May, 1950

China is helping Russia into his home. The Motherland is sore and weak from civil war and he knows the other country needs help. He lays the battered woman on the low bed in the center of the room. She is feverish and looking up at him with hazy, violet eyes that were filled with tears of relief.
"Jao," she coughs, reaching up for him. He takes her hand and puts it back on her stomach. "Jao..." She looks sad, then, when he tries to hide flinching from the cold. He tries not to, but it happens regardless.
"Rest," he says. "I will take care of things, E Guo," he promises. She doesn't believe promises anymore. She hasn't for so long. He watches tears fill her eyes, watches them close, and then she is asleep.

He is helping her undress the next morning, when she awakens. He sees the scars on her pale, almost feeble body. She has been so strong before, but the turmoil inside of herself has nearly torn her apart. Her wheat blond hair is thin and when she brushes through it, he notices strands falling out. He tells her that is not how a nation should live, a nation should help itself to grow and not crumble. He instantly regrets this, when the woman picks up an urn from the side table and throws it, narrowly missing his face. She is shouting at him in Russian, and he only comprehends the shattering of the jar after she is done with her yelling and is sitting on the bed again, broken into sobs. He has never seen a woman so terrifying, and without a scrap of clothing none the less.
She is sinking down into the hot water of the bath, shuddering at the sudden change from frigid to warm and her body is turning pink. She strains her body, groaning as she lifts her arms up, to dump water over her hair, her muscles stiff and weak. This is the first time he sees her like this, embarrassed, as her skin grows warm and her cheeks flush. She is looking up at him now, watching as he politely shields his eyes away as he hands her the soap and washcloth.
"Help me with my back?" She asks softly, before he turns to leave. "I'm too stiff to do it." He nods, feeling his face flush a bit too, when he kneels by the bath and she puts her back to him, leaning forward. There were more scars there, thin white ones and newer, thicker ones in pink. He is gentle, but her muscles tense beneath his hands. She does not like being touched and he knows this. This is far too intimate for her. She no longer trusts anyone, not even herself. Her own people.
"Things will get better," he tells her, helping to wash her shoulders, neck, and arms as well, knowing she might have trouble. "The night is darkest before the dawn." She scoffs and he doesn't quite understand why.
She has been here for a week now, and their routine is the same. He wakes her up (he has politely gone to sleep in the guest bedroom), they eat breakfast, she goes back to sleep. He wakes her up for lunch, she helps him feed his birds, she goes and sits on his low porch edge, staring aimlessly into nothing, violet gaze going straight beyond the orchids. He pulls her out of it only when it is time for dinner and after she goes for a bath and then goes back to bed. She says next to nothing to him, unless he initiates some sort of conversation. He doesn't know what to say, how to even go about comforting his fellow comrade. He is helpless and he knows it. He brought her into his home to help her get back on her feet, but he is helpless.
It is only three weeks later, that she speaks to him during dinner.
"I... feel a bit bad, for stealing your bed, for so long." She's sipping tea and her face has more color to it. He looks up from the dessert, shaking his head and smiling a bit. Really, it was nothing.
"Don't think about it that way," he tells her, still smiling softly. "It's not like that bed is any better than the guest bedroom's. Really, it's not a big deal. I don't mind it in the least, alright?"
"I'd like you to sleep with me instead." He chokes on his sesame tang yuan, eyes widening. What did she mean--? Did she really--?! After not talking to him this entire time, she-- "I get so cold at night." Her voice is lower now, and she looks a bit embarrassed again. "I was used to sleeping with someone else, before all of this happened... Now I can barely sleep. I just... I suppose I get lonely." And Yao scolds himself mentally, for thinking that way.
Five days later, after crawling into bed together for the fifth time, they finally make love. It is not just sex, there's something more behind it. She seems happier, as they are joined, smiling up at him as he moves, running her fingers through his hair and he watches her head tilt back. There is a satisfying mewl of pleasure from her, when he moves deeper and kisses her neck. When they both reach completion and are falling asleep, he shifts to remove himself but she shakes her head and holds him close, holding him against her naked chest. Don't leave me, she whispers. Never leave me. And he doesn't know how to respond.

