"I don't know whether war is an interlude during peace, or peace an interlude during war."

- Georges Clemenceau

Ever since North Vietnam's failed offensive, America had not stopped training her sister. He tutored her at marksmanship, taught her new strategies and techniques for hand-to-hand combat and gave her endless laps and exercises, but, although she attacked them with all she had, his heart was no longer in it. His right hand hung uselessly by his side and throbbed dully, a constant reminder that he couldn't protect her forever. Every time she hit the target, landed a good blow or successfully completed a long run, she would look at him with so much hope and pride it made his chest feel like caving in. This is cruel, he told himself, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. You can't keep doing this to her. You can't keep letting her think she has a chance. But every time he opened his mouth to tell her the truth, that he was leaving and she was doomed, his throat would close up and he would find himself incapable of uttering a sound.

And that was why he was here now, standing in the middle of the jungle near the clearing where he had first faced North Vietnam. It was pitch black and everyone back at the house was fast asleep - that was how he had snuck out here, finding his way by the weak rays of moonlight that struggled through the canopy. He pressed a button on his watch and the face lit up; it was thirty minutes past midnight. Any second now.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around, his heart skipping a beat. I didn't even hear any footsteps! North Vietnam was standing in front of him, her gun in her hands and her face set. Once again, he was startled at how much she resembled her sister; it was their expressions that set them apart more than anything else. South Vietnam had never had that steel behind her eyes, that determination in the way her mouth was set. She had never had her sister's courage and will to fight.

"America," she said flatly.

"North Vietnam."

"My leader said you wanted to meet with me."

America bit his lip. This situation called for careful, subtle persuasion and he had never been good at that. His style was barging in and being the loudest and most obnoxious person in the room, forcing everyone to pay attention to him through being simply impossible to ignore. But as North Vietnam stood with her hands on her hips and stared at him with those contemptuous eyes that glinted with something between hatred and desperation, he knew that his usual strategy wouldn't work on her. It occurred to him that he was out of his depth; it was a strange feeling. He'd never been out of his depth before. He was used to being the strongest and the best, but now he had met his match in this small, slender girl and he didn't quite know how to deal with it.

"Well..." he started, checking each word twice before he let it out of his mouth, "war is bad, isn't it?" You idiot.

"In some cases."

"And it's sort of stupid too, right? There's no point in dying for something like this."

"For my freedom? I'd die for that any day, America. If you have something to say then say it."

Okay, time for a different approach. "Look, we're taking heavy casualties over here and I know that you aren't doing too well yourself." He was right - her hair was tangled and singed in places, her face was covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises and her uniform was ripped and muddy. "We aren't getting anywhere with this and keeping on fighting will just mean more resources lost and more good men dead. This stalemate isn't doing either of us any good."

"So what do you propose?" Her arms were folded now - she was still glaring at him like he was the source of all her problems (am I?), but at least she was listening.

"A truce. A proper one, this time. We leave you alone and you leave us alone. You can be communist if you like, but South Vietnam gets to make her own choices as well. We won't bother you if you don't bother her." He paused, looking for some sort of agreement in her face. "How does that sound?"

Her expression didn't change for a long time. She stared up at him with those cold eyes that looked nothing like her sister's, mulling over his proposal. Then, just as America was getting ready to try again, she spoke. "And what about you?"

"Me? I won't come anywhere near you. I'll just stay at South Vietnam's house."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I can't accept that."

"Then what do you want me to do? Live in her garden?"

"I want you gone. Leave my sister alone. Get out of Vietnam for good and never bother us again, and take Australia and South Korea with you."

America's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, realised it had nothing to say and snapped shut. Leave. Get out. It sounded so harsh when she put it like that, like he was an intruder, the root of all their problems. He had hoped, just a faint glimmer that he hadn't dared to focus on in case it disappeared, that if he managed to negotiate a truce then he would be allowed to stay. That once his men stopped dying and all that remained was fixing South Vietnam's shattered country, his president would let him stay out of pity and a sense of responsibility. To rebuild the lives he had helped ruin.

