Epilogue

Though Vietnam would spend almost ten years incredulous of America's promise, we know that America did return. He saw Vietnam torn apart and stepped in to help. But he became obsessed. He wanted her to be just like him. He wanted her to be his and his alone. Maybe he wanted to be a hero more than he actually wanted to save her...after all, war, as Kim feared, changes people.

And she is no exception. The war with France hardened her, heated her blood to boiling, and birthed a resentment for America. When he came back, wrapping his arm around her as if everything was the same, as if he hadn't abandoned her for a decade - well. She planned to give him the exact medicine that France received. But a part of her yearned for his ways - not Russia's, not China's. A part of her yearned for him. The two differing mindsets were such polar opposites that it drove her to the brink of insanity.

And so, they hurt each other. They hurt each other so bad. They twisted and bit and burned and tore the other apart until all of the love between them was drained out of them, along with their red blood. Two decades passed until America finally staggered back; shocked that he had become a destroyer instead of a savior, and wounded in a way he had never been injured before. Vietnam, at that point scarred beyond recognition, screamed at him to leave and pleaded with him to stay. He left, this time with no words, no stars. Just scars and swollen throats.

1995

"No. No, that won't do," Vietnam said, tiredly rubbing her eyes.

"Oh, okay then," replied America, with a testy edge to his voice. The two countries were sitting at a conference desk, discussing – or more accurately, disagreeing – on policies. It was getting late; both of them have grown crabby. They both tried to suppress it, though, for the sake of their already-shaky diplomacy. After the war, they did not speak to each other for a long time. Even after the cold shoulder was broken, their conversations were tense and solely political. The mere sight of each other brought back nightmares they would rather forget.

"I'm just saying that you should really have more religious freedom. Why are you so against that?"

"I believe that is my business, America."

"But this is a matter of justice!"

Oh, to hell with diplomacy, thought Vietnam as she unleashed her annoyance.

"Justice? Justice? Yes, because you are just the perfect model of that, aren't you?"

America averted his eyes in shame.

"Not only did you commit genocide my people. Not only did you spray chemicals on my forests and bomb my land, but now you won't help me even though the war is over! Your explosives still lie underground and murder innocents. My women are shamed for bearing the children of your soldiers. The very least you could do is to pay a war reparation."

America passed a hand over his eyes, still not looking at her. "I - I was just trying to help - "

Vietnam interrupted, her voice rising. "You ruined me! You're the richest country in the world, and I am one of the poorest, thanks to you! And yet you can't find the decency to help me. Did you forget the promise you made?"

Her hand plunged into the purse sitting beside her chair and, with a swift motion, she placed on the wide table between them a white piece of paper, folded into a square and wrinkled from many, many readings.

America immediately paled at the sight. His blue eyes widened and his body stiffened as he stared in disbelief and horror at the paper. Not noticing, Vietnam plowed on, "Do promises really mean so little to you? Have you no honor? Don't you feel sorry for what you did, even a little - ?"

"You kept it?" America blurted out, his voice no longer brimming with authority. It was the voice of someone wounded. "After all this time?"

"What?" Vietnam asked, perplexed.

America clutched at his armrests, practically wheezing. "I gave you that letter back in '45! Everything was so different - we didn't know - but you still have it - "

Vietnam stiffened.

"Vietnam, I - "

"Open it."

"What?"

"I said open it and read it."

America panicked, shaking his head wildly and even pressing into the back of his chair until Vietnam unfolded the paper and thrust it at him. Trembling fingers clutched the document...which was filled with small lines of type. The title proclaimed, The Paris Accords.

Her arms crossed. "That was the promise I was referring to. Article 21 of our peace treaty. 'The United States anticipates that this Agreement will usher in an era of reconciliation with the Democratic Republic of Viet-Nam. In pursuance of its traditional policy, the United States will contribute to healing the wounds of war and to postwar reconstruction of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam'. Of course I don't have the letter," she said bitterly. "I did keep it for a long time. But during your war, it burned when that house was set on fire. Just like everything else."

