Chapter Text
| SCENE 0 | Prologue. |
The fever is the only warmth she has.
She tossed and turned on the bed.
Clutching the thick wool blanket tightly over herself as the Siberian cold prickled against her skin.
Her head was burning with a headache. She was at her most uncomfortable.
The winter’s touch seeping through the room as it attempted to give her its cold condolences, pitying her and her predicament.
She doesn't want no pity.
Then the door behind her opened. Heavy footsteps walked towards the bed. A tray was placed beside her, the smell of warm soup made her breath frayed.
A cool hand was pressed upon her forehead, wiping away the sweat of her fever.
She lightly opens her eyes to meet the Soviet’s face in front of her. She made a silent grunt as she turned further away from him.
He hummed at her reaction, his hand still in place of her warm forehead.
«Доброе утро, дорогая.»
*Good morning, dear/darling.
Despite how gentle his voice sounded, it made her headaches worse.
| SCENE I | That Treaty. |
Let us witness the signage of the Treaty!
Behold the United States of America, weakened and weary from recurrent economic crisis, civil unrest and instability. His mind was confused; let's lean in closer to hear the empty static that rests inside of him.
American officials guided his—as if he were adjustable—the tip of the pen at the signature line.
A desperate act for stability and certainty, they kneel to the one who promises to give such a future.
Sitting beside him: the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, who watched in expectancy, as the Soviet witnesses watched in impatience. Restless they are, in a hurry to grasp their destined trophy.
He stared at the American’s hand, an expensive leather glove, befitting for his bourgeois status.
Those same hands, steadfast as they were that signed treaties against him, now trembled—whether from exhaustion or fear.
Before him were two treaties: one in Russian and one in English.
A single signature affects the future for Capitalisms.
His signature.
The US signature.
And it would pave the way for the future of Communism!
Twas ever thus, he wouldn't hand it out for free and negligently. Dropping the pen and grasping at both of the treaties, reading the clauses to the best of his abilities.
What an amusing and irritable sight it was.
The US still has that audacious American spirit within him.
“Both treaties contain what we agree on: ceasing tension, mutual cooperation on trade and security—just as we talked about, America,” the USSR assured.
But the US knew better. He was against him enough that the Soviets aren't the type of people to act in goodwill without ulterior motives.
It would be idiotic to sign a treaty without knowing what the clauses contain.
He was taking his “sweet” time, elongating the signage for a few minutes—a few minutes of wasted time, the Soviets decided.
The USSR eyed an American official.
The official panicked and hurriedly in a whisper tone to just sign the treaties already but he was dismissively waved off.
As if he were ignorant of what he had at stake.
Just to preserve what little pride he has.
The USSR became tired of this behavior. “Your people are restless and you are unwell. I could wait here as long as I want but you don't have that same luxury.”
“I thought you didn't believe in luxury.” The US gave a mocking laugh, though it was weak.
“This contains the future of your people,” the USSR reminded. “Their future is in your hands.”
The US went silent yet still eyeing at the clauses—though he could hardly translate these hieroglyphs due to his dazed mind.
“I no longer have their futures at my grasp anymore.” The US placed the treaties down when they became a headache to read.
“It's already been taken.” He picks up his dropped pen.
And wrote his signatures.
“Congratulations, Commie. You won.” The US attempted to give him his signature smile, but it was upturned and strained.
The USSR picked up his pen and wrote his signature as well.
And those who are present would sign as well to confirm its authenticity and the existence of the act.
| SCENE II | Future? |
Scenes flew past him like moving picture frames, finding its pace to show memories.
The story of an American king, who woke up to find the world at the palm of his hand.
Anxious yet excited of what his future would prosper.
The desire to show the world of American prestige that they have never seen before!
Skies the limit!
He had never flown such heights before!
But Icarus flew close to the sun.
The American prestige he used to hold, he watched as it flew away as dust.
He watched as the empire he worked to grow collapsed; the false promises he would never keep, ruining his future.
The dead bird’s corpse, who once flew, was stepped on by the Soviets.
It turned his body into blue smears of the past as they trudged on forward.
The humiliation.
The indignity.
The vulnerability.
DC shakes him awake, they're back in the United States, staying temporarily in Alaska after their trip to Moscow.
The US lifted himself off from the bed that he collapsed on.
Confusion and irritation seen through his face, then concern to see DC’s complicated expression.
He held the English copy of the treaty in his hand, his eyes in frustration and concern.
“US sir, the treaty is similarly written like—”
Wasn't he warned how opportunistic Soviets are?
| SCENE III | A Sign of Clarity |
The windows were frosted white, obscuring its clear material from seeing the world outside of this small house.
The Siberian cold lightly caresses her skin, each touch sends shivers throughout her body, she almost feared that she would die of hypothermia.
On the bed beside her was the USSR, he was reading a book with a lamp light on.
She watched him as he read.
He caught her watching.
«Всё в порядке?» He asked, turning his head towards her.
*Everything is fine?
She was silent. Her expression is languid and serene, perfectly unreadable, especially for the ever-so observing husband.
Seeing no response and seeing as another odd act from his wife, the USSR continued with his book.
It was then for a few moments, she finally spoke.
“What day is it today?” A slight itch in her voice yet it sounded clear.
The USSR was a bit surprised.
