Chapter Text
Across from the negotiating table, China wore a hesitant expression and a bandage across his cheek from the civil war. His pressed zhongshan was pristine, a nation always concerned with appearances.
He looked like someone who came from a composed background whose dignity had been dragged through the mud.
“Mr. Soviet Union.” He greeted hesitantly, as if he didn’t quite know how to approach the relationship between them.
The two of them had disagreed firmly throughout the course of his civil war. In the numerous times they had met, Soviet advised him repeatedly to exercise caution and spend more time preparing before he attacked. In the years before that, he had pressured China into collaborations and agreements with the Kuomintang while he was still too weak to take them head on.
China had swallowed his frustration, nodded his head yes, Mr. Soviet, until he hadn’t. Against all odds and expectations, his impatience had won him a country.
From the waters of the Pacific to the mountainous North—the eyes of the world were watching his next move.
Soviet decided to extend the first olive branch. “The Communist International is always eager to welcome a new member into its ranks. Whatever disagreements occurred in the past are ultimately meaningless. We have always shared a goal, and we still share it now.”
China regarded him with suspicion, with underlying hope that wanted to rear its head against better judgment.
“You must be aware that China is a backwards nation. Economically, technologically, politically.”
“I am.”
“The Soviet Union is also recovering from the war in Europe and has limited resources to spare for allies.” He said sullenly, as if priming himself to hear these words from Soviet.
“It is.” He rested a hand on China’s shoulder.
“Socialist fraternalism is crucial to the Soviet Union.” Soviet told him. “Socialists do not leave their brothers behind. There is always room on the path to walk towards the light together.”
China’s bandaged fingertips tapped the table nervously. His expression was uncertain. “You’ll provide aid?”
“That’s what I intend.”
“And the cost?”
“No cost.”
“What should the first step in this partnership be?” He asked hopefully, pushing back against Soviet to gauge the extent of his commitment.
“Well, we should officially recognize the People’s Republic of China immediately. The statement can be drafted by tomorrow.”
Something Soviet recognized appeared in China’s gaze. The starry-eyed look of a reckless youth, drunk off the high of victory—hubris.
"China will study hard from the Soviet Union, and work hard to join its ranks as a Socialist world power.” China said. The beginnings of a determined smile played with his features. He urged, “Put your faith in me."
That was interesting.
The Soviet Union did not naturally gravitate toward pragmatism. As a nation which rose at breakneck pace, the first Socialist country toppled countless presumptions and established beliefs. It was destined to be alone in that unique struggle, yet something about this idealist's words appealed to a part of Soviet that had no place in politics.
Soviet flirted with the edge of his impulses, intrigued. "The Soviet Union is always pleased to assist an ally.”
Soviet reached for the inauguration gift he had brought with him, and China’s gaze followed his movements keenly. He held the hammer-and-sickle insignia up to China’s chest to compare and then reached over to fasten it to his shirt. It was slightly too big on him, but the vision was forming fast in Soviet’s head and he smiled.
“Come with me, and I will make you great.”
The young man across the table who had just pledged to fight the West and the expectations of the world alongside Soviet stared at him. He straightened out his shoulders and collected his expression.
“I won’t let you down.”
-
China looked displeased. He did his best to hide it, but Soviet’s first thought was that China needed a better diplomacy face than that, or he would have no way to conceal his intentions from others. His second was that maybe Soviet just knew him too well to be fooled.
“Stay still.” China told him. Even as China grabbed his wrist, he was still taking care not to be too rough with Soviet’s injured arm.
China started to clean the wound without a word.
“You’re upset about something.” Soviet commented, a statement rather than a question.
China didn’t deny it. He had a reputation for honesty, but Soviet knew him better than to think that of him.
“Tell me the problem.”
China caved with a frown. “You know that my leaders distrust you.”
He wrapped the gash on Soviet’s upper arm with gauze. Soviet didn’t flinch at the sting.