But, although he hated to admit it, he had always known deep down that that was too good to be true. Once the war was over, South Vietnam wouldn't need him. She was no soldier, but he could think of no person better to comfort and rebuild a war-torn land. If his leaving would finally get her the peace and freedom she'd been fighting for then he knew what he had to do.

With an effort not too far from pushing over a mountain with his bare hands, America managed to squeeze the single word out of his mouth. "Okay."

North Vietnam raised an eyebrow. "You'll leave? Just like that?"

"Only if you swear to me right now that you will never touch her again." He stared down at her, his face more serious than it had ever been in his entire life.

"I swear. You get out and take your lackeys with you, and I'll leave her alone."

And there, in the middle of the jungle at the dead of night, the Vietnamese communist and the American capitalist shook hands and sealed their truce.

From this point onwards, it was agreed, there would be no more fighting in Vietnam.


When the door opened and America slipped back inside, the house was completely still and utterly silent. Australia was still curled in the corner, sleeping soundly with his grenade clutched in his hands. South Korea was still crouched on the windowsill - America wasn't bothered about being seen by him, he'd slept that way last night as well. But South Vietnam was sitting her armchair, wide awake and staring straight at him.

He froze, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"Where were you?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusing - more curious than anything, in fact - but his mind had gone blank. Don't be stupid, America! This is good news! You've done her a favour!

He spat the truth out before he had a chance to stop himself. "I had a meeting with your sister."

Her eyes widened in shock, then betrayal, then hurt. "Why? What were you doing?"

"I ended the war!" he announced. "I negotiated a peace treaty! She's agreed to leave you alone!"

"You... you did?" Now it was South Vietnam's turn to be surprised. "How?"

"It's hurt her just as badly as us. I just pointed out that we were getting nowhere with this and that it was in all of our best interests to just stop the fighting."

"No." She shook her head slowly as though trying to wrap her head around a particularly complicated theory. "No, there was more. She'd never just give up like that. I've known her for millennia and she would never do that. She'd die first." Her eyes snapped up to his face, accusation in them for the first time. She looked scarily like her sister and it was all he could do not to recoil. "What did you do, America?"

"Calm down, why would you think I'd-"

"What did you do?"

"Okay, fine," he said, trying not to look directly at her searing glare. "I agreed to leave."

She stared at him for a long time, horror dawning slowly on her face. "No you didn't."

"I did." He braced himself for an impact, but it didn't come.

"No. You didn't. You didn't agree to leave me, America. You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't." Her face was desperate, pleading, begging him to confirm what she was saying. But he couldn't lie to her any more.

"You won't need me now!" he said, forcing his mouth into a wide smile. "You won't need any of us! The war's over - you don't need to fight any more! You can be your own country all by yourself! You could even talk to your sister properly - this might be your chance for peaceful reunification!"

"NO!" she screamed suddenly, leaping to her feet. Australia jerked awake in the corner and made a grab for his gun; South Korea's eyes snapped open and he almost toppled off the windowsill. "You can't leave! She's lying to you! I know her and I know she won't give up this easily!"

"We shook on it. She swore-"

"I don't care what she swore!" South Vietnam was shouting at the top of her lungs now. "Listen to me, America! She. Is. Not. Finished. With. Me! She's tricking you into leaving!"

"I'm sure she wouldn't-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE WOULD DO!" she shrieked, taking a step towards him. To hit him or to hold onto him, America couldn't tell. "Just stay! Forget you ever made that truce and stay here! She won't keep it so you shouldn't either!"

"I can't do that," he said quietly.

"Why not?"

He swallowed hard. "My president told me a few days ago that if we didn't start winning, I had to leave. You couldn't fight with me and you couldn't fight without me, so all I could do was keep you from needing to fight at all. That's what this truce is. It's the best I can do."

She stared at him, her eyes blank. "You knew this all along."

"Not all along, only recently, but-"

"You didn't tell me."

"There was no need to-"

"NO NEED TO?" She exploded again, making America jump. "This is my survival! There was no need to tell me that you were going to leave me to die? This might just be another meaningless fight in a faraway land to you, but this is my life!"

