41 - False Hope
Title: False Hope
Characters: Russia, America, and Belgium so briefly that you'll miss her if you blink.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: A year after Stalin's death, the Soviet Union suggested that it should join NATO in order to lessen the threat of nuclear war. Since we all know that the USSR never was a NATO member, does anyone think this is going to go well?
TCE is co-written by wizzard890 and pyrrhiccomedy.
---
Brussels, Belgium. 1954.
It was a windy day, bright and sunny, and the circle of flags outside NATO headquarters whipped against their poles. Russia's scarf fanned out behind him on the next gust--a nice one, cashmere, an old gift from France--and he smoothed it down.
He smiled a little to himself and pushed through the large double doors, into the cool dimness of the lobby. It was a teem of people, a mixed-up swirl of different languages and men and women in dark suits and skirts who all looked like they had places to be, and--
To Russia's eyes two of them stood out at once: two blond heads by the plate glass window. America and Belgium, both with cups of coffee in their hands. America made wide gestures, Belgium beamed and beamed.
She met Russia's eyes over America's shoulder, and her smile froze.
Russia nudged through the knots of people, tried not to shoulder anyone too hard. He dropped his hands into the pockets of his grey suit jacket. "Good morning, Belgium."
"Russia," she started, and blinked twice, and set down her coffee cup with a clatter that rang too loud in such a busy room.
America looked over his shoulder. His eyebrows rose. "Hi," he said, and took a sip.
"I'm surprised to find both of you here so early," Russia ventured.
"I-I spend a lot of time here." Belgium looked around as if to confirm it for herself.
"What do you want?" America asked plainly.
"America--" Belgium hissed.
He looked at her. "What?"
She stared for a few seconds, then stood. Her heels went clickclick on the polished floor. "I'm going to--get back to work! You two just...just..." she retreated back into the current of bodies before she finished her sentence.
America looked back at Russia. "She thinks you're here to declare a war or something," he explained.
Russia made a wide circle around America and took Belgium's empty seat. He scooted her half-full mug a few inches further from his elbow. It left a delicate brown ring on the table. "If I wanted to start another war, I wouldn't waste any time declaring it," he joked.
"I know." America smiled: teeth. "You don't see me looking worried."
The corner of Russia's mouth trembled. "Good." He pushed his hair out of his eyes with the back of his left hand. The bones hadn't healed as well as they could have, and there was crookedness to Russia's wrist that hadn't been there before. It didn't matter, though. He could use his arm again. "That's why I'm here. So that neither of us will have to worry anymore." A deep breath. "We won't need to, if we're allies."
America startled into his gaze. His expression went still. "What?" he asked after a few seconds.
Russia crossed his arms on the table, leaned forward. "I want to join NATO," he said. His smile quirked a little wider.
It was so wonderful to be able to say it out loud.
A flicker went through America's expression, like an underwater stream changing directions. "What?" he repeated, weaker. Then, with a sharp blink, and his eyes dropped to his saucer-- "Why?"
"Because my boss--" Russia paused, looked down into his lap, felt the beginnings of an excited flush paint his cheeks. He forced a cool calm upon his chest. "My boss thinks that it would be a good idea to--to open more doors, now, between other nations and...and me." He dragged his hands back into his lap, tangled his fingers together. "And my people wouldn't have to be afraid of you attacking them anymore, because we'd be..." A pause. Softer: "We'd be allies."
America stared, fixed, into his coffee cup. The seconds ticked by. Then he raised his hands in short jerks until they covered his face. His hair fell forward over his fingers. Through the fringe, in the gap between his hands, Russia watched his complexion plunge into grey, then rise again, uneven, to a painful flush.
He snapped his hands down onto the table and glared at Russia, and--and--tears stood in his eyes-- "No!"
Russia flinched like he'd been slapped. "W-Why not?" He hated the stumble in his voice. He couldn't tear his gaze away from how America's lips were trembling.
"You're lying!" America's volume jumped: pale flashes of faces turned towards them for a moment. "You--you--" A desperate little break.
Russia gaped at him. "I'm not!" The rumble of conversation in the air around them hung uncertainly before it checked itself and resumed, echoing to the ceiling.
