Evening of October 26th 1917

Trotsky wasn't sure why he was there. Although, he felt that after all this time that invitations were no longer necessary. The revolution was almost over. They had had a meeting with the other officials once Lenin had returned from Finland but...Trotsky needed him alone. Trotsky stared at the door, the only thing between them.

He turned the handle and entered the room.

There was a roaring fireplace to aid the harshness of the Russian winter. Lenin stood there with a glass, the clear vodka shimmering.

"Trotsky, my friend," he said in what seemed like a strained voice, "I was hoping to speak to you soon."

"Yes...yes," Trotsky was slightly taken aback, but pleased. How could he not be pleased? He closed the door and when he heard it thump into the doorframe behind him he felt like it was just him and Lenin and no one else in the world. He took a seat in front of the fireplace and the two of them were silent for a while, as they did not want to ruin their reunion yet. It was too hard to say anything, but say things they must.

"It's looking good there, I dare say that our victory is a certainty," Trotsky said eventually, staring at Lenin's back. Lenin turned around and smiled slightly, but the smile seemed so bittersweet.

"Of course it's a certainty, you planned it all and...," Lenin closed his eyes and took a sip of his drink, "God knows that you're always right."

"How very un-communist of you to say," Trotsky scoffed, but inside he felt the warmth of Lenin's compliment.

"I suppose you're right," Lenin sighed, "we shouldn't speak of God. There must be no God."

There was another silence, until Trotsky said, "then there is no damnation."

"There never was, there has only ever been the judge and jury of the people," Lenin answered, as if this was something that he thought about often.

"Shall the Bolsheviks not be the judge and jury once we...once you lead us all?" Trotsky inquired.

Lenin furrowed his brow, "why shall you not lead us all? This is your masterpiece and I can never take that away from you."

"We've been over this before - you don't have to," Trotsky stood up, "I'm giving it to you."

"Well, what a marvellous gift," Lenin looked up into Trotsky's eyes, "but how can I accept?"

"Because the people will never accept me. Like you said, damnation is only decided by the people and they have chosen you," he paused and dropped his head as he could no longer look into Lenin's eyes, "who wouldn't?"

"I wouldn't. I don't want something I don't deserve!" Lenin lost his voice and instantly regretted it.

"I dare say you've had too much to drink," Trotsky commented with a tormented smirk.

"I dare say that I agree with you," Lenin finished off his glass and placed it onto the mantelpiece, "but what of it? Some of history's best decisions have been made by drunken men."

"Don't say that," Trotsky snapped.

"Why not? Are you afraid of what decisions I might make?" Lenin raised his eyebrows, and for a couple seconds all bitterness and torture left his expression.

"Should I be?" Trotsky asked, and then quickly shook his head, "no, no. You shouldn't say things like that, please."

"If I'm to be leader then I can say anything I want, and isn't that what you're after?" Lenin pushed.

"I...," Trotsky stuttered as Lenin came closer to him.

"And, then, shouldn't I be able to do whatever I want?" Lenin was so close to him that Trotsky couldn't bear it anymore. He grabbed him by his collar and smashed their lips together. Lenin quickly ran his hands through his friend's hair and continued the kiss. But as quickly as it began Trotsky pulled away, pushing Lenin back in the process.

"We can't do this!" He almost screamed, but it came out as an angry whisper.

"No...," Lenin seemed to have sobered up, and feel over in a slump onto the sofa, "we can't."

"Take the position! Just...take it," Trotsky said, exasperated and terrified.

"Okay...okay," Lenin nodded. There was another silence for a while, as Lenin sat staring into the fire and Trotsky stared down at his own feet.

"You know," Lenin finally broke it, "I can't do it without you."

"I know," Trotsky smirked again, and the two of them looked at each other once more.

"You won't leave."

"No, I won't," Trotsky – the new People's Commissariat for Foreign Affairs - confirmed, and sat down next to Lenin. They did not talk again that night. When the first ray of morning light entered through a crack in the thick velvet curtains Trotsky looked over at his comrade.

"I have to go," he declared and began to walk away. When the door to the room closed Lenin swallowed his pain and closed his eyes so that he could sleep.