"You're not meaningless!"

"Then prove it to me! Don't leave!"

He looked straight at her. South Vietnam. The girl who'd defied her sister and rejected communism, who'd tried her absolute hardest to fight through a haze of bloody, relentless Vietcong attacks, sweat from endless training and the tears that had soaked his uniform so many times. The girl whose soft, kind face was now bright red from screaming, whose dark eyes were wide with fear and hatred. Hatred directed at him. The girl with the white half-lotus in her hair.

The words felt heavy on his tongue. "I'm sorry."

She gaped at him, eyes wide as she tried to comprehend what was happening to her. America stared right back, forcing his face to stay indifferent. Australia and South Korea watched their exchange with shocked faces, utterly silent.

Outside the house, thunder exploded like a bomb and raindrops began to hit the roof like shrapnel.

"Go." South Vietnam shot the word at him like a bullet and it hurt him just as badly when it hit.

"I really am-"

"GO!" she shrieked. Tears were streaming down her face now and America wanted to hug her, to gather her into his arms and hold her close until she was alright again, but this time he knew he couldn't. "GET OUT!"

"Vietnam-"

She grabbed a vase from the table next to the couch and hurled it at him. He ducked and it smashed against the wall, showing the floor with shards of glass. "I SAID GET OUT! YOU WANT TO LEAVE SO BADLY, LEAVE!"

"Please-"

It was a lamp that narrowly missed his head this time. "YOU LIED TO ME!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE THE HERO! YOU TOLD ME YOU'D SAVE ME!"

"I-"

The next hard object in South Vietnam's hand was her rifle. She aimed it right at his heart, tears splashing onto the wooden handle. He looked down at her face, the face that just a few days ago had been reluctant to even hurt, let alone kill. But the face he saw now was different. It had been through too much pain and violence, seen more than it should ever have had to, hoped and had those hopes crushed in front of its eyes and now faced death with a coldhearted anger that gave him no doubt that she would pull that trigger and shoot him where he stood.

"I said get out." Her voice was flat, dead, emotionless. "Now."

He had no choice. He turned and walked out of South Vietnam's house and into the pouring rain. He climbed down the porch steps, still scuffed and dirty from her fight with North Korea, across the shooting range with the targets painted on trees (not a single one of the many dark bullet holes were on the bullseye), across the muddy tracks she'd left after her countless laps around the garden, and, taking one last look over his shoulder at the small, wooden house, he stepped into the forest and it disappeared from sight.

South Vietnam stood stiff and motionless, her gun pointed at thin air, as Australia and South Korea looked at each other, brushed past her with muttered apologies and shut the door behind them. Then she sank to her knees, her rifle falling from her hands and clattering to the floor, and stared ahead with wide, disbelieving eyes. She was all alone. He had left her. After all he'd told her, after all he'd promised, he had left her to die alone and helpless.

Rain battered the ceiling as she lifted a hand to her ear and gently dislodged the lotus flower from her hair. It was wilted and brown, the remaining petals hanging limp from the centre. She considered letting it fall to the ground, abandoning it like America had abandoned her, but instead she tucked it back behind her ear, careful not to crease or snap any of the dry, dead petals. She had lived her entire life with that flower. It had been pink then, identical to her sister's, whole and bright and full of life. It had been with her for all the millennia she had lived; now she was taking it to her death.

Because sometimes, the hero can't save everyone.


In 1973, American National Security Advisor, Henry Kissinger, completed secret peace negotiations with North Vietnamese Lê Đức Thọ. It was decided, according to the subsequent Paris Peace Accords, that a ceasefire would begin at midnight on January 27th. American forces would begin a withdrawal to be completed within sixty days. The reunification of North and South Vietnam would be negotiated through peaceful means. Australia and South Korea, as the allies of America, naturally followed in withdrawing troops. By this point, everyone was relieved to have an excuse to leave a war which had become brutal, drawn-out and a nightmare for all involved. However, neither half of Vietnam carried out all of the conditions of the Paris Peace Accord and neither believed the other half would.