Iran sighs and looks at the clock on the far wall. Her dark eyelashes obscure the time a bit before her mind registers it. She runs a tan hand over the empty mattress next to her, exhausted and melancholic. He's usually in here with her, spooned against her and making light conversation as she one-handed reads, her free hand running through his blond hair.
She throws aside the dark brown covers. She slides her feet into the neatly-aligned slippers and grabs a robe, all presents he has given her over the years. She glances at her ancient mirror and sees a different woman, one with bags under her bloodshot brown eyes and swimming in a mass of light pink and white. Her once luxurious blue black hair, hair that used to hang to her waist now chopped into a bob, looked tousled and unruly. She tore her eyes from the mirror and left the warm confines of her room for the airy hallway and a sliver of light at the end of the hall.
Her footsteps barely sounded, although she bumped into some corners from her worn out stupor, as she drove herself down the hallway. She rested a hand on the door jamb and blinked blearily, panting quietly. She gave herself that moment before pushing open the door quietly.
America's head whipped around, tearing his eyes from the binoculars. "I-Iran! I uh... what are you doing up baby?" he asked, his voice cracking like a teenaged boy in front of the classroom.
"Love, it's one in the morning. Come to bed." She mumbled, her palm pinned between her cheek and the door frame. She let out a tired groan.
America put down the binoculars and went to her, drawn to her like a weak, hesitant magnet. "You get some sleep, okay? I'll be there in a minute."
Iran frowned and stood up from her slumped position. "I already gave you two hours, Alfred! One hundred minutes!" she snapped. "You can't stay up all night, superpower or not!"
"Baby doll," he struggled to keep his cool under the strain of paranoia and many sleepless nights. "It's for your benefit. Russia's going to pull something, I can feel it!"
"I don't care if Russia's going to pull something! You always say that!" she snapped angrily. "If you're not watching the north, you're worrying about South Vietnam and South Korea and all those other nations!"
"And not you? Iran, you're my girlfriend! I'm doing this for everyone -especially you- and you're supposed to be supporting me! But I didn't see any Iranian troopers in Korea!" He shouted, ignoring the way she shrank with hurt. "You had pamphlets from the Tudeh Party in your damn mail! So why the fuck are you complaining about me protecting you? Do you want to be communist?"
Iran drew herself back up. She had seen scarier men than an angry America, yet she was too tired for a shouting match. She turned her back on him. "Whatever. If you're going to be a paranoid idiot, I won't lose any godforsaken sleep over you."
His shoulders dropped and his eyes softened. "Oh Iran… damn it… Babe, I'm sorry." His fingers reached out and brushed her shoulder with the tips. She visibly twitched. "Y-You're right, okay? I haven't been sleeping. Gosh baby…" he sighed. "L-Let's go to bed. We'll sleep in and… stuff. I don't know…" He stared at the wall, as though asking it for advice, as though the wall could give him some words to say to ease this over with her.
Iran flew down the hall, an angry cloud of white and pink.
He sighed and followed after her. "Iran!"
When he had finally gotten to the bedroom, Iran had turned off the light and became a lump in the bed spread. He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes and stripped off, getting into bed with her.
He bounced around, trying to get comfortable and keep her from falling asleep. She stayed steadfastly still, even as he bumped up to spoon with her.
He ran a hand from her thigh to the curve of her waist gently and felt her tense up, like a frilled lizard unveiling its frill.
"America, go to sleep."
"Forgive me, sweetie. You know the saying: don't go to bed angry."
"I am in bed and was having a nice dream involving a limbo contest. Leave me alone."
"Shirin." His arm slid over her waist and she let out a harsh sigh. "Come on babe," he mumbled against her ear. "You like this."
She let out derisive snort.
"Fine. My hands are off." He held up his arm. "All gone, see?"
"I'm cold, you jerk. Put it back." She mumbled.
America gave her a long look. "You're so difficult."
"I know. Go to sleep."
A/N: This story takes place in the 1950s. Back then, the US and Iran were very close allies, much like how the US and Israel are today, mostly because of her strategic place on the border with the Soviet Union and the vast oil reservoirs of the south. However, there is something extremely fishy about the sheer amount of vitriol they show for each other, isn't there?
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