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"Sir, you look very chipper today." Commander Reinhardt pointed out to America, who was leaning against the side of the boat, looking out across the river with a wide grin on his face.
"Of course!" America smiled back at him, eyes shining. "The battlefronts between the Soviet Union and us are meeting soon - we're actually cutting Germany in half! The war is pretty much over!"
Commander Reinhardt smiled. "For once, you're putting your loathing of the communists to the side."
"'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,'" America quipped back, before turning back around to stare at the horizon.
No more conversation was made after that. The waves of the river crashing against the sides of their boat filled their ears, along with the tense, eager anticipation of when they would finally see the Red Army on the other side of the river.
Slowly but surely, the bank on the other side grew bigger in their view. Standing on the bank was a group of soldiers, and at the head of them all - a towering man wearing a military cap and suit, staring at them through one increasingly visible eye.
"We're here." America murmured, awestruck. Nobody responded to him, but they were all thinking the same thing.
~~~
"Sir, I see the boats approaching."
"Thank you for the update, Rusakov." Soviet replied, staring out at the dark shapes on the Elbe River, growing nearer with every second. "We will meet them as we are."
The 58th Guards Rifle Division stood and watched as the American troops stopped their boats at the edge of the bank, barking orders at each other in English while anchoring the vessels. Soviet's attention was captured by one man in particular - a man sitting in the front of the first boat, also locking eyes with him. The representative of the United States of America - normally Soviet's number one enemy, but not today. Today, blue eyes met gold, mutual admiration and relief communicated in one silent glance. America's eyes sparkled as he gazed softly up at Soviet, a strange fondness deep in those icy pools that he had never seen before, nor was he likely to ever see them again.
The eye contact was broken when a commander said something to America in English, and America looked at him, before nodding and clambering out of the boat.
The American army quickly gathered on shore, and while the Soviet soldiers and the American ones stayed in their own respective groups, chatter quickly started, and the mutual excitement could be felt between the two troops.
America and Soviet locked eyes again. Despite himself, Soviet couldn't help but crack a small smile. "It's nice to see you on this side of town, Америка."
America grinned wider, and it looked like he was about to say something, but then the needs of his soldiers caught his attention again. "Wha... yes, let's make camp." He turned back to Soviet. "Would you be willing to let us place our tents with you? We can celebrate tonight before taking the official photos tomorrow."
Soviet nodded. "Indeed, today and tomorrow will go down in history. I would be mistaken to deprive our men of the opportunity to relish the riches of our victory. We will lead you to our camp.
"Thank you." America turned back around and relayed the information to one of the men.
Soviet quickly organized his troops to lead the men to their campsite, and the Americans followed behind.
~~~
Tents were set up, formalities had concluded, and now American and Soviet soldiers alike were partying in the starlight, drinking beer, singing, and having the time of their lives. Quite a few broken conversations had commenced, where English and Russian was shot back and forth, drunken men somehow having a joyful conversation in both. And Soviet and America themselves were no strangers to the ecstasy. They were together by a campfire that lit the night a dazzling orange and gold, throwing sparks everywhere as the countries laughed and talked like old friends.
"Soviet, can you dance?" America asked, giddy and drunk on something a bit stronger than the army-provided beer.
Soviet startled. "Well, I don't really do it much- it's been a while-"
"I'll teach you, then!" America pulled him in, one hand on Soviet's waist and the other holding one of the communist's own hands. "Here-"
And the American pulled him into a quick, sprightly waltz, one that left Soviet cursing and tripping over his feet, falling in a heap on the ground. "Hey!" He exclaimed, rolling over onto his back and staring at America accusingly.
"Oops." America giggled and reached a hand out to help him up. Soviet, still glaring daggers at him, took it, then stood up, brushing grass off of his pants.
"Well then, if you don't know that one- what dances do you know?" America put his hands on his hips, cheeks and nose tainted pink.
Soviet blinked, shifting from one foot to the other. "Um, I learned a few Russian country dances when I was young."
America's eyes sparkled. "Can I see?"
Soviet hesitantly took America's hands, carefully explaining every step of the dance to him. He stopped momentarily, realizing that America was staring at his face, and not at his feet.
"What?" He asked, bemused.
"Nothing, I'm just really glad to be here." America's gaze was adoring, appearing just as, perhaps even more captivated by the Soviet Union as Soviet was by him.
Soviet felt a little heat rise to his cheeks. "Right, then. Okay, the next part of this is..."
After the explanation was finished, and the two of them did a few test runs, which included a lot of American clumsiness and American laughter, America declared himself ready to take on the actual thing. Both of them danced in the grass for who knows how long, both of them singing mismatched songs. America's voice was loud and jubilant, carrying across the campsite as he danced like no one and everyone was watching at the same time. Soviet's voice was quieter, slower, and lower, but still there.
"This is so fun!" America giggled. He turned back to Soviet. "Don't you think so?"
"..."
"Soviet?"
Soviet slowly stopped dancing and looked away, downcast.
"Hey, what's up?" America stopped as well, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"...Does today carry no melancholy for you?"
"I'm sorry?"
Soviet exhaled. "It's just that... there's so much that has happened that led to this point. So many people have died just to get to where we are now. And... Na..." He trailed off, evidently unable to finish the sentence.
After a few deep breaths, he continued. "Today is the result of one of my closest friends turning his back on me, threatening the lives of my kids. Years of pain, shock, grief, and an undying thirst for revenge is what led me here. And that's what got you here too... in a way." America grimaced, understanding that Soviet was referring to that dreadful day when Pearl Harbor had been bombed.
