[fan-fic] Come to North Dakota
Jul. 8th, 2009 12:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
historizeTitle: Come to North Dakota
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
historyblitz
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, Russia and a mention of England
Rating: one of those rare PG pieces
Warnings: Present-day politics
Summary: Obama is working now to try and improve US-Russia relations. The Cold War is over. This is just a really short piece that I was inspired to do this morning when I read about this news.
Posted here
“You’re going to make me want a cigarette, sir.”
America’s boss laughed, lips drawing up and showing his teeth. “Me too. Quit making me nervous.”
“Man, if you’re nervous—“
“Hey, hey, hey,” said his boss, touching his arm. “Give me some credit. And stop giving me advice.”
America blinked. “Aw, but—c’mon, I’ve been around since—“
“Yes,” said his boss and he lifted his eyebrows. “I know that, you’ve been around for everything. But this isn’t the Cold War anymore. All right? Don’t start a fight with him.”
“What---I won’t!” America snorted. “He’s more like—“
His boss pointed at him. “I mean it, Alfred. No. We’re here to try and fix things.”
“God, fine, Dad.”
He laughed again. “Quit whining.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
They smiled at each other.
And then his boss turned away, fiddled with his tie and waited until an aide came to them and said, “They’re ready for you, Mister President.”
The President touched his head and nodded; if he was nervous, he didn’t show it. America stood too, hands in his pockets. “Hey, Barack.”
He looked back, raising his eyebrows again.
America hesitated and then just smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
His boss half-smiled. "Don't say that until I've talked to Putin."
America slapped his forehead with his palm. "Stop saying that. Quit making me nervous. I mean, I trust you, I think but--stoppit."
"It'll be okay," his boss told him (for probably the twentieth time), with a little wave and a nod and he turned away to the aide.
America watched him go and he sighed a little. Things were different now. Slowly, they were getting better—people didn’t…didn’t hate him as much. And he could have kissed his boss just for that. America liked politics to a certain extent but when things got out of control…he got lost. He got lost in the details and the “big picture”. Sometimes, America would sit and predict what might happen in twenty years due to some decision but had a more difficult time predicting what might happen in the next twenty days. England had told him that that was fairly normal for their kind. Their long lives gave them a sense of distorted time. The future was what they looked at—when it really set in that they would live for a long, long time.
“Eventually, you get past that,” England had said, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. “When you’re young, you can only see the immediate. When you’re a little older, you’re always looking ahead but when you’ve reached a certain understanding of humans, you learn to go back and start paying attention to the immediate again.”
America had nodded. “Humans help us find those things. That balance.”
“Yes,” England had said. “They help us change and help us define what our roles are and they help us see what’s important. They’re not like us—so they live their lives as if they might die tomorrow, because they very well might. Their sense of life and time is much shorter—so they won’t have years to fix any mistakes they make. So, with our help, they can make very good decisions or very bad ones.”
That was true. So when sometimes things got out of control, he didn’t know how to fix it. It was taking a human, who saw things in their sense of limited time, to help him fix things.
“Mister Jones.” The aide had returned.
America nodded and stood, straightening his jacket and followed the aide out.
Russia was standing in the middle of a room. It was empty of press and translators and aides. When America was shown in, he waved the aide away and shut and locked the door.
“Your boss does not have the love here that he is used to from western Europe.”
“He knows that your people are suspicious of him. And me,” he added, almost as an afterthought. He switched to Russian, as they were hosting. America’s Russian was pretty good, not perfect but not bad; out of practice. He had learned most of it from Russia himself, when relations between them were good—back around America’s Civil War.
Russia looked at him. “Putin is very shrewd.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“He will never budge on Georgia, and Ukraine is—“
America opened his mouth to say, You don’t control them anymore! but his boss had told him not to start a fight. He tempered himself. “NATO has an application process. We’re not looking to piss off Russia.”
Russia paused and studied him.
“I’m not trying to take anyone away from you.”
Maybe those were the magic words because his eyes glinted, that violet swirling for a moment and then getting closer. “I cannot bring myself to believe much of what you say. However,” he raised a hand and started removing his gloves. “There is more to our history than the Cold War.”
“When you were starving, I brought you food. When England and France attacked you, my doctors and nurses went to you. When my southern states tried to break away, you were the only one who supported me and the Union.”
“Yes.” He tossed the gloves on a small table and looked at him. “Please, have a seat.”
America shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“This room is not being monitored. You can relax.”