“It is a given that investment comes at a cost and return,” He continued. “I know this. Yet, the accusation of you as an imperialist cannot be taken lightly. Territorial sovereignty is not something easily ceded by China.”
Soviet rolled his shoulders back and didn’t miss the way China’s gaze lingered at the rippling muscles.
“The relationships between allies and enemies alike have suspicions and points of contention.” Soviet told him, not unkindly. “If this surprises you, then I have not taught you anything at all.”
China turned his attention automatically to a burn on Soviet’s waist.
“My leaders think that you want to keep China under your control, and exercise ambitions in the Far East.”
“And what do you think?”
China hesitated, Soviet understood. Countries’ feelings toward each other were often nothing but conflicting, and China’s toward him were an amalgamation of his peoples’ enthusiasm and his leaders’ disdain. Along with whatever emotions he himself had in there for Soviet.
“I want them to trust you more.”
Soviet raised an eyebrow. “Trust? If you can still talk about these things, then it seems I’ve indeed not taught you anything. Or maybe it’s you who has not learned anything?”
His tone was far softer than the words themselves. Soviet smiled, and China’s lips pulled into a frown.
He finished dressing the wound on Soviet’s waist. Soviet grabbed his wrist before he could pull it away. China’s eyes widened, but then he splayed his fingers and dragged his palm across Soviet’s bare abdomen deliberately.
“Openly feeling my muscles now?” He asked lowly, amused and exasperated. The defiant expression staring back at him made Soviet want to love China and ruin him all at once.
“I don’t want to talk about these things.” China said stubbornly. “Just ignore them right now.”
China’s breath swept across his neck, almost touching. He was about to close the distance in a single fell swoop.
“Mr. Soviet?” They both turned toward the door, where a flustered advisor with a stack of documents was standing.
China instantly pulled away as if he had been burned. Soviet coughed, amusement rising in him. China’s still expression betrayed nothing this time, but the tips of his ears turning red gave him away.
“Apologies.” Soviet pulled his shirt back on and approached the woman. “What do you have for me?”
She looked nervous to be the one who had to relay her information to Soviet, and his heart sank.
"There's intelligence collected from the United States." She told him. "It's about the issue of nuclear weapons."
Soviet swallowed the urge to rub his temples. "Very well." He gestured for her to enter the room and show him.
She glanced uncertainly at China, who had just pulled a chair up to Soviet’s desk and started sifting through the drafts of the agreement they had been working on. "Sir…?"
"You can relay the report right here." Her eyes shifted back and forth between the two of them, but his meaning was understood.
The Socialist world superpower didn't have room within his burdens and responsibilities to abandon his vigilance around other nations. Whoever was an ally today might be a bitter enemy tomorrow, the flow of information could easily slip from his control once it reached the wrong hands, and yet...
Once she left the room, Soviet turned to look at China and found that he had fallen asleep at the desk with his head buried in his paperwork.
China’s soft breathing filled the office as Soviet shrugged off his coat and tugged it around his shoulders like a blanket. He carried him over to the couch and before Soviet could leave, he caught sight of China's sleeping expression. Bangs mussed up over his forehead, lips parted slightly around measured breaths. Eyelashes splayed across his cheeks.
Soviet blinked and was about to pull away, but China opened his eyes. He had been caught red-handed.
“Isn’t this a little hypocritical?” China protested, smiling after the initial surprise of waking face-to-face with Soviet subsided. “How can you accuse me of impulsivity when it’s like this?”
Soviet stared at him for a moment before leaning over the couch and pressing him into a kiss. A simple thing with no roughness, no complex emotions pent up. When he pulled away, China looked up at him with this kind of reverence, like a sunflower with its face turned toward the sun.
Soviet pulled him back in, just so he wouldn't have to see that look.
-
Yugoslavia visited him at the point when their bitter relations had started to warm up again. Soviet felt like he was meeting an old brother who still knew him through-and-through despite any period of distance.
“That Chinese comrade,” Yugoslavia said from across the table with a note of intrigue. The two had just made their way through some paperwork, and Soviet glanced at him sharply.
