continued. ‘My boss made it clear that we are not to trust you. So go before your trail of misfortune catches up to my house.’
‘Don’t be so cruel!’ Russia caught his hand in the door as it began to shut. ‘Yao!’
China faltered, making a pained expression. ‘Do you have to keep calling me that?’
‘Yao, come outside with me.’
‘No.’
‘Let’s go eat somewhere. Or ice skate! I passed by an ice rink on the way here –’
‘No, stop it!’ China snapped. ‘I’m not leaving my house. I’m not going out to eat sub-standard food. And I’m not going ice-skating with you.’
Russia parted his lips to speak –
‘How many times do I have to refuse, aru?’
Russia shut his mouth closed, gently leaning his forehead against the door and exhaling deeply, his eyes still fixed on China.
‘What?’
‘Yao…’ Russia dragged out, as childishly and sweetly as possible. ‘I missed you this whole time. It’s been eight years and I wanted to see you again. Is that such a bad thing?’
He knew it worked – the cute voice and the shameless sentiments. On China, of all people, it worked well. He could see the door tremble slightly from China’s hesitance, fingers rapping indecisively on its surface. China let out a small sigh of resignation.
‘Fine. Let’s go.’
‘Really?’
‘But only for today. No staying over –’
Russia grabbed China’s hands, cupping them up against his chest. ‘I’m so glad!’
‘Aiyah –’ China gently pulled his hands away. ‘Let me finish –’
‘Ah!’ Russia pulled him out from the doorway. ‘Ice skating! Have you ever ice-skated before?’
‘Of course I have,’ China scoffed, stumbling out into the cold with a frown. He carefully stepped back into the warmth of his home, pursing his lips as he considered Russia. ‘Just – wait out here while I get my coat…’ he grumbled, the door half-closing. Russia hummed to himself, rocking on his heels again as he waited, this time with giddiness in his chest.
.
China’s skates only barely approached the ice, toeing on the barrier between the ice rink and the ground outside of it.
‘Come on, Yao. The ice won’t bite.’
China looked up at Russia, frowning. ‘Don’t patronize me.’
Russia chuckled at the familiarity of that tone, words which rang with strange fondness for the time when he had pulled a bullet out of China’s shoulder. He reached his hands out, wondering if China would show him that same trust again.
China ignored him, instead taking a defiant step forward. His skate stabbed into the ice, shaky. He set the other foot, wobbling, slipping and falling backwards onto the ice.
‘Yao –’ Russia burst out laughing, unable to help himself as he skated forward and reached out to China. ‘Yao, you silly fool. Take my hand –’
‘Aiyah!’ China swatted his hand away, cheeks growing pink. ‘I’ll get up on my own.’
‘You should have told me you didn’t know how to skate. I can teach you –’
‘No one is teaching me anything.’ China grabbed the rail, his balance wavering as he stood up. ‘I can figure this out myself.’ He shuffled along the ice, his eyes glued to his own skates. One foot shakily sliding forward, the other clumsily following. Another slide forward, a slip – China grabbing onto the rail tightly with a shaky breath. It was almost too endearing of a sight to bear.
‘Yao.’
‘What?’ China glanced up, a bite in his voice.
‘Can I show you?’ Russia asked. China pursed his lips and muttered out a resigned ‘fine’. Russia reached his hands out. ‘Give me your hands.’
China’s eyes widened. ‘No!’
‘It’s only so I can show you,’ Russia said. ‘You’ll learn faster, I promise!’
China narrowed his eyes and placed one hand in Russia’s.
‘And the other one.’
‘I need the other one for balance.’
‘You’ll have me for balance.’
China exhaled out in irritation, hesitating before letting go of the rail. He quickly grabbed Russia’s hand, feet clumsily slipping and scratching at the ice. Russia laughed and caught him by the shoulders.
‘You need to relax.’
‘I am relaxed!’
‘And bend your knees a little bit.’
‘Why?’
‘Just do it. It helps.’
China muttered in irritation, words Russia had not been paying attention to as he felt warm palms place themselves in his. It was as if he had only been holding them yesterday, these delicate hands which fit so perfectly into his. He guided China through the ice rink, skating backwards and hearing a panicked wait-wait-wait-not yet! as China’s grip on him tightened.
‘See, it’s not so bad,’ Russia said once they were in the centre of the ice rink, where no rail could save China. ‘It’s fun, da?’
‘Don’t you dare let go.’
‘As you wish!’