Their eyes met and the air thickened between them somehow. America looked away first. “No, it’s fine.”
“Sit, or I will consider it an insult.”
America shifted and flicked his hair from his eyes. “Well, since you asked so nicely and offered candy and such. I guess I should be polite.” He smirked and went to a chair.
“Must you do that in order to save your pride?” Russia went to a small tea table. “We have vodka and coffee.”
“Coffee, please. Must you drink to take the pain away?”
“I assumed as such.” Russia’s eyes glimmered. “You ought to start; it would make meeting with you more fun.”
America should not have grinned. He should not have snorted, should not have had to bite his lip. “It certainly would. Except we wouldn’t get anything done.”
Russia set the coffee on the table between them. “How is that different from now?”
“Touché.” He reached forward for the coffee. “This isn’t necessarily an alliance,” he added.
Russia sat, not with a glass, but with the bottle. “I know.”
America sipped his coffee, added some cream and sugar and stirred. Russia didn’t move; he just watched. His eyes followed every motion of America’s movement. And America could feel it, the heaviness, the cold.
“S’just,” America said to the coffee, as if using his words to push some of that oppressiveness from himself. “There’s no reason for us to be antagonistic towards each other anymore.”
Russia already wasn’t moving but it was a different sort of not-moving when he went still, fingers not shifting on the neck of his bottle.
America didn’t look up. “The Cold War is over. It’s time for things to shift, it’s time for us to shift.”
“Did your boss tell you to say that?”
“Yeah,” said America, because there was no point in lying about it. “He did. But, I like the guy and if he’s willing to try, so am I. No Russian will be able to say I won’t meet them half-way.”
“You must be tired of being hated by everyone if you’re willing to come back to me.”
America’s lips thinned. “Firstly, I’m not ‘coming back’ to you. And secondly, yeah. He’s helping me fix the mess I’m in. That a problem?”
“No,” said Russia, simply. “It’s not. I know all about being hated by everyone that matters.”
That made America pause; he eyed him. “Yeah.”
“Perhaps we still have a few things in common.”
He couldn’t deny that. They did.
Russia had seemed so big. So amazing. So everything he wanted to be when he was young and newly free. He offered something…guidance but different from France. Russia had given America something to strive for. To fly past England and France and reach for the Red Banner, for that golden star. Russia impressed him in a different way than England and France did. Russia raised the bar, Russia had…Russia…
Didn’t care what anyone thought of him. He saw what he wanted and he went for it. During the Cold War that had seemed so base but…that era was over. He kept having to stop—his boss kept reminding him—that was over. It was time to move on.
Move on.
He smiled faintly, almost dreamily and looked up at Russia, meeting his eyes. “Hey, Russia. You know which one of my states grows the most sunflowers?”
Russia’s mouth was at the lip of his bottle, he lowered and said, warily, “I do not.”
“North Dakota.” America sipped his coffee and looked away, setting it on the tea table. “You should come see it sometime.” He glanced up.
Russia looked at him and for a moment, there was the young, hardly-grown nation. Promising to be powerful one day, a powerful ally…with that strange sense of humor, acceptance, optimism and his smile. Warmth.
But the Cold War…suspicion, paranoia…everything…
But maybe. Just maybe.
Russia took a moment and then he smiled, just a little twitch of his mouth. “I would like to see your sunflowers.”
America nodded. “Then maybe sometime, call me up when you have a week. You’ve seen my western states when they were just empty plains. I think you might still like them now.”
“I may be able to forgive them for sunflowers.” His tone had softened, eyes still peering hard.
“Maybe I’ll let you buy some.”
“You should not have to buy sunflowers.”
America chuckled. “Maybe bargained for, then.” He caught Russia’s eye and winked.
“Maybe. I might be convinced to bargain with the likes of you. We will see.”
“Good. I look forward to it.”
“I guess this meeting is over then, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
But neither left the room. They moved the chairs and tea table to the window and sat by it, looking out in a nearly comfortable silence. When America finished his coffee and dozed off in this warm sunlight, Russia watched him. Watched the shadows and tiredness, the glint off his glasses and the smooth line of his jaw and thought of sunflowers.
He looked back out the window.
---
I do hope that maybe, some day, America and Russia can be friendly again. Are there any Russians here? Hello Russians.
Author/Artist:
historyblitz Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, Russia and a mention of England
Rating: one of those rare PG pieces
Warnings: Present-day politics
Summary: Obama is working now to try and improve US-Russia relations. The Cold War is over. This is just a really short piece that I was inspired to do this morning when I read about this news.
