Hey guys, this is Bree again~ This one is heavily mired in (distorted) history. Here's a short synopsis:

1945- Middle of Chinese Communist Revolution. The Communist army was led by Maozhedong or chairman Mao. Even though they were busy with WWII, the Soviets deployed men and arms to help with the revolution.

1969- Sino Soviet split/border conflict. There was an island called ZhengBao Island that both the Soviets and the Chinese claimed. Both sides attacked the border and people were killed. This event marked the beginning of the Sino Soviet split that was furthered by Cold War tensions.

Russia's funky grammar is purposeful. You have been warned.

This has been disclaimed. Enjoy~

The waiting room was too modern, too luxurious; overstuffed embroidered chairs lined every wall; polished rosewood tables gleamed, the detailed carving of the legs boasting of the excellent craftsmenship. Bottles of the finest vodka and Chinese white wine sat beside jade cases of imported Cuban cigars; free perks the hotel had so thoughtfully offered. On the walls, shimmering faux-gold dragons soared amid swirling golden clouds. The overly-large crystal chandelier dangling from the marble ceiling speckled the room with rainbow lights. Even the carpet felt wrong. Too thick, too plush; too fake, like the rest of the room. Such luxury would have been impossible to find just 70 years ago, and yet it could never compare with the splendor of emperors of old. Disgusting.

China tugged at his collar in irritation. The suit was hopelessly uncomfortable; he hadn't wanted to wear it, but his assistants had practically swooned over the price tag. The more expensive the better. The suit was like this room: designed to tastelessly flaunt his newly acquired wealth. To show the world that China wasn't poor anymore. The century of humiliation had passed, and China was back in the game; back in the endless struggle for the coveted title of Super Power. Disgusting.

The sound of shattering glass filled his his ears before China registered throwing his glass of wine at the wall. A pretty girl in a blue caricature of a qipao rushed to clean up the mess without a word.

She was hired furniture. It was her job to stroke the egos of every "important" bastard that walked through the hotel's doors. She was paid to bear every abuse and keep her mouth shut, unless it was to grovel at the feet of some rich dick who no doubt cheated his way to the top.

China watched the girl pick up the jagged shards with her bare hands without feeling the slightest hint of remorse. Meanwhile, a different girl in the same blue dress filled another glass with wine. "Lao ban" she said as she presented it it to him. Lao ban; boss, owner, one with power; she was paid to call everyman that. China took the glass without thanking her. She was just furniture after all, valued at less than the liquor she poured because she was poor and had many replacements. The country was full of girls like her. To think that only seventy years ago, a handful of girls like her had enough spirit to hold off an entire enemy army. Disgusting.

China threw his head back and downed the shot in one gulp. The irony of his situation was cruel. Here he was, on the eve of his resurrection as the greatest nation in the world, and all he really wanted was to feel the comradeship of communism's early days, when he was at his weakest. He glanced at the clock; still half an hour until the meeting began.

He fell back into one of the fat armchairs, wishing it was hard wood. Scenes from 1945 played like old film on the back of his eyelids when he shut out the world, hoping that, for just a few minutes, he could be lost in the past.

1945

Too many soldiers had died already. He was light-headed from blood loss, but at least his brain had stopped processing the pain signals his body sent. He barely knew who he was fighting anymore.

The gun weighed heavy in his hands as he trudged onwards over the rutted mud roads. There was very little food, but his soldiers had already grown accustomed to that. They overcame the shortage of supplies by finding creative ways to eat things that normally were not used for food such as tree bark or leather belts. More importantly, they cared about their compatriots. Looking around, he could see strangers helping each other, the strong carrying the weak.

Such was the dynamic of the Red Army; a perfect example of communism in its purest form. In this army, everyone owned the same meager possessions, fought for the same dreams, even had the same back stories. They were sheep; sheep that were all too willing to follow the guidance of Mao ZheDong. That god of a man had promised that, once the war was over, the government would give everyone an equal share of land and no one would ever be rich or poor again. Everyone believed and fought and died for those words, because Mao ZheDong said them. He never lied, or so they thought.

So the soldiers kept up their morale even though they were losing. The idea that victory could elude them in the end never even crossed their minds. They had courage, comradeship, and justice on their side; besides, the Soviets were coming to help. The Soviets who had invaded Manchuria and had finally driven out the wretched Japanese. The Soviets who were providing weapons and men to aid in the triumph of communism. With Soviet help, they would surely win the war. It didn't matter how many battles-or soldiers- they lost before that. Or so they thought.