China sighed, his feet now skating at a rhythm, smoothly gliding in sync with Russia’s. He refused to look up, brows furrowed in concentration as if his feet might start doing things with a mind of their own.
‘You’re doing good,’ Russia said, earning a flustered glance from China.
‘Aiyah… You can… You can actually let go now.’
‘Are you sure?’ Russia chuckled.
‘Y-Yes,’ China snapped, though he was still holding on tightly. ‘You don’t need to help me anymore. I’ve got this now.’
Russia nodded, still holding up his smile though it threatened to falter as he gently pulled his hands away from China. China wavered for balance, regaining it quickly with a proud, beaming smile.
‘See that, Russia? Soon enough, I’ll be able to skate better than you!’
Russia hummed, watching to see how long that smile would last, how many seconds until it flickered and faded away like any other rare smile he had seen on China’s face. How long had it been, since China had smiled like that at him? Eight years? No, longer than that. Ten, maybe twenty. For a nation it was nothing, but for a warm curve of the lips like that it could have felt like centuries…
China hesitated, the smile faltering. There, it had already begun to disappear.
‘Behind you –’
Russia knocked into the wall of the ice-rink, stumbling down against the ice with a bruising fall. A surprised laugh burst out, not from Russia’s own embarrassment, but from China, who was standing over him with a hand over his mouth.
‘Look at you,’ China laughed, his face flushed. ‘Clumsy Vanya…’
Russia blinked, feeling the sting of a bruise on his thigh but not really caring for it. He was unable to help his own smile as it tugged on his lips, soft laughter bubbling out of him – not so much for his fall, or his idiocy to skate into the wall, but for the endearing laughter China was making. More so a cackle than a giggle, not all that conventionally attractive or dignified, and ridiculous enough for China to cover his mouth up in embarrassment. Yet Russia couldn’t help but marvel at how sweet this sight was, how sad it was that in all his life this was the first time he had ever seen China laugh like that.
‘I’m sorry…’ China wiped away tears, choking on his own restrained laughs. He reached a hand out to Russia, his smile softening. ‘Come on. Let’s go get some ice-cream. My treat as host.’
Russia reached out and grabbed onto China’s hand, but he did not stand up. He tugged gently, pulling until China knelt down beside him.
‘What’s wrong?’ China asked, still catching his breath and smearing away tears from his cheeks. ‘Are you hurt?’
Russia shook his head, drawing China’s hand closer to his chest with a fond smile. China’s smile sobered, his dark eyes blinking in confusion.
‘What is it?’
‘Please laugh like that more often…’
China darted his gaze away, though the ghost of his smile still lingered. ‘Aiyah…’
‘I’ll keep tripping over and falling if it’ll make you laugh again. And call me ‘Vanya’…’
‘Don’t be foolish. Stay on your feet.’
‘Only if Yao promises to laugh like that once more.’
China sighed and levelled his gaze with Russia. ‘Fine. One day.’
‘One day…?’
‘Non-negotiable. Now get up,’ China said, though he stayed put exactly where he was. He pursed his lips in embarrassment. ‘Because I don’t think I can.’
Summary: Russia and China reminisce about their time together throughout and beyond the Cold War. Written for RoChu Week 2017 (@rochuweek).
Read Part 3 on AO3 or FF.net
Seoul, April 3rd 1951
China had refused to enter the medical tent. He was not injured – at least, he wouldn’t be if they let him just have a few moments of rest. It will heal, it will heal, he had told Russia, that towering ghost of a man who should not have even been here to begin with.
But Russia wouldn’t have any of it.
‘Don’t waste the medical supplies on me,’ China said, flinching when the cold alcohol-drenched cotton pad touched his wound. Russia pressed on the wound, ignoring China’s muttered protest.
‘They are mine to give. I’ll do with them as I please.’
China huffed out, still panting from the close call out on the battlefield. Outside, he could hear the pained cries of his people, the hurried orders of doctors – more Russians than of his own. The shadows flitted past the tent, but in here it was quiet enough to hear his own pounding heart. He watched the cotton pads come away drenched with blood each time.
‘It will heal,’ China said, holding back the nausea as pain throbbed in his shoulder. ‘And I don’t mean in weeks, or months. I only need a few hours, you know that –’
‘But the bullet will still be inside…’ Russia pulled close a medical tray, on it the shining scalpels and knives that made China want to recoil. ‘And that wouldn’t be any good, da?’
‘I’ll live,’ China snapped back. He tensed when Russia picked up the pliers. ‘Aiyah… Give me that. I’ll take care of it myself –’
Russia pulled the pliers away, a gravely look on his face. ‘Yao.’