Posted here
“You’re going to make me want a cigarette, sir.”
America’s boss laughed, lips drawing up and showing his teeth. “Me too. Quit making me nervous.”
“Man, if you’re nervous—“
“Hey, hey, hey,” said his boss, touching his arm. “Give me some credit. And stop giving me advice.”
America blinked. “Aw, but—c’mon, I’ve been around since—“
“Yes,” said his boss and he lifted his eyebrows. “I know that, you’ve been around for everything. But this isn’t the Cold War anymore. All right? Don’t start a fight with him.”
“What---I won’t!” America snorted. “He’s more like—“
His boss pointed at him. “I mean it, Alfred. No. We’re here to try and fix things.”
“God, fine, Dad.”
He laughed again. “Quit whining.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
They smiled at each other.
And then his boss turned away, fiddled with his tie and waited until an aide came to them and said, “They’re ready for you, Mister President.”
The President touched his head and nodded; if he was nervous, he didn’t show it. America stood too, hands in his pockets. “Hey, Barack.”
He looked back, raising his eyebrows again.
America hesitated and then just smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
His boss half-smiled. "Don't say that until I've talked to Putin."
America slapped his forehead with his palm. "Stop saying that. Quit making me nervous. I mean, I trust you, I think but--stoppit."
"It'll be okay," his boss told him (for probably the twentieth time), with a little wave and a nod and he turned away to the aide.
America watched him go and he sighed a little. Things were different now. Slowly, they were getting better—people didn’t…didn’t hate him as much. And he could have kissed his boss just for that. America liked politics to a certain extent but when things got out of control…he got lost. He got lost in the details and the “big picture”. Sometimes, America would sit and predict what might happen in twenty years due to some decision but had a more difficult time predicting what might happen in the next twenty days. England had told him that that was fairly normal for their kind. Their long lives gave them a sense of distorted time. The future was what they looked at—when it really set in that they would live for a long, long time.
“Eventually, you get past that,” England had said, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. “When you’re young, you can only see the immediate. When you’re a little older, you’re always looking ahead but when you’ve reached a certain understanding of humans, you learn to go back and start paying attention to the immediate again.”
America had nodded. “Humans help us find those things. That balance.”
“Yes,” England had said. “They help us change and help us define what our roles are and they help us see what’s important. They’re not like us—so they live their lives as if they might die tomorrow, because they very well might. Their sense of life and time is much shorter—so they won’t have years to fix any mistakes they make. So, with our help, they can make very good decisions or very bad ones.”
That was true. So when sometimes things got out of control, he didn’t know how to fix it. It was taking a human, who saw things in their sense of limited time, to help him fix things.
“Mister Jones.” The aide had returned.
America nodded and stood, straightening his jacket and followed the aide out.
Russia was standing in the middle of a room. It was empty of press and translators and aides. When America was shown in, he waved the aide away and shut and locked the door.
“Your boss does not have the love here that he is used to from western Europe.”
“He knows that your people are suspicious of him. And me,” he added, almost as an afterthought. He switched to Russian, as they were hosting. America’s Russian was pretty good, not perfect but not bad; out of practice. He had learned most of it from Russia himself, when relations between them were good—back around America’s Civil War.
Russia looked at him. “Putin is very shrewd.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“He will never budge on Georgia, and Ukraine is—“
America opened his mouth to say, You don’t control them anymore! but his boss had told him not to start a fight. He tempered himself. “NATO has an application process. We’re not looking to piss off Russia.”
Russia paused and studied him.
“I’m not trying to take anyone away from you.”
Maybe those were the magic words because his eyes glinted, that violet swirling for a moment and then getting closer. “I cannot bring myself to believe much of what you say. However,” he raised a hand and started removing his gloves. “There is more to our history than the Cold War.”
“When you were starving, I brought you food. When England and France attacked you, my doctors and nurses went to you. When my southern states tried to break away, you were the only one who supported me and the Union.”
“Yes.” He tossed the gloves on a small table and looked at him. “Please, have a seat.”
America shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“This room is not being monitored. You can relax.”
Their eyes met and the air thickened between them somehow. America looked away first. “No, it’s fine.”
“Sit, or I will consider it an insult.”
America shifted and flicked his hair from his eyes. “Well, since you asked so nicely and offered candy and such. I guess I should be polite.” He smirked and went to a chair.