The ensuing awkwardness was suffocating. Honey eyes met bright blue, and then quickly averted, every moment of their brief summer romance resurfacing. They had not spoken about their very first relationship in decades, and in the rage of the war, the idea of anything peaceful and healthy between them seemed like a myth. But the memory never faded. A red blush had taken over America's face as he cursed himself for making such an erroneous assumption. Vietnam was just shocked.

"Frankly, I'm surprised that you remember that at all," she said curtly.

"Of-of course I remember! Those months together were...they were...they were nice," America stammered, immediately regretting his weak word choice.

Vietnam rose a brow. "Nice."

"It was better than nice," America admitted, growing redder. "Much better."

"I'm sure that's why you left me and traded me off to France, then. You ended up funding him, even. I bet that if my flag had less red in it, you wouldn't even have come back."

"That's not true!" America protested. "I cared about you. No one else ever cared for you like I did."

"Maybe you're too dense to understand, but caring for someone and being obsessed with being a hero are two very different things," said Vietnam icily.

He shook his head. "No. There were so many other reasons than that. You were an escape. You were different."

Vietnam felt a pang at those words. No. He's lying, she ferociously thought. He was always so good at lying. "Then why would you leave? It was four months, America. That is a short time even for human standards."

"So you think that it was just a...a fling?"

Vietnam bristled. "Of course not! I'm asking if it was a fling to you!"

"God, you're stupid," America retorted. "I liked you years before we started going out. When you finally said yes, it meant everything! I left because I had no other choice. I had an entire world to look after! Maybe we would've been together longer if you hadn't played so hard to get!"

There was a stunned silence when Vietnam was momentarily speechless. Her eyes narrowed in fury and her neck contracted several times before she responded. "How dare you say that," she hissed through her teeth. "I was never trying to be unattainable. You know that I was deathly afraid of connection. And you just call that some sort of playful flirting? It took so much to get over that fear. And then look what you did."

America looked stricken. Vietnam stood suddenly from her chair and picked up her purse. "I'm leaving," she announced before walking quickly to the door.

"Vietnam - "

She didn't look back. The door shut loudly behind her.

America collapsed into his chair, exhaling sharply. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he asked aloud to the large, empty room. Every time he had tried to help her, she got hurt instead. And he continued to make things difficult for her. Why? Because she won? She deserves more than this, America thought. His eye fell on the coat Vietnam had left on the back of her chair.

Right in front of the meeting building was a bridge over a river, where Vietnam was leaning against the railing and staring into the dark churning of the water. She had hoped the sound of the water would calm her when she stormed out of that meeting, eyes stinging. The sudden revival of her and America's happiest memories was sudden and uncomfortable. She had never liked thinking about that time. The possibility that things could be as happy as that was mocking. The fact that America remembered too and what he said about it brought a fresh new tangle of emotions. It was nighttime in early winter and the air was cold; flakes fell down slowly as she shivered in her thin white ao dai, which was illuminated by the surrounding streetlights.

Footsteps. She turned to see America approaching her. Considerations of walking away or telling him to leave her alone ran through her mind, but they quieted when America wordlessly held out her jacket. Vietnam took it and wrapped it around herself. Unsure of what to say, she turned her attention back to the water. America went beside her, also staring out in that direction.

"If you don't want to talk to me right now, then you just have to tell me."

She hesitated. "I probably should not have stormed out," she admitted. "We should've finished our business, at least."

"That's not really what I had in mind, if that's okay with you."

Vietnam waited, curious to what he had to say. She had not heard him like this for a long time. To be honest, most of the time they usually didn't go five minutes without yelling at each other.

He drew a breath. "I'm sorry about that last thing I said. I remember how scared you used to be. And you were brave for overcoming it. So I don't know why I said that. I always mess things up with you. I want to stop that. So I'll try by first saying that I'm sorry for abandoning you after World War Two. Especially after you've finally started to trust someone. I know how hard that was for you to do."