It's been days after her arrival, she hadn't properly spoken because of her current weakened condition; she had been sleeping throughout the days, her mind constantly fading from wakefulness and sleep.
A promising development, it could mean that the United States had been able to stabilize itself and recover. A fortunate thing.
Though by the looks of it, she's still in a weakened state.
The USSR softened his face. As long as she's here, he could take care of her.
| SCENE IV | I’ll return, hopefully. |
“Hell if I would let you take him away—Ugh! Hey!”
Alaska was big enough to drag Texas away from his attempted assault towards the USSR.
“Do you want to cause a diplomatic incident?” She was withholding his arms, dragging him away.
DC has to apologize to the USSR for his behalf, trying to ease tensions.
Yet still the decision is finalized.
With the lingering damages of the previous problems and an attempt to overhaul its entire economic systems.
The US is in a rather unsteady physiology.
Because of this, it has been decided and agreed upon that the US would be under the USSR’s care and custody.
It was discussed among the officials and to strengthen the friendship between them and to make their relationship official, they agreed on this arrangement.
The decision was unpopular, especially for the Americans. They were outraged, if not concerned.
They found it unreasonable as they could care for their embodiment just as fine.
They found it as another form of controlling the country.
But what was done was done.
Or well, that's what the US thinks of it.
It was a miracle he was standing in his current state but he reasoned that he experienced a much worse crisis before.
His states show their discomfort, fears and tears of their boss’s leaving.
Holding each and every of his states' hands, saying every assurance that he would be fine, promising to come back as often.
But was he known to ever keep a promise?
After he was tightly hugged by Texas, who promised him he would take him out if he didn't come back in, at least, four weeks—he boarded the plane with the USSR behind him.
With one last glance of his country, his states, his former prestige and pride. Uncertain if he could ever go back.
| SCENE V | A Bad Case of Homesickness. |
The ride from Nome to Provideniya was smooth and unremarkable.
The USSR decided to pass the time watching his new Soviet-aligned state.
No longer was his clean and impeccable self, his suit was simply dressed for a calm winter, not sustainable for the harshness of the Russian Winter. He noted he would need to give him much better suited outfits.
His hair, despite his informal appearance, was slicked and well-kept, perhaps from the abundant usage of hair gels. It would prove useless once they arrived in Russia.
Though the US does have a sullen air. He forced his usual mask of bravery and self-importance. His iconic Saccharine grin.
But the mask has already become obsolete in his current predicament. It just became amusing for the Soviets.
‘The US is still clinging on to their former bourgeois prestige.’
He heard his men laughing amongst each other.
In a few hours, something struck the US like lightning. A hit to his stomach, which he clutched and groaned in pain.
It was an unexpected turn of event. An inconvenient one.
It was even more inconvenient when it was learned that the US forgot to bring his pain killers.
They gave him water to drink to ease the pain but it barely did anything.
The USSR observed that the US is now in a much worse state.
He looked utterly defeated, winching in pain as he leaned against his seat. After years witnessing at his utmost strength and pride, seeing him at his utmost lowest and weak, it was unnerving.
To imagine his former rival like this.
It was quite pitiful.
Caressing the gloved fingers with his thumb as he watched the US’s slow breath and subtle whimper of pain.
For the remainder of the flight, the USSR held the US’s hand in his time of discomfort.
| SCENE VI | A Cold Welcome. |
He languidly watched as trees emerged from the white fog as they passed by; the sky turned gray, uncertain if it's already night or day.
The US was wearing the Soviet’s coat, it was made from thick material, which helps him keep warm within this snow-filled hellscape.
He has started to miss the green lush grass of the prairie and the warm sunlight that tanned his skin, where the sky is clear and vast.
The whir of the vehicle was the only sound between them.
The USSR’s eyes were focused in front, despite the US not seeing anything from this thick fog. Perhaps, that's one of the symptoms of being a Soviet, being able to see through the fog.
The American was still rather unwell from the plane ride, his stomach was fine but he was still feverish, making him want to drift into deep sleep.
The cold worsened his condition. Especially with how warm the coat is.
Then from a distance, an abstract figure started to form against the car light until they drove closer and became clear.
It was a two story house. The US noted the odd curvature of the roof but he didn't think too deeply of it.
It wasn't extravagant but not too uninteresting, it was rather smaller than he expected—he remembered visiting the Moscow Residence of the USSR during the Cold War.
Unless this isn't Moscow?
He hadn't realized the vehicle had stopped until the passenger’s door opened beside him, out was the USSR's gloved hand.
The US stared at his hand then glanced at him and glanced back at the hand.
The USSR decided to pull him out of the vehicle, the US is still affected with his weakened condition which made him quite listless.
He held him by the shoulder as he gently dragged the American into the house.
The house was more spacious and opened than expected.
Near the entrance was a coat hangar but the US didn't remove the coat off himself, he was still cold. The living room has a fireplace, a sofa, armrests and a coffee table with a rug underneath. The kitchen was beside it, it was simple and ordinary. Across from them is the staircase to the second floor.
The US turned to the USSR with a slightly confused expression but it seemed serene.
The USSR is fortunately accustomed to noticing subtle details of the US.
“This is my dacha,” he explained. “You will be recuperating here until I deemed you well.”
The USSR turned on the lights.
“For now, this will be your new home.”
The USSR turned around and found the US already on the floor, sleeping.