China stumbled on the uneven ground. The victory meant little to him- no matter how the war played out, it was still Chinese against Chinese. The gashes that slashed themselves across his body were self-inflicted wounds. Countless soldiers had fallen, and were falling still, to enemies that looked exactly like themselves. He no longer knew who he was fighting.

China pitched forward, unable to walk any further. At least, back then, there had been someone to catch him. The smile he'd given his Russian savior that day had been genuine.

1945 faded out and the film of his memory began to roll faster until people came and died in the blink of an eye. Time fast forward relentlessly before finally returning to normal the winter of 1949.

1949

There was a thin coat of snow on the ground where he was sitting, and the wetness was slowly seeping through his pants, but he didn't care. The stars seemed unnaturally bright that night, glowing gems against the black ink stone of the sky. China remembered staring into their frosty light and catching brief glimpses of what he had thought to be the wisdom of the heavens. The war was still raging, but he had learned to cope. It was easier now that he was no longer alone.

"They make you wonder why you have to fight, da?"

China tore his eyes from the night sky to look at his companion. "What do you mean?"

Russia didn't look at him when he replied, "The stars, they're so calm, so serene. Is like they figure out something we can't. They don't fight to exist, they just do. Make you wonder what all this" he gestured at the war torn field around them, " is for." The look on his face was distant, as if in another time and place; as if he were speaking not just of this battlefield, but a thousand others like it.

"Hm." China shivered and returned his gaze to the sky. They sat in silence for some time. "Maybe it's because they're so far away, aru." China whispered. He stretched his arm upward towards the stars, as if trying to touch one. "If you move away far enough, I'm sure we look like that too." His arm fell.

A gust of icy wind filtered through the thin material of his uniform; the stars blinked their sympathy and he shivered again. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Russia moving but he didn't turn to see why. It wasn't until the warm wool of the scarf wrapped around his neck and the warm arms of his comrade-lover?- wrapped around his body that he looked down. The field was but dimly lit by starlight, but Russia's eyes glittered like diamonds. China relaxed and allowed Russia to pull him close.

"It will pass, Yao. All this will end one day."

The unprompted words of comfort were spoken gently, but they were enough to burst the dam in China's heart. He did not try to stop the hot tears from spilling over the edge of his eyes. Russia displayed the deepest understanding he could have hoped for and pulled him closer still until they were was nestled like matryoshka dolls. "Don't leave me." China choked out before his sobs had made it impossible for him to form words anymore.

"Don't worry." he remembered Russia saying as the man pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I will never leave you Yao." And if there had been a hint of possession in those words, a glint of madness hidden in those eyes, then China did not notice. He just nodded and tried to believe that the words were true.

The night was cold, and there was an infinite number of stars.

Time again began to move at a furious pace. China briefly contemplated visiting the few good years he'd shared with Russia after the civil war had ended. He and Russia had wasted no acting on the feelings they'd had; the first time they'd made love had been far from perfect but, it had been amazing regardless. Those years had been wonderful, but too good to last. Russia's mental state had been shaky at its best, and had only deteriorated with the advent of the Cold War.

In short, the larger nation had been unable to keep his promises to China's people. China had not been too surprised. He had had over four thousand years of life experience to tell him that what Russia promised had been too good to be true. Besides, Russia owed him nothing. If anything, it was he who should have offered compensation for Soviet help. So he had tried to overlook Russia's shortcomings for as long as he could. Tried his best to ignore the late night ranting and raving of the other's madness, but it had been inevitable that his patience would run out. The escalation of the Cold War stretched and tore at their relationship until the tenuous thread of stubborn affection that had kept him by Russia's side had finally snapped. By the time he'd left him, Russia had been so engrossed in his obsessive arms race that he had not noticed.

China decided against visiting happier times. He stopped instead, in the winter of 1969.

1969

The snow on the ground was stained red by the blood of both his men and those of his once- close ally. China stared with cold eyes across the border. It had been Russia who broke the silence.

"Why, Yao?" Russia's voice was strained when he spoke.

"I should be the one asking that." China replied, "I trusted you and this is how you repay me."

Russia let out a barking laugh, "You are so funny Yao, saying this with a straight face when it was you who made the first move."

China narrowed his eyes, "Oh? Enlighten me Russia", Russia scowled at the formality of the name, "as to how I made the first move when Zheng bao island belongs to me. I'm hardly at fault for trying to take back what's mine."

"So, you call me a thief then? You believe I would steal from you, all that was shared between us? After all I've done for you?"

China didn't take the bait, didn't look away, "I don't know what you would do anymore."