“What about him?”
“Your entanglement is unconventional. Even unwise. You give that guy unlimited charity under the label of collaboration and seem to seek nothing in return. Do you have intentions there, or delusions?” Yugoslavia asked him bluntly. Soviet wanted to ask why it was any of his business, but instead he sighed. Yugoslavia was the last person who could be intimidated by Soviet and Soviet was grateful for it more often than not.
“He will grow up.” He admitted. “Eventually, he will not need my help. He will leave.”
Yugoslavia looked at him incredulously.
“Are you serious?” Yugoslavia asked, raising both eyebrows. “Why are you helping him if that’s how you feel? Do you want him to grow strong or not?”
China was yet another nation hinging all its hopes and futures on this uncertain path which Soviet had carved out. Soviet’s fate was to dutifully shoulder the burden of being the pioneer, the one who happened to have been first at the outset. He wasn't much older nor much more experienced than the rest of them, but his brave face never faltered for their sake and his own.
Yugoslavia had asked the question which swirled in Soviet’s head frequently, that he himself did not know the answer to. How could he mourn his burdens as the great leader of the Socialist camp while resenting the thought that his pupils would someday outgrow their need for his guidance? If China truly came to share this role with Soviet then he would no longer be alone at the top, wasn’t that what he wanted?
Yes, proclaimed his rational mind.
No, whispered his traitorous heart.
“I don’t know.” Said Soviet, and it was only partly a lie.
-
In the summer of that decade, China visited Moscow for a few weeks to discuss the collaboration between the two nations and pressing international affairs. Soviet made endless calls and dealt with scheduling conflicts to arrange two days of respite from their responsibilities. He would take China to see the birch forests of the Russian Far East, bordering China's own territories.
"With the help of Soviet experts in Beijing, China will overcome its decades of technological barriers." Soviet let out a long-suffering sigh. He had already dismissed these remarks numerous times, but China's excited gratitude persisted. "I will work and fight to get back to the top. It will happen."
The train escaped the darkness of a tunnel, as the blinding sun was reflected by the snow and bathed them in daylight. Their private transport barreled along the Trans-Siberian railway, winding through the mountains and valleys of Siberia in all its frigid and lonely beauty. Whatever China was about to say next died in his throat as the scenery captured a chokehold on his attention.
Soviet watched him with a smile. When China resurfaced from his amazement, the insignia Soviet had gifted him all those decades ago was still sitting proudly on his chest. It no longer looked too big on him, but rather China had grown into his role nicely. In the blink of an eye, he was no longer the child sitting across from Soviet, with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a set of lofty ideals yet to be realized.
Soviet regarded him appreciatively. China raised his eyebrows slightly. "What are you looking—ah."
He placed his hand firmly on China's chest, polishing the badge with his thumb. Even though China took care of it earnestly, he could not stop time from rusting and wearing at the edges.
"You're still wearing this old thing." Soviet felt China's breath stutter under his palm. "I will get you a new one sometime. Otherwise, it's unbefitting of your image."
China—who had always been intensely dedicated to saving face—proclaimed with only the slightest indication of being flustered: "Appearances don't matter so much. If Soviet gives it to me, I'll wear it."
Soviet pulled China out of his seat and made him stagger into Soviet's lap. The train sped toward their destination, entering the forest.
This place was the point at which their predecessors had first met each other. Near Manchuria which Soviet had first captured all those years ago and given to China as a base from which to launch his operations. They had pushed back foreign invaders and fought for their dreams here.
The frozen ground crunched beneath their feet. China ran his hand over the bark of one of numerous nearby birch trees, its ashen and pockmarked body littered with scars. A clearing came into view with a lake in the center.
"Have you ever walked on this before?" Soviet asked. The surface of the frozen lake drew hazy reflections of the sky and forest, like a muddled oil painting. China shook his head dubiously.
