Seoul, April 3rd 1951

China had refused to enter the medical tent. He was not injured – at least, he wouldn't be if they let him just have a few moments of rest. It will heal, it will heal, he had told Russia, that towering ghost of a man who should not have even been here to begin with.

But Russia wouldn't have any of it.

'Don't waste the medical supplies on me,' China said, flinching when the cold alcohol-drenched cotton pad touched his wound. Russia pressed on the wound, ignoring China's muttered protest.

'They are mine to give. I'll do with them as I please.'

China huffed out, still panting from the close call out on the battlefield. Outside, he could hear the pained cries of his people, the hurried orders of doctors – more Russians than of his own. The shadows flitted past the tent, but in here it was quiet enough to hear his own pounding heart. He watched the cotton pads come away drenched with blood each time.

'It will heal,' China said, holding back the nausea as pain throbbed in his shoulder. 'And I don't mean in weeks, or months. I only need a few hours, you know that –'

'But the bullet will still be inside…' Russia pulled close a medical tray, on it the shining scalpels and knives that made China want to recoil. 'And that wouldn't be any good, da?'

'I'll live,' China snapped back. He tensed when Russia picked up the pliers. 'Aiyah… Give me that. I'll take care of it myself –'

Russia pulled the pliers away, a gravely look on his face. 'Yao.'

'What?'

'It will be much less unpleasant if I do it.'

China scoffed, now more annoyed than he was afraid. He reached out for the pliers. 'That's not true. Give me that –'

'You'll pass out before you can get the bullet out.'

He grabbed the pliers out of Russia's hands. 'I can do it myself just fine! You're such a sadist, you know that?'

'Da, you've told me before…'

'I'll take the bullet out myself and show it to you, since you're so eager to make me bleed some more.'

A surprised chuckle escaped Russia's lips. 'You know that's not what I want!' Russia took hold of China's pale hand, fingertips blackened with gunpowder and dirt. He wrapped his warm hands tighter around China's and pressed his lips to them, in that way that was too affectionate for China's liking, too sweet and too adoring to be real. 'I just don't want you to have that horrible bullet stuck inside you forever.'

China swallowed, feeling Russia's chapped lips brush against his knuckles. 'Why does it matter to you anyway?'

A small smile graced Russia's lips, his eyes gazing up at China with a spark of fondness in them. A familiar spark which China had seen before, in those humid spring and summer nights the two of them had spent together, in quiet intimacy when they could only hear each other's breaths and Russia had parted his lips to say –

'I… '

'Don't you dare say it,' China snapped.

Russia pursed his lips, pressing them harder to China's hand as if in rebellion. 'Then I'll show it.'

'I think I'd rather you take the bullet out and let me rest.'

'Would that prove my feelings to you?'

'Sure. Why not.' China sighed, handing the pliers back. 'Just – make it quick.'

Russia sat up on the bed, taking the pliers and placing one hand on China's shoulder to hold him still. He glanced up at China, in question.

'Go ahead,' China said hurriedly, his pulse quickening. Russia nodded and pierced the pliers into the wound, eliciting a sharp cry from China. He grabbed the fabric of his worn-out trousers, gritting his teeth as the pliers dug deep into his flesh, the sting of fresh blood oozing down his arm. Russia murmured, in foreign words China could only catch the meaning of through his tone, hushed and soft though it didn't do much to ease the searing agony in his shoulder.

'Got it,' Russia said as the pliers clinched, pulling out to drag a bullet through flesh. China exhaled sharply in relief, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he felt the pain ebb away, if only by the slightest.

'See?' He panted as Russia cleaned up the bloodstains and wrapped up the wound. 'I didn't pass out.'

'I know. You were very brave.'

'Don't patronize me.'

Russia chuckled, pulling the gauze taut around China's shoulder, binding the wound. He tied it off, his hands lingering as they pulled away from China's chest, in that quietness China was starting to find more unbearable than the pain in his shoulder.

'You should get back out there,' China said, making as if to get off the bed. 'Your comrades are waiting out there for you. Your 'secret' soldiers.'

Russia frowned. 'They're comrades all the same.'

'Yes, well…' China paused, glancing up at Russia – wearing that uniform of the Chinese military, in the disguise neither of them had spoken about until now. 'Your people are using our marks on their jets. Staying far from the frontlines. Keeping from sending people on the ground. You'd think you were ashamed to be on our side.'

Russia's gaze wavered. 'You know it's more complicated than that.'

'I know that we're meant to be allies.' China stood up, his balance unsteady. Russia grabbed his hand, his hold tight, desperate.

'Yao –'

'And I'm starting to think maybe we shouldn't be using names, either.'

Russia's expression softened, the slight furrow of hurt in his brows. 'What do you mean, not use names? We're –'

'Nations. We're allied nations – for now.'

'Don't say things like that…'

China freed his hand from Russia's. 'It will be less unpleasant this way.'

'That's… not true…'

China buttoned up his military shirt, worried about the aching feeling in his chest, the trembling of his lips that might give this ugly feeling away. 'Stay safe out there, Russia,' he said curtly, before leaving the medical tent.

And as he stepped back out onto the battlefield, the front that Russia was not allowed to be spotted on – should America see, should the entire world know that they were on the same side – he felt the slightest of itches on his wound, the familiar, crawling feeling of skin and muscle mending itself back together again. The wound closed itself up and the gun in his hands fired like nothing had happened, but he knew that the wound in his shoulder could never truly go away. The bullet was gone, but the scar would remain.


A/N: For those interested in the historical context of this chapter, this note is for you. I should also probably add that I only have a very basic understanding of these events, so apologies for any inaccuracies.

Korea was essentially (well, debateably) a Cold War battleground between communism and capitalist influences. To sort of crudely simplify things, North Korea = under Russia's influence, South Korea = under America's influence. There was a civil war, in which the North had begun to invade the South. America and other UN countries got involved and pushed back the North Korean forces (almost all the way up to the Chinese-Korean border), and then things got messy...

China started fighting on the North Korean side to push American forces back. It was expected, at that time, that Russia would support them. Russia, however, couldn't help China without risking provoking an outright war with UN countries, including America. So, Russia concealed its involvement. It did mean, however, that aid was limited. And on top of that, China was indebted to Russia in order to pay back for the medical aid provided, weapons, etc.

Not very happy times for Sino-Soviet relations.

Anyways - thank you for reading this chapter! And a big thank you to those who left such lovely reviews! It's great to see that you guys are enjoying this so far. There's plenty more of RoChu angst/cold war feels to come...