Something seemed to snap in Russia and he leaned forward, an insane glow lighting his eyes. China resisted the the urge to step back from the hostility that radiated from his erstwhile lover. "Do you want to know what Russia thinks?" Russia's voice dripped with saccharine cheer, "Russia thinks that you've gotten too big for your head, Yao. Where do you think you would be if not for Russia, hm?" Russia took a step forward, China stepped back. "Russia thinks you would still be in the Europeans' hands, in pieces. You agree, Da?"

China continued to back up as Russia approached him. "T-that doesn't matter." China cursed himself for stuttering, "You've overstayed your welcome. Please leave now."

Russia's footsteps halted and he was silent for a moment. China could see the familiar struggle in his eyes, the struggle to quell the madness he knew was trying to overwhelm the other nation. China wondered why he was making the effort. He thought perhaps Russia did not want to lose control in front of his soldiers. But some tiny part of him secretly hoped it was because he didn't want to hurt the man he once loved.

"This means war Yao," he said at last. His voice was quiet, resigned, as if he had no other choice.

China felt his heart crack, but refused to let the pain show on his face. "If that is your final decision then I will gladly take you as my opponent."

Russia's face hardened into an emotionless mask, but it seemed he'd won the battle. This time, anyway. "Fine. From this day on, you are no longer my ally," he snapped. He turned away sharply, barked at his men in Russian, and stormed away with his army on his heels.

China watched without moving until they became black specks on the horizon. The tears he should have shed evaporated before reaching his eyes.

"You haven't been my ally for a long time now."

Thankfully, the war never happened due to the timely intervention of diplomats and America- who had actually been helpful for once- but that had not made the heartbreak any less painful.

"Mr. Wang, the meeting will start in five minutes. Please follow me to the conference room." China blinked blearily at the new girl in the same blue dress standing a few feet in front of him.

"Right, thank you." China rubbed his eyes and picked up his briefcase. He paused as he walked by the girl who had picked up his shattered glass earlier.

Reaching into his pocket, he fished out his wallet and felt out a thousand yuan bill. "Take it." he said as he handed the money to the girl.

She stared at him wide eyed, and shook her head.

"No need to be courteous, take it as an apology for earlier, I insist."

The girl shook her head again. China watched her for a moment before opening his hand and letting the bill fall to the floor. He strode away without a backward glance.

The meeting had been boring as expected. China and Russia had sat silently across from each other while their leaders agonizingly picked through the details of the latest arms trade agreement. There had also been something about no longer using the dollar as exchange currency. China had signed the document without really reading it; his economists were all pretty greedy; they would not engineer a policy that hurt them.

What had bothered him, though, was the way had Russia looked at him. He could see longing in Russia's eyes, and something akin to horror, as if the other was not accustomed to seeing how cold he had become.

The lack of pity he'd felt for his ex-lover was kind of shocking. Nothing he couldn't deal with, though.

China stepped out of the shower and grabbed one of the fluffy towels stacked over the toilet. The feel of soft cotton was soothing against his scalp as he dried his long hair. He had often been and was still being criticized for leaving it long, but he couldn't bring himself to cut it. He'd had long hair for as long as he could remember. It was the one thing he was determined not to change about himself.

A pair of black pants and an embroidered silk shirt later, and he was ready put down for the night. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he left the bathroom. The traditional clothing clashed horribly with the modern backdrop, but it was comforting in a strange way.

A knock at the door distracted China from his nightly routine. He contemplated not answering; it was almost midnight after all. The person knocked again, louder this time; five hard raps of the knuckles.

Slightly annoyed, China made his way over to the door and yanked it open without preamble, revealing a startled Russia. In one hand, the northern nation held a bottle of vodka; the other hand was still poised in the air to knock again.

"What do you want?"

Russia dropped his hand. "I am sorry for disturbing you, Yao, but do you mind if I come in?" He jiggled the bottle of vodka, an unspoken request.

China ignored him. "What do you want?"

"I was hoping we could have a drink together. Like old times." He smiled.

"Do you know what time it is?" China was surprised at the amount of venom in his voice but he blamed it on the exhaustion.

"Again, I am sorry for disturbing you so late." He hesitated for a moment, meeting the other's eyes before saying slowly, "I can leave if that's what you want."

The smaller nation opened his mouth to say that was exactly what he wanted, but thought better of it. Russia was still in his suit and had obviously gotten no rest since the meeting. He was trying to look cheerful but the stiffness of posture gave him away. Even his normally neat hair looked as though he had run his fingers through it one too many times. It did not take a genius to put two and two together.

"Fine, just one."

Russia relaxed visibly, "Thank you."

The click of the door melded with the clinking of shot glasses as if to seal the course of the night. China watched wordlessly as Russia filled the two glasses and handed one to him. He took the proffered drink with a nod of thanks.