"Y-you--you just want to disrupt the alliance! You want to drive all of us all apart! You--you're--" America took two short breaths in hard shocks. "You're trying to make us weak, so you can--you can--"
Russia's chest ached, like someone was shoving on his ribs from the inside. It wasn't--It wasn't like that at all-- "I just want to take care of my people," he managed. "And--and things are different, now! S-Stalin is--is gone! Look--" He pawed his scarf down, felt sick and humiliated at baring his scars in front of all these people, but--His neck was hideous, but that was how--how it always was, and the important thing was to show that there were no bruises. "No one is going to force me to h-hate you, anymore--"
"No one needs to!" America stared at Russia's throat, his pattern of scars. He wet his lips and flickered his gaze back to Russia's eyes with a kind of thin desperation. "You--you hate me...y-you hate me and you're just trying to ruin this for me, when--when--Europe f-finally wants me and you just...just want to take that away!"
"I'm not trying to--" Russia broke off, snapped his eyes shut. The world trembled blue and grey behind his eyelids. Was--was it so bad to think that maybe...now that he'd...done what he was supposed to do, done what they'd all asked...after he'd saved them from a war they didn't even know was coming...Was it so bad to think that maybe they would want him too? A hot twist of hurt tightened his gut. "Did you even consider that maybe I'm not doing this because of you?"
"No! No! You just hate me and that's why!" America jerked out of his chair, recoiled a pace across the floor. "You hate me and you hate the West and you hate that I'm friends with England and you--and you--you want to ruin everything, you always do!"
Russia's breath staggered. It was true. He took things--beautiful things, only beautiful things--and broke them like a stupid, clumsy child, and he could never figure out how to make them right again. He stumbled to his feet; the legs of his chair screamed across the tile floor. He crossed to stand in front of America, fists trembling at his sides, scarf hung open. "All right! I hate you, I-I always have! Maybe I am just trying to poison your alliance!" He felt himself sinking.
America stared at him, trembling, and then burst out, "We don't want you! None of us want you here! They..." A twitch: a shiver all the way down his left side. "They only wanted me here to protect them from you..."
Russia took those words and turned them over in his mind, as his heart thundered hard and dark and blue. They made sense. Of course they didn't want him. How could he ever have thought they might? He was Russia.
Another step, closer to America. Then he lunged, grabbed America's wrists, shoved him back hard into the half wall under the huge glass window. He wanted to snap his bones. "I don't think you can," he snarled.
America let Russia throw him back; his limbs were light, limber underneath him. A strange light flickered on in America's eyes. "This is a bad place to start a fight with me," he said softly. The traffic of people behind Russia had slowed and stopped.
Where was the fight? It was--That was the only thing that would make all this bearable. His lips moved flush against the turn of America's jaw as he whispered, "Wasn't this what you wanted? Nuclear security? You'd have it if you'd just let me in..." He knew that security mattered very little anymore. It had stopped being about that a long time ago.
He felt America's breath on his neck, America's warm cheek against his jaw. "You're lying. Like usual." A beat. "Security's looking worried, Russia. You want to cause an incident?"
Russia pulled away, released America's wrists and let them fall with a light smack against the marble. He gave America a long, steady look as he looped his scarf back around his ruined neck. "Of course not," he muttered. "I don't know what came over me." He straightened the lapels of his jacket.
America eased off the wall. Traffic jerked, then flowed again. He straightened his glasses, pushed his fingers through his hair. "I don't want to see you around here again. You scare the others."
Russia's eyes flickered. He tightened his jaw. The warm stretch America's body had left against his clothes had faded by the time he reached the door.
It was still a fine day, and the wind was still crisp and cool. Russia didn't look back.
+++
-- In 1954, the Soviet Union suggested that it should join NATO to preserve peace in Europe. The NATO countries, fearing that the Soviet Union's motive was to weaken the alliance, ultimately rejected their proposal. The following May, NATO expanded to include West Germany, as it would be impossible to resist a land invasion from the Soviet Union without German manpower. As a consequence, the Soviet Union formed the Warsaw Pact, clearly delineating the two sides of the Cold War.
-- Fun quote for you all: "The goal of NATO is to keep the Russians out, the Americans in, and the Germans down." - Hastings Ismay, the first Secretary General of NATO.
+++
Please read our Rules & FAQ before posting. / Пожалуйста, прочтите Правила и FAQ прежде чем комментировать.
Got something to say to the boys about what just went down? Shoot them a letter.