‘What?’
‘It will be much less unpleasant if I do it.’
China scoffed, now more annoyed than he was afraid. He reached out for the pliers. ‘That’s not true. Give me that –’
‘You’ll pass out before you can get the bullet out.’
He grabbed the pliers out of Russia’s hands. ‘I can do it myself just fine! You’re such a sadist, you know that?’
‘Da, you’ve told me before…’
‘I’ll take the bullet out myself and show it to you, since you’re so eager to make me bleed some more.’
A surprised chuckle escaped Russia’s lips. ‘You know that’s not what I want!’ Russia took hold of China’s pale hand, fingertips blackened with gunpowder and dirt. He wrapped his warm hands tighter around China’s and pressed his lips to them, in that way that was too affectionate for China’s liking, too sweet and too adoring to be real. ‘I just don’t want you to have that horrible bullet stuck inside you forever.’
China swallowed, feeling Russia’s chapped lips brush against his knuckles. ‘Why does it matter to you anyway?’
A small smile graced Russia’s lips, his eyes gazing up at China with a spark of fondness in them. A familiar spark which China had seen before, in those humid spring and summer nights the two of them had spent together, in quiet intimacy when they could only hear each other’s breaths and Russia had parted his lips to say –
‘I… ’
‘Don’t you dare say it,’ China snapped.
Russia pursed his lips, pressing them harder to China’s hand as if in rebellion. ‘Then I’ll show it.’
‘I think I’d rather you take the bullet out and let me rest.’
‘Would that prove my feelings to you?’
‘Sure. Why not.’ Yao sighed, handing the pliers back. ‘Just – make it quick.’
Russia sat up on the bed, taking the pliers and placing one hand on China’s shoulder to hold him still. He glanced up at China, in question.
‘Go ahead,’ China said hurriedly, his pulse quickening. Russia nodded and pierced the pliers into the wound, eliciting a sharp cry from China. He grabbed the fabric of his worn-out trousers, gritting his teeth as the pliers dug deep into his flesh, the sting of fresh blood oozing down his arm. Russia murmured, in foreign words China could only catch the meaning of through his tone, hushed and soft though it didn’t do much to ease the searing agony in his shoulder.
‘Got it,’ Russia said as the pliers clinched, pulling out to drag a bullet through flesh. China exhaled sharply in relief, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he felt the pain ebb away, if only by the slightest.
‘See?’ He panted as Russia cleaned up the bloodstains and wrapped up the wound. ‘I didn’t pass out.’
‘I know. You were very brave.’
‘Don’t patronize me.’
Russia chuckled, pulling the gauze taut around China’s shoulder, binding the wound. He tied it off, his hands lingering as they pulled away from China’s chest, in that quietness China was starting to find more unbearable than the pain in his shoulder.
‘You should get back out there,’ China said, making as if to get off the bed. ‘Your comrades are waiting out there for you. Your ‘secret’ soldiers.’
Russia frowned. ‘They’re comrades all the same.’
‘Yes, well…’ China paused, glancing up at Russia – wearing that uniform of the Chinese military, in the disguise neither of them had spoken about until now. ‘Your people are using our marks on their jets. Staying far from the frontlines. Keeping from sending people on the ground. You’d think you were ashamed to be on our side.’
Russia’s gaze wavered. ‘You know it’s more complicated than that.’
‘I know that we’re meant to be allies.’ China stood up, his balance unsteady. Russia grabbed his hand, his hold tight, desperate.
‘Yao –’
‘And I’m starting to think maybe we shouldn’t be using names, either.’
Russia’s expression softened, the slight furrow of hurt in his brows. ‘What do you mean, not use names? We’re –’
‘Nations. We’re allied nations – for now.’
‘Don’t say things like that…’
China freed his hand from Russia’s. ‘It will be less unpleasant this way.’
‘That’s… not true…’
China buttoned up his military shirt, worried about the aching feeling in his chest, the trembling of his lips that might give this ugly feeling away. ‘Stay safe out there, Russia,’ he said curtly, before leaving the medical tent.
And as he stepped back out onto the battlefield, the front that Russia was not allowed to be spotted on – should America see, should the entire world know that they were on the same side – he felt the slightest of itches on his wound, the familiar, crawling feeling of skin and muscle mending itself back together again. The wound closed itself up and the gun in his hands fired like nothing had happened, but he knew that the wound in his shoulder could never truly go away. The bullet was gone, but the scar would remain.