Vietnam did not respond at first, very surprised at how civil this was. How vulnerable he sounded. She could have guilted him further, twisted the knife deeper. But a part of her just wanted to be as honest as he was being. "When you left, it did hurt," she said. "Especially since it was so sudden. But I would never go back to being afraid of relationships. I no longer needed you for that. But it was you who first helped me get over it. So...thank you."

"You're welcome. That's good to hear." America's wrists rested on the cold railing, and he fisted his hands. "I've been terrible to you. Especially after the war; I have no reason to. You probably think I hate you. Sometimes I convince myself that that's the case, too. But the truth of the matter is, I hate what I did. I hate that it took so much time. I hate that it destroyed so much. And the truth is," he swallowed and blinked rapidly, "I've always cared about you, and I still do, somehow. I don't know why. I just do. Despite everything."

His voice cracked. Though ducking his head to hide his face, his shoulders still visibly shook. Vietnam watched in astonishment as he started to cry. She had never realized that America was haunted by their war too. She had never thought that she would see him crumble like this, with sobs racking his tall body. Vietnam suddenly felt her lips begin to tremble, and she placed a hesitant hand on his arm. He stiffened at her touch, but let it be.

"I hurt you," he choked out, his words shaking.

"We both hurt each other. Neither of us were the people we wanted to be."

"We had something so special before then. And then we lost it."

Vietnam turned him towards her. "It can happen again," she insisted, staring straight into his tear-streaked face.

He looked astonished, and a little uncomfortable. "I...I don't think..."

"I know what you mean," she said quickly. "I don't forgive you. Maybe one day I will find it within myself to be so gracious but...not now. You don't need to forgive me either. We don't need to pretend that we are fine."

"Nothing about us is fine," America sniffed.

"I know," she sighed.

America noisily wiped his face on his sleeve. "But...you think we can fix it?" he said, hope creeping into his voice.

She turned to him with her eyes brimming. "Look how broken we are," she whispered. "How can we ever be fixed?"

Choking again, America covering his eyes with his palm; Vietnam released her tears in silent streams.

"We won't forget our past, but we can move on from it," she said, drawing a big breath.

"Like starting over?"

Vietnam nodded. "I don't know if we'll ever regain what we had during World War II. I'm not sure if I am capable of loving you that much again. I'm sure you feel the same."

America looked down at her shining eyes and, for the first time in years, smiled at her. "Yeah. But it doesn't matter. As long as we heal." Vietnam, gently, smiled back.

The wind sighed around them as the two nations looked into the sky, where the constellations above them sparkled. And finally, after long last, they began to shift.

Historical Notes:

In 1995, diplomatic relations between America and Vietnam normalized, 20 years after the end of the Vietnam War. The two countries continue to have a growing friendship, especially in trading.

A/N:

*wipes tears from eyes* It is finished! I can hardly believe it.

Again, many thanks to everyone following this fic. I reeeally hope the ending is satisfying! Maybe even tear-worthy? Several of you have said that this story ought to have more readers, and if you think so, then by all means share it! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated, as I hope to make writing a big part of my life when I'm an adult.

This story had been such a huge occupier of my thoughts since its conception, and now that it's finally out there in its entirety, well, I'm not sure what to do. I've been neglecting other plot ideas that I have formed in my head, so I must now chase those down before they run away. I will always love AmeViet, though, and will probably write for them again. Their relationship is so astounding.

If you're reading this, I guess that you probably like them too. We oughta stick together, friends. We are a small bunch. We can add to the tiny pile of AmeViet. We can cry together. If you ever need to dispel AmeViet feels, don't be scared to talk to me. I've had lots of experience, haha. Don't be scared to talk to me ever, actually. I am a pretty good listener and I love talking to people over the internet!

I think that is all I have to say. Just. Goddamn, it's over.

~mysterywings