This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.
Characters: Russia, America, and Belgium so briefly that you'll miss her if you blink.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: A year after Stalin's death, the Soviet Union suggested that it should join NATO in order to lessen the threat of nuclear war. Since we all know that the USSR never was a NATO member, does anyone think this is going to go well?
TCE is co-written by wizzard890 and pyrrhiccomedy.
---
Brussels, Belgium. 1954.
It was a windy day, bright and sunny, and the circle of flags outside NATO headquarters whipped against their poles. Russia's scarf fanned out behind him on the next gust--a nice one, cashmere, an old gift from France--and he smoothed it down.
He smiled a little to himself and pushed through the large double doors, into the cool dimness of the lobby. It was a teem of people, a mixed-up swirl of different languages and men and women in dark suits and skirts who all looked like they had places to be, and--
To Russia's eyes two of them stood out at once: two blond heads by the plate glass window. America and Belgium, both with cups of coffee in their hands. America made wide gestures, Belgium beamed and beamed.
She met Russia's eyes over America's shoulder, and her smile froze.
Russia nudged through the knots of people, tried not to shoulder anyone too hard. He dropped his hands into the pockets of his grey suit jacket. "Good morning, Belgium."
"Russia," she started, and blinked twice, and set down her coffee cup with a clatter that rang too loud in such a busy room.
America looked over his shoulder. His eyebrows rose. "Hi," he said, and took a sip.
"I'm surprised to find both of you here so early," Russia ventured.
"I-I spend a lot of time here." Belgium looked around as if to confirm it for herself.
"What do you want?" America asked plainly.
"America--" Belgium hissed.
He looked at her. "What?"
She stared for a few seconds, then stood. Her heels went clickclick on the polished floor. "I'm going to--get back to work! You two just...just..." she retreated back into the current of bodies before she finished her sentence.
America looked back at Russia. "She thinks you're here to declare a war or something," he explained.
Russia made a wide circle around America and took Belgium's empty seat. He scooted her half-full mug a few inches further from his elbow. It left a delicate brown ring on the table. "If I wanted to start another war, I wouldn't waste any time declaring it," he joked.
"I know." America smiled: teeth. "You don't see me looking worried."
The corner of Russia's mouth trembled. "Good." He pushed his hair out of his eyes with the back of his left hand. The bones hadn't healed as well as they could have, and there was crookedness to Russia's wrist that hadn't been there before. It didn't matter, though. He could use his arm again. "That's why I'm here. So that neither of us will have to worry anymore." A deep breath. "We won't need to, if we're allies."
America startled into his gaze. His expression went still. "What?" he asked after a few seconds.
Russia crossed his arms on the table, leaned forward. "I want to join NATO," he said. His smile quirked a little wider.
It was so wonderful to be able to say it out loud.
A flicker went through America's expression, like an underwater stream changing directions. "What?" he repeated, weaker. Then, with a sharp blink, and his eyes dropped to his saucer-- "Why?"
"Because my boss--" Russia paused, looked down into his lap, felt the beginnings of an excited flush paint his cheeks. He forced a cool calm upon his chest. "My boss thinks that it would be a good idea to--to open more doors, now, between other nations and...and me." He dragged his hands back into his lap, tangled his fingers together. "And my people wouldn't have to be afraid of you attacking them anymore, because we'd be..." A pause. Softer: "We'd be allies."
America stared, fixed, into his coffee cup. The seconds ticked by. Then he raised his hands in short jerks until they covered his face. His hair fell forward over his fingers. Through the fringe, in the gap between his hands, Russia watched his complexion plunge into grey, then rise again, uneven, to a painful flush.
He snapped his hands down onto the table and glared at Russia, and--and--tears stood in his eyes-- "No!"
Russia flinched like he'd been slapped. "W-Why not?" He hated the stumble in his voice. He couldn't tear his gaze away from how America's lips were trembling.
"You're lying!" America's volume jumped: pale flashes of faces turned towards them for a moment. "You--you--" A desperate little break.
Russia gaped at him. "I'm not!" The rumble of conversation in the air around them hung uncertainly before it checked itself and resumed, echoing to the ceiling.