“Must you do that in order to save your pride?” Russia went to a small tea table. “We have vodka and coffee.”
“Coffee, please. Must you drink to take the pain away?”
“I assumed as such.” Russia’s eyes glimmered. “You ought to start; it would make meeting with you more fun.”
America should not have grinned. He should not have snorted, should not have had to bite his lip. “It certainly would. Except we wouldn’t get anything done.”
Russia set the coffee on the table between them. “How is that different from now?”
“Touché.” He reached forward for the coffee. “This isn’t necessarily an alliance,” he added.
Russia sat, not with a glass, but with the bottle. “I know.”
America sipped his coffee, added some cream and sugar and stirred. Russia didn’t move; he just watched. His eyes followed every motion of America’s movement. And America could feel it, the heaviness, the cold.
“S’just,” America said to the coffee, as if using his words to push some of that oppressiveness from himself. “There’s no reason for us to be antagonistic towards each other anymore.”
Russia already wasn’t moving but it was a different sort of not-moving when he went still, fingers not shifting on the neck of his bottle.
America didn’t look up. “The Cold War is over. It’s time for things to shift, it’s time for us to shift.”
“Did your boss tell you to say that?”
“Yeah,” said America, because there was no point in lying about it. “He did. But, I like the guy and if he’s willing to try, so am I. No Russian will be able to say I won’t meet them half-way.”
“You must be tired of being hated by everyone if you’re willing to come back to me.”
America’s lips thinned. “Firstly, I’m not ‘coming back’ to you. And secondly, yeah. He’s helping me fix the mess I’m in. That a problem?”
“No,” said Russia, simply. “It’s not. I know all about being hated by everyone that matters.”
That made America pause; he eyed him. “Yeah.”
“Perhaps we still have a few things in common.”
He couldn’t deny that. They did.
Russia had seemed so big. So amazing. So everything he wanted to be when he was young and newly free. He offered something…guidance but different from France. Russia had given America something to strive for. To fly past England and France and reach for the Red Banner, for that golden star. Russia impressed him in a different way than England and France did. Russia raised the bar, Russia had…Russia…
Didn’t care what anyone thought of him. He saw what he wanted and he went for it. During the Cold War that had seemed so base but…that era was over. He kept having to stop—his boss kept reminding him—that was over. It was time to move on.
Move on.
He smiled faintly, almost dreamily and looked up at Russia, meeting his eyes. “Hey, Russia. You know which one of my states grows the most sunflowers?”
Russia’s mouth was at the lip of his bottle, he lowered and said, warily, “I do not.”
“North Dakota.” America sipped his coffee and looked away, setting it on the tea table. “You should come see it sometime.” He glanced up.
Russia looked at him and for a moment, there was the young, hardly-grown nation. Promising to be powerful one day, a powerful ally…with that strange sense of humor, acceptance, optimism and his smile. Warmth.
But the Cold War…suspicion, paranoia…everything…
But maybe. Just maybe.
Russia took a moment and then he smiled, just a little twitch of his mouth. “I would like to see your sunflowers.”
America nodded. “Then maybe sometime, call me up when you have a week. You’ve seen my western states when they were just empty plains. I think you might still like them now.”
“I may be able to forgive them for sunflowers.” His tone had softened, eyes still peering hard.
“Maybe I’ll let you buy some.”
“You should not have to buy sunflowers.”
America chuckled. “Maybe bargained for, then.” He caught Russia’s eye and winked.
“Maybe. I might be convinced to bargain with the likes of you. We will see.”
“Good. I look forward to it.”
“I guess this meeting is over then, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
But neither left the room. They moved the chairs and tea table to the window and sat by it, looking out in a nearly comfortable silence. When America finished his coffee and dozed off in this warm sunlight, Russia watched him. Watched the shadows and tiredness, the glint off his glasses and the smooth line of his jaw and thought of sunflowers.
He looked back out the window.
---
I do hope that maybe, some day, America and Russia can be friendly again. Are there any Russians here? Hello Russians.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 05:28 am (UTC)You really wrote it!
I love this, I love that the tension is still there, and I love that there is the willingness to try and the SUNFLOWERS. Obama and America's interaction is just priceless, too. :D And I love the acknowledgement of the relationship between Russia and America before the whole mess.
And I love England's words of wisdom in this, so so much. ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 01:29 pm (UTC)I really like these guys. And I'm hoping maybe things will improve.
Yeeah, haha, thank you. EVen if it's just a little piece. Ha, thanks. :)