He was about to take a drink when he noticed Russia's raised glass. China raised an eyebrow. "Just humour me Yao." Rolling his eyes, China halfheartedly bonked his glass against his guest's. The friendly gesture made him lose his interest in the alcohol, but he took a sip out of habit, anyway. Russia downed his in one gulp.

The blond set the empty glass down and ran his hand through his hair with a deep sigh. The dim lamplight emphasized the lines in his face, making the signs of his fatigue hard to ignore.

"I have problem."

China hummed in response.

"It has gotten difficult to control the eastern regions from Moscow, and people have started to complain about neglect and isolation. Could get troublesome if it goes on much longer."

"Hmm. I'm sorry." China toyed with his drink, watching the liquid swirl around in the glass before setting it down with a dull clunk. "But I can't solve your personal problems. Now, if you'll excuse me, it is rather late and we've both had a long day-"

"Don't be so cold.", a flash of impatience marred Russia's complexion, "I know I made mistakes, and I understand you are upset with me, but I have already done everything I can to apologize. I love you. Can you not just let the past go?"

China felt his throat constrict as old emotions threatened to resurface. He'd known when he let him in that Russia wasn't here to talk business but he hadn't expected him to move this fast. He turned away, unwilling to let Russia see the conflict on his face. He couldn't afford to be weak now, not during such an important time. He could make up for this later, after he was back on top of the world where he belonged.

A deep breath to smooth away the crease between his eyebrows, and another to lift the corners of his frown. "I've already let our twisted past go. I've already forgiven you, and there is really nothing left to say. You've overstayed your welcome, please leave now." China felt the words from his memory burn like dry ice as they passed over his tongue.

There was a stunned silence behind him, but that much he expected.

"Yao-"

"Not another word Russia. Leave now."

"Yao, please-"

China lost his composure when he felt Russia's hand clamp down firmly upon his shoulders to wheel him around. He didn't wait for the action, opting instead to whip around on his own time. "Damn it, Ivan, what do you not understand about the fact that you're not welcome any-"

Russia's lips were soft as they moved against his, silencing his anger. He could feel Russia's heat bleed through the layers of cloth that separated them as the man pulled him into a desperate embrace. Against his better judgement, China returned the gesture. For just a second, he allowed himself to relax into the comfort of human warmth. The feel of another heartbeat bouncing against his made him want to give in. It made him want to give in so badly.

But the moment passed and he pulled away from Russia, loathing every centimeter of distance between them.

"*Nyet, ya izvinyayusʹ , pozhaluĭsta, ne ostavʹte menya v pokoe , a ne snova, don't do this, don't make me go..." Russia tried to pull him close again, his pleas fading into an incoherent tangle of Russian and English. China knew before the words left his lips that he would never forgive himself for what he was doing. It didn't matter, he tried to console himself. Time would pass, and this transgression would fade into the millions- billions?- he already hated himself for.

"I'm sorry, Ivan."

"No! Please Yao, please." Russia trailed off and placed a hand beneath China's chin, trying to tilt his head up.

China jerked his head away. He couldn't meet those violet eyes now. He had not doubt that he would regret this decision in the future, but he would think about that when the time came. "I'm sorry." he repeated softly as he reached behind his back and gently unwrapped Ivan's arms. "Please leave now."

There was silence for a long moment. Russia stood where he was, unmoving. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he slowly picked up his vodka from the table, turned, and walked out the door, shutting it gently behind him.

Maybe before, when China was just China and not a World Power, when Russia had been strong and confident, he would have stayed. He would have insisted, refused to leave even if it had come down to physical violence. Even now the Russia still had the advantage in physical strength, and there was little China could have done to stop him, short of calling security, to stop him from getting what he wanted by force. Maybe before, if China had absolutely insisted, Russia would have left screaming or pouting. But now, now there was just this quiet, tired acceptance of the inevitable. And it was so much worse than any of that would have been.

Suddenly, the room that was meant to house one seemed too large with just him in it. China moved slowly back to sit on the bed. The springs creaked under his weight and the weave of the duvet was rough against his palms. The pillows that he'd always thought were too fluffy were too small to fill his arms as he hugged one to his chest. It was a pitiful replacement for a warm body, but he wasn't in a position to complain.

"It will pass, Ivan." he whispered. The pillow smelled heavily of cheap detergent as he buried his face in it. "All this will end one day." The tears he should have shed forty years ago soaked into the coarse cotton. "Just wait for me until then."

* No, I am sorry, please don't leave me alone, not again,

We do the most horrible things to these poor innocent characters don't you agree? XD Reviews would make my terrible, college application plagued world so much more tolerable. Thanks to all!