"It's... a full circle moment, I guess, but in one of the bitterest ways." Soviet's hand trailed up to his face, unconsciously tracing the black eyepatch, marking the spot where the Third Reich's knife had once been dug deep into his eye. Today was the result of something he never could've foreseen happening, not until the crook that he once called friend was at his border with innumerable squadrons, his true intentions revealed.
"Oh." America frowned. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Soviet's ear, a little more serious than before. "That... sucks."
Soviet didn't say anything. He didn't have anything to say.
"Well, you can't do anything about it, can you?" America asked. "It's something that someone else decided to do, it's out of your control, and most importantly, it's over. You know, you'll be miserable your whole life if you keep moping over things you can't change."
"You think I should just... leave it behind?"
"At least for today." America, still holding eye contact, stepped in closer, one hand near the base of Soviet's neck, the other winding in his hair. "It's no good to spend all your time thinking about the darkness. If a long life of regrets has taught me anything, it's that sometimes, you have to let it go."
For a moment, Soviet's heart stuttered, wondering if America was about to kiss him. In today's wildly euphoric state, he might've done anything.
But America pulled away before that could happen. He ran to the edge of the riverbank, throwing his arms out wide and beaming at the stars, which were blinking slowly in the sky and glimmering in the water. "Don't you see the starlight, Soviet? Don't you see how bright it is, even in the dead of night? Don't you just want to touch the stars, even though you know it's an impossible dream?"
"I..." Soviet stared at the night sky, where pricks of light were poking through the darkness like pin holes in paper.
"Let your mind run free! Forget the burdens that weigh you down, knock over the paperweights in your head and let your imagination be a feather in the wind. Soviet, this is the day to cast off your golden cage of troubles, and be a singing bird, getting to know the wind and the light of the sun, the space that is this world, and the even bigger field that is your imagination, unchained! Hey, what's your craziest dream?"
Those four words tugged him forward, a lightness in his chest. The shackles around his throat loosened, and words that he never thought would come out of him started spilling from his lips, exposing a part of himself that he never thought would see the light of day again. "I... I dream of playing a magical piano, one that could enchant the galaxies." He nearly felt embarrassed talking about his childhood fantasies, but somehow, tonight, staring at the stars with America by his side, he felt that it was alright. "I want to play the violin for the stars, I want them to love the music, and I want them to love me, the creator of the sounds. I want to bring peace to the world with a single note. When I'm not the Soviet Union, I wish I could be the greatest musician in not just the world, but the entire universe. That's my dream."
"Then tonight, that's real." America pulled his hand again, a little further away from the edge of the river, just so neither of them would fall in. "Tonight, you're the greatest musician in the universe, and I'm the one who discovers you from somewhere else in space!"
"America-?!"
America was dancing again, cheeks glowing in the starlight. "We could rule the world together, Soviet! We could turn our sights towards space, and expand our empire to the moon! We could be the favorite of the gods, blessed by any heavenly body who turns a cheek toward us!"
"You're talking crazy!" Soviet chastised him, but he was half laughing. "The moon?!"
"Today is a day for miracles, is it not?" America replied. "Did you ever think we'd be here today, dancing together by the firelight?"
Soviet admittedly shook his head no.
"Then anything's possible! Don't restrain yourself, Soviet! Just forget this world, and totally leave it behind!"
"How far are you willing to go with this?"
"As far as my mind will take me!" America's eyes were shining, and he was alight with such pure, happy energy that Soviet couldn't help but feel it seeping into his blood as well. "We could get married, we could be kings- we could make the world our playground, we could be anything we want to be!"
The silent but lingered in the air, unsaid, and Soviet knew all too well what it was. We could be anything but forever. For this night was a fleeting moment in time, a strange anomaly of camaraderie and peace in an otherwise everlasting rivalry between them. This freedom would last for mere hours at most, while their enmity would last until the end of time. But for now, this was forever. The future didn't matter. Today, they'll live in a fantasy of their own, one that could stretch eternally, if only in their own minds. The ocean was there, a sea of possibilities that was his for the taking. So he took a deep breath- and dove right in.
He picked America up, earning a surprised yelp from the smaller man, who quickly wrapped his arms around his neck, screaming at Soviet to not let him fall. Soviet laughed, possibly more than he ever had since his childhood days, spinning them around and around. After he was done screaming, America started singing again, some old, jovial folk tune filling the air, and the two of them ran around for hours, screaming nonsense and wild fantasies, letting reality slip away.
America must've kissed him at some point, because somewhere in the wild, blurry haze that was Soviet's memory of the night, the two of them rolled over in the grass, and taken over by some strange, nameless impulse, America's hand on the back of his neck pulled him upwards for their lips to meet. And Soviet just let it happen - they would've been in big trouble if anyone had found out, but it didn't matter then. He didn't even remember whether it really happened or not, but if it did, he didn't regret it. He didn't regret anything about that night, for it was the one night that he let his soul fly free, as clean and unperturbed as a child's. No consequences, just the ability to do whatever they wanted with no one to see, no one to care. And when you think about it, isn't that the true definition of freedom?
The famous moment was photographed the next day, when two army lieutenants, one from the U.S. Army and one from the Red Army shook hands in front of their flags, marking the one true moment of peace between the United States and the Soviet Union, the one true moment of togetherness in a century of distrust and unrest. But the real snapshot of camaraderie had occurred the night before, when two country representatives let everything go, frolicking like children in paradise, snatching advantage of the one time when nobody had been watching.
And like most of the beautiful moments, this was photographed only by the stars.