"Is that really safe—ugh!" Without any warning or fanfare, Soviet dragged him by the arm onto the lake. He had an impressive amount of trust in the ice's ability to support the weight of two adult men without plunging them into the water, but the surface didn't crack. China shouted in protest—stumbling and slipping—and Soviet held onto him.
"I can just do whatever I want like this and you'll be helpless to stop me, right?" To illustrate his point, Soviet grabbed him with one hand in his and one on the small of his back, pulling China into a dip like ballroom dancing. China's stunned expression stared back at him before he regained his bearings and pushed on Soviet's waist to steady himself.
"Soviet..." He grumbled in displeasure as he was forced to continue gripping the other man's arm in order to stay upright. Soviet smiled at how helpless he looked and pulled him into a kiss. The warm breath that clouded in the freezing air was passed between their lips like a secret, a promise, a sweet white lie.
Soviet felt the back of his calf being abruptly hooked by the other man’s leg. He almost lost his balance but China forcefully caught him and switched their positions in an instant. Thankfully, his arrogance paid off as he managed to support them both instead of sending them crashing onto the ice.
Soviet stared at his cheeky grin with an unimpressed look.
“Looks like I’m a fast learner. Shouldn't you be proud of me?”
“Insolent student.” He leveraged his height to push China against a nearby birch by the riverbank. This time, he didn't resist.
Soviet pulled back from the kiss and stared at him for a long moment—his lips swollen from being bitten at, lashes grazing his cheeks when he blinked. They were both out of breath but Soviet swallowed up China’s gasps and his own, and leaned back in for more.
After their energy was exhausted, Soviet lay on the riverbank and stared up at the vast sky. China was sitting beside him, absent-mindedly weaving two reeds together.
"To be honest, I'm a little bit impatient." China suddenly interjected, as if he had been lost in thought.
"I am well aware." China shot him a look of mock-offense before continuing.
"For the day when China finally reaches the heights of a world power again." His dark hair had flecks of snow in it and Soviet reached up to brush them away.
It seemed he had inherited a bit of arrogance from his predecessor, riding the high of his country’s rebirth and continuing to dream big. The higher his ambitions and delusions climbed, the farther he would fall on the way down.
"You'll always be my mentor, and no one can change history." He stared at a point in the distance between the trees. "But one day, I want to stand by your side like an equal and rely on myself. I can't live in your shadow forever, is that right?"
It was these words that made Soviet aware of how much he had indulged himself. The naivete that resurfaced whenever China spoke of socialism, brotherhood, idealogy—Soviet was no longer entitled to those things. He had too much experience to be.
And yet, he had allowed China to drag him into a delusion where he pretended to be the sun, and China sincerely believed he was.
"Right." Soviet’s tone was full of contradictions.
China's ambitions had grown too grand for the two of them, and Soviet had ignored it for the sake of seeing only what he wanted to see. They were each other’s blindspots in this world which allowed no weakness to go unpunished.
"What's the matter?" China gave him a lopsided smile. "You have been burdened by reliance for long enough. Once I grow as prosperous and influential as you, I can make much more meaningful contributions to the Communist International. I can properly repay you for everything."
Soviet would always be too proud to admit how those words gripped his chest like a loss, so he turned his face away from China. The snow on the riverbank was mottled with the hues of the sunset.
After a moment, he spoke. "I will be nothing but proud."
After everything they had already said to each other, what was one more lie?
What Soviet didn’t know is that he would never get the chance to replace that pin for China. Soon enough, he would realize that perhaps the relationship between the two of them had been no more reliable than the frozen surface of a lake in which Soviet misplaced his faith. It reflected muddled distortions of what he wanted to see and passed them off as reality, but there was only a thin layer of ice between them and freezing suffocation. Once the illusion shattered, they would be plunged into the cold.
-
What China didn’t know about was that when he really did start to nap shamelessly in Soviet’s office, Soviet sat next to him on the couch.
He brushed the hair out of China’s face, whispered into the quiet office as he slept, “I’ll protect you,” and Soviet desperately wished it was true.