"Y-you--you just want to disrupt the alliance! You want to drive all of us all apart! You--you're--" America took two short breaths in hard shocks. "You're trying to make us weak, so you can--you can--"
Russia's chest ached, like someone was shoving on his ribs from the inside. It wasn't--It wasn't like that at all-- "I just want to take care of my people," he managed. "And--and things are different, now! S-Stalin is--is gone! Look--" He pawed his scarf down, felt sick and humiliated at baring his scars in front of all these people, but--His neck was hideous, but that was how--how it always was, and the important thing was to show that there were no bruises. "No one is going to force me to h-hate you, anymore--"
"No one needs to!" America stared at Russia's throat, his pattern of scars. He wet his lips and flickered his gaze back to Russia's eyes with a kind of thin desperation. "You--you hate me...y-you hate me and you're just trying to ruin this for me, when--when--Europe f-finally wants me and you just...just want to take that away!"
"I'm not trying to--" Russia broke off, snapped his eyes shut. The world trembled blue and grey behind his eyelids. Was--was it so bad to think that maybe...now that he'd...done what he was supposed to do, done what they'd all asked...after he'd saved them from a war they didn't even know was coming...Was it so bad to think that maybe they would want him too? A hot twist of hurt tightened his gut. "Did you even consider that maybe I'm not doing this because of you?"
"No! No! You just hate me and that's why!" America jerked out of his chair, recoiled a pace across the floor. "You hate me and you hate the West and you hate that I'm friends with England and you--and you--you want to ruin everything, you always do!"
Russia's breath staggered. It was true. He took things--beautiful things, only beautiful things--and broke them like a stupid, clumsy child, and he could never figure out how to make them right again. He stumbled to his feet; the legs of his chair screamed across the tile floor. He crossed to stand in front of America, fists trembling at his sides, scarf hung open. "All right! I hate you, I-I always have! Maybe I am just trying to poison your alliance!" He felt himself sinking.
America stared at him, trembling, and then burst out, "We don't want you! None of us want you here! They..." A twitch: a shiver all the way down his left side. "They only wanted me here to protect them from you..."
Russia took those words and turned them over in his mind, as his heart thundered hard and dark and blue. They made sense. Of course they didn't want him. How could he ever have thought they might? He was Russia.
Another step, closer to America. Then he lunged, grabbed America's wrists, shoved him back hard into the half wall under the huge glass window. He wanted to snap his bones. "I don't think you can," he snarled.
America let Russia throw him back; his limbs were light, limber underneath him. A strange light flickered on in America's eyes. "This is a bad place to start a fight with me," he said softly. The traffic of people behind Russia had slowed and stopped.
Where was the fight? It was--That was the only thing that would make all this bearable. His lips moved flush against the turn of America's jaw as he whispered, "Wasn't this what you wanted? Nuclear security? You'd have it if you'd just let me in..." He knew that security mattered very little anymore. It had stopped being about that a long time ago.
He felt America's breath on his neck, America's warm cheek against his jaw. "You're lying. Like usual." A beat. "Security's looking worried, Russia. You want to cause an incident?"
Russia pulled away, released America's wrists and let them fall with a light smack against the marble. He gave America a long, steady look as he looped his scarf back around his ruined neck. "Of course not," he muttered. "I don't know what came over me." He straightened the lapels of his jacket.
America eased off the wall. Traffic jerked, then flowed again. He straightened his glasses, pushed his fingers through his hair. "I don't want to see you around here again. You scare the others."
Russia's eyes flickered. He tightened his jaw. The warm stretch America's body had left against his clothes had faded by the time he reached the door.
It was still a fine day, and the wind was still crisp and cool. Russia didn't look back.
+++
-- In 1954, the Soviet Union suggested that it should join NATO to preserve peace in Europe. The NATO countries, fearing that the Soviet Union's motive was to weaken the alliance, ultimately rejected their proposal. The following May, NATO expanded to include West Germany, as it would be impossible to resist a land invasion from the Soviet Union without German manpower. As a consequence, the Soviet Union formed the Warsaw Pact, clearly delineating the two sides of the Cold War.
-- Fun quote for you all: "The goal of NATO is to keep the Russians out, the Americans in, and the Germans down." - Hastings Ismay, the first Secretary General of NATO.
+++
Please read our Rules & FAQ before posting. / Пожалуйста, прочтите Правила и FAQ прежде чем комментировать.
Got something to say to the boys about what just went down? Shoot them a letter.
This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.