[Fic] Coming Storm (for bleakwinters)
Title: Coming Storm
Author: inner_wings
Recipient: bleakwinters
Characters: Russia, Lenin
Rating: PG
Summary: Russia finds himself drawn to what Lenin has to say, and decides to meet the man himself, face to face.
Lenin was like a thunderstorm, Russia decided. The man radiated quiet energy constantly, with periodic bursts of passion. There was a tension in the air around him, and it was almost intimidating to Russia, almost frightening. But he was always fond of storms as a boy. The earsplitting crashes of thunder might have made him cover his ears and run for the shelter of Ukraine's skirts, but the world was clean again after the storm. Fresh, alive...healthy.
Perhaps Russia himself something extreme to fix himself now. He was sick, had been sick for ages. He could feel it in his people, in their anger and sorrow and dissatisfaction, but the sickness has moved into his body now. The feverishness weakness, the pounding headache, the churning in his stomach...he could barely remember how it felt to be well. It wasn't the first time in his history that problems with his state and people had made him ill. He had been terribly sick during the Time of Troubles too, and it was terrifying to feel himself breaking down like that all over again.
Something was broken deep inside, far deeper than his own body went. There had to be a way to fix it, with a change in policy or laws...or the destructive, frightening healing of a storm. The thought made him shiver, but with apprehension or eagerness, he wasn't sure.
It was that which finally drove him to seek out Vladimir Lenin. He had seen the man speak from a distance on number occasions, read his pamphlets, heard word spread about him on the street under hushed breaths. He could form an option on the man from that range, but there could be no substitute for speaking face to face. Yes, that was the logical next step.
An excuse had to be made up for Nicolas, of course. He couldn't very well tell his Tsar that he would be gone for a few days to meet with a revolutionary. Weak-willed as he was, Nicolas wouldn't stand for that kind of behavior from his country, Russia had no doubt of that.
The excuse, in the end, was that Russia was ill and going to see a doctor in Moscow. It was surely an easy lie to believe; Russia knew he looked wretched. Nicolas had been concerned and sympathetic, offering one of the doctors who tended to his own family if Russia didn't feel well enough for the trip. That was what made Nicolas so difficult. He was wholly inept as a ruler, a spineless fool...but he wasn't an unkind man. Russia couldn't help the little stab of guilt when he thanked Nicolas for the thought, but assured him that he could manage a little traveling.
The rest was relatively easy, making the right arrangements and connections. As with everything, success was all about who you knew, and Russia had taken care to find people who could help him plan a meeting with Lenin in a setting that was unlikely to attract notice or suspicion. Keeping everything a secret from Nicolas was still the utmost priority. Amazingly, for someone who had chronic bad luck like Russia did, the plan went off without a hitch, and he found himself in a quiet sitting room at the agreed upon location, waiting for Lenin to arrive.
Lenin showed up right on schedule, and Russia lept to his feet as the door opened. Lenin seemed sharper up close. More defined.
“You would be Ivan Braginski, then?” The man's brow creased slightly.
“I am,” Russia replied, holding out his hand in greeting. “I have heard much about you, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin.”
Lenin grasped his hand firmly in return...and a change came over his face at once. His eyebrows flinched up just slightly, and then his expression went still. Russia held his breath for a small eternity, until Lenin looked up again with a small, dry smile. “I would never have thought that our Motherland was in fact a man.”
Russia nearly gawked at him. It had been ages since anyone had recognized him like that. It was often a good omen, he found. Those who knew him right away seemed to understand Russia better than any others. St. Vladmir had known him. Peter the Great had. Alexander the Liberator recognized him too. But Nicolas...Nicolas had to be told. Russia had taken him aside after his coronation and tried to explain, but it still took a few hours before the new Tsar was even willing to consider that Russia wasn't completely insane.
What did it mean now, that Lenin has seen through his human flesh?
There were no answers to that question yet, so Russia pushed it from his mind and took a seat across Lenin at the table.
“When I was told about you, I assumed that you were just a man interested in joining our cause,” Lenin began after a moment. “But now I see that you must have a different reason for calling on me.”
Russia swallowed, suddenly uncertain. “I have...read your papers, and listened to your speeches. Of course I have read Marx too, and Chernyshevsky and I...I am interested. I can't commit myself to your Communism at the drop of a hat, but-”
“You