June, 1950

She gets sick again, a month into her stay. Different than before. They've made love every night since the first time, but she's been weak since her sickness began and tries to just rest. He doesn't mind, just holding her at night, beneath the blankets, stroking her hair and back, speaking softly to her in Mandarin. In a week, when it doesn't get better, he calls one of his doctors for her and waits outside while the man is in the living room with her. Suddenly things are being thrown from the inside and she is shouting in Russian and the doctor comes out of the room, tipping his hat and walking away.
"How dare you?!" She growls, when he comes into the room, to see what the matter is, "how dare you, you stupid man?! I-I can't handle this right now! I am not well! I cannot do this!" He cowers just a bit, before biting it down and regaining his nerve. He grabs hold of her hands and forces her to sit on the couch, trying to calm her down. "I can't believe this," she says after a minute, looking shaken up now. "You got me pregnant." Again, he doesn't know how to respond.

February, 1951

The child, when it is born, is female, with dark black hair and big violet eyes. She looks innocently up at her parents as they sit, Russia holding her and China looking on. He is not pleased about the child being a girl, but he doesn't voice this. She is Russia's child. The Motherland's child, and he honestly has no place in that. Just seeing the woman sit with the child, looking happier than she has been in years, tells him that. She was made to be a mother and he understands this. A mother to all people and nations, although he doubts that hope would ever come to fruition. He doesn't bother looking away, when she adjusts herself, to breastfeed the girl, and merely sighs. Only the mother's voice brings him back from his thoughts,
"What will we name her?" She whispers softly, tiredly, petting the baby's soft black hair. The birth had taken hours, but both she and the child were fine. He would have to look after her while Russia rested. He sighs again, then smiles softly.
"Well... Considering our government statuses," he pulled a small pad of paper from the desk beside the bed, and a pencil, writing down characters. 世红 She looked at the writing when he showed it to her,
"Shihong?" She looked to the baby, who was still busily suckling away. "Shihong... what does it mean?" She reached out, carefully tracing the lines of the Chinese writing. He smiled, setting the pad on his lap.
"The world is red." And then the blond woman is smiling, looking back at the baby. "Because... perhaps one day other people will realize it too?" He reached out, touching the child's soft hair and he wonders if he will be able to keep out of the girl's life. She is born of both China and Russia after all.
"Дa," she nods, "I like that name... it will be a symbol of our bond, yes? Between comrades... between Russia and China," she looks to him, then, "between lovers." And that is when Yao feels his stomach twist. He swallowed hard, and nods. They have been getting along so well, them and their people. He knows their alliance will last, at least for a long while.

March, 1953

China is holding a two year old Shihong now, watching Russia from the window. She is crying, hands gripping at her chest, body doubled over. The man who has led her country into it's state of prosper is dead and she isn't handling it well. She told him, in a stiff voice at dinner, that she will be attending the funeral two days from now, and that she doesn't want Shihong to go. The large crowd of people that would be there... there is the high chance that the child will get lost, or even trampled. Still, he can hardly feel bad. Humans die. Russia of all people should know this by now. He looks down when his daughter tugs at his collar.
"Mama," she says simply, pointing out the window. "Mama." She looks upset, too. She can hear her mother crying outside and wants to know what the matter is. He rubs her back and sighs softly.
"Your mother has lost someone very important to her," he explains, though he knows she will probably not understand. "She is very upset. She'll have to go back to her home in a few days, but she'll be back soon." And he just holds her then, rocking her a bit as her little cries are added to the anguished sobs. "She will be happy again soon."

February, 1956

Shihong is five years old now, and though she doesn't understand much about her parent's duties as nations, she is told she will be like them one day. Her mama tells her this, as they stand on the low porch of her father's home, the girl watching her pinwheel spin in the slight wind, while Russia sits on the steps. "One day," Ivanna says, looking at her daughter. The child, by now, is nearly fluent in both Mandarin and Russian. "One day, милочка, you will come home with your mother, to a place where it is cold."
"Cold?" She asks in that soft voice of hers, and she blinks. They live in a nice, airy part of China where the weather is almost always clear. She has never even seen the snow her mother is so famous for.
"Yes... very cold. Once you are there, you will become part of a nation yourself. My nation." The girl blinks again, going to sit next to her mama and tugs on the sleeve of the jacket her mother is wearing.
"Not papa's?" Ivanna just shakes her head, and pats the girl on the head. It has only been about six years, but she realizes that the permanence she has been hoping for doesn't really exist, and she will soon have to leave Yao for her own home.
"You will become a very important part of me, милочка... You will become a part of me where perhaps... Our dreams will become true." She looks up to the sky then and sighs, as if she is not looking at the clear blue but something else. "Someday, милочка... I will take you flying with me." The girl gapes a bit, tugging again.
"Flying, mama? Like an aeroplane?" Russia laughs, pulling her into a hug. Shihong has always thought her mama was 'cold' to the touch, but the one time she asked about this, her mama had gotten such a sad look in her eyes she had promised herself never to speak of it again.
"Something like that," she tells the girl and kisses her nose. "You know the pretty moon and stars when you are looking out at the sky at night time, милочка?" The little girl nods, her pretty violet eyes big and innocent. "Someday, I will take us to the moon, you see? We will get there first, I promise you." The girl laughs and kisses her mother sloppily.

November, 1957

A six year old Shihong is watching her mother now, as she looks over files a man has brought her to the house. She will comment later that the man's head is shiny and her parents will laugh, but now Russia looks very serious as she reads what the girl knows it some sort of business report. Then, her mother smiles and hugs the man in what she knows is a back breaking hug and kisses his forehead.
"Shihong! Soon! I told you I would take you to the stars!" And even the man laughs with them, as she runs out to the two and her mother twirls her around happily.

June, 1960

The tension in the household is unbearable and Shihong sits outside while her parents fight inside. She knows it won't be much longer until her mother takes her away. She is already missing her father, as he is constantly in business meetings as of late and she's increasingly lonely as her mother begins to do the same. She misses the times they would all play together. She is only nine years old and she is wishing she could leave. She doesn't want their togetherness to end. She doesn't want this to be the end of it. She doesn't want the permanence to leave. She does not want to be cold. She is crying then, when Russia takes her hand and pulls her away from the house. When she looks back her father is watching them coldly for just a moment, then turning back inside, uncaring.

She is watching her mother slowly collapse. To the world, Russia is still a super power but her mother is crumbling from within. They are not even back at her mother's house yet, and she knows her mother is crumbling. There's that horribly sad look in her eyes again, as she stared out of the window of the plane. That is the look Shihong hates more than anything in the world. She takes hold of her mother's hand and smiles up at her.
"Tell me about Russia," she says, wanting to distract the woman. "Where we will be living?" Ivanna takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Shihong wonders if she will respond and is about to ask if she had said something wrong when her mother answers.
"It is cold," is the first thing she says. "And desolate. And lonely. There is no need to disillusion you any longer. You will know how... horrible I really am, Shihong. How horribly corrupt my insides are. The people are rotting and I can do nothing to stop them. The curtain is crushing them." She opens her eyes and looks at the girl. "Moscow is a beautiful city but it is over run with corruption. You will see." And this time it is Shihong who cannot say a word.
"Siberia," is the first thing her mother says, when all the countries in the USSR are assembled in front of her, to finally meet the Russian's daughter. They all look a bit worn, a bit... unable to feel happy upon seeing her. She frowns, looking to her mother as she continues, "Shihong will be representing Siberia for all of us. A most important place at the moment, yes? You should all feel obligated to welcome her with open arms." A tired looking brunette was the first to step forward, greeting her.
"My name is Toris," he tells her softly, smiling and it seems sad. He seems gentle and she feels drawn to him. She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze but she feels him tense and pulls away. These people are much less friendly than her mother and father, she thinks, and soon she is being shown to her room by a tall blond woman whose expression is worrisome but gentle and she is told this woman is her mother's sister. Her aunt Katyusha, Ukraine. It's an odd feeling, having an aunt, but the lady seems nice and even kisses her forehead before going to make up the bed in the room. It is cold inside and she makes sure Shihong has plenty of blankets.
"Tetя?" She asks as she changes into a warmer set of pajamas. Katyusha looks back at her as she fluffs the pillow. "Tetя, did you take care of mama when you were little? Like she takes care of me?" The woman bites at her lip just a little, then smiles but it seems forced.
"Ah... Yes, in a way. We were all alone, and I was the oldest, so I tried to take care of us all. Belarus is also our sister, the youngest of the three. I... tried but your mama still... She managed to fade into this awful winter. I can't stand it when she is upset, you know... That is why I'm here. When her old government fell and this became... I had to come and support her. I couldn't stand the look in her eyes."
Shihong thinks for a moment, and then she is the one who is biting her lip. "That... awfully sad look. Mama's eyes have that sometimes... when she thinks of this place... She never told me about it until today. She looked that way, when I was littler... and... and all I asked her is why she felt so cold." Ukraine tucked her into bed and sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"When your mama was very young she made a pact with a man named General Winter," she explained. "She has never been the same since. I do not what happened when the pact was made, but when she came back home, she was no longer smiling and her skin was frigid cold. She cannot become warm." She put her fingers to the girl's cheek. "You have that in you, too, Сибір. It is not as bad and you do not have the hurt behind it, but it is in you. Please, do not let yourself be consumed by that, you are such a sweet child..." She kissed her niece's forehead before leaving and it is only then that the girl realizes her aunt had been crying and now she is too.
When her mother takes her to the land that she represents, Shihong feels both sick and freezing at the same time. The land itself is bitterly cold and desolate as Russia had described but when she is taken to the labor camps, to see where the missiles and rockets are built, and the testing labs are she... can't hold it back. As they are leaving Ivanna pauses in her walking, as Shihong vomits into the snow and is soon kneeling by her daughter, holding back her long hair. She strokes her back until she is done then uses a handkerchief wet with snow to wipe her face and neck.
"If you were sick you should have said so," she tells her daughter, "we would've gone another day." And Shihong can't tell her she wasn't sick beforehand, lest she see that awfully sad look.

July, 1969

It was a solemn day, when they walked through the Red Square. Shihong stood by her mother's shoulder as she froze in place, when the radio a couple sitting near by comes on, with news of the America's space travel. The two sitting there turned it up, so the rest of the people passing by could help. July 20, 1969, American astronaut Neil Armstrong takes the first steps on the moon. The words stung and Shihong could feel her mother's emotions before she screamed, bringing the long, half rusted pipe she seemed to carry with her lately down on the poor, innocent radio, smashing the plastic and then turned to the crowd.
"I forbid you filthy people to listen to this garbage! I forbid you to associate with those damn Americans! I forbid it!" The crowd parted as she ran in the direction of the Kremlin, leaving Shihong with the parcels they had gotten out shopping, looking very, very worried.

Her mother is not well for the rest of the month, and she has seemed to gone a bit... crazy. Before she had just seemed softly upset when something happened. Now she was violent. Violent and hateful in everything she did. She had lost to a long time rival, at something they had been working over for almost a century. Of course this would upset someone, but she had gone overboard. In just one week, she had pummeled half of the nations that lived with them, for things that made no sense. For her tea being too hot, for the beds not being made up, for the floors not being cleans. Things she would've not cared about before the 20th. Things she would've laughed about. Things she would've helped to do herself. Soon, the United Soviet Socialist Republic was living up to its name. She threw more people into the labor prisons Shihong was now apart of and East Germany got even worse.

June, 1991

When Shihong finds her mother, the house is cold and hollow and Russia is hunched on the floor in the middle of the room, back against the center fireplace, which hasn't been lit for what seems like weeks. The woman looks exhausted and upset and there are bottles upon bottles of vodka scattered around. It seems Ivanna has taken back to old habits. Her mother doesn't notice her, until the fire is going and she sits beside her, beginning to comb through her long, unwashed blond hair and tying it back from her face. She can see the age and pain on her mother's face and the sad look in her eyes has intensified and doesn't go away. They are a bit red and she still has tear stains on her cheeks, run through with dirt and sweat. She is the one to clean her mother's face up this time, the one to take care of her. Whenever Ivanna begins to come out of her drunken stupor an hour or so later she seems to finally realize the other figure lingering. His figure is slender and his hair has grown longer. He looks neither sad nor happy. He just watches her, with almost sympathetic golden eyes. He is walking closer now, as she looks at him, he is kneeling next to her, he is touching her face. He is kissing her. He is--
"Jao..." Shakily she raises her hands up to touch his face. "Jao..." And she just cries.

Notes: E Guo is the Chinese word for Russia.
tang yuan - I searched Chinese desserts and this was the first thing that came up on the image search that looked tasty~
Russian:
милочка - Darling
Tetя - Aunt
Jao - The Russian pronunciation for Yao's name.
Ukrainian:
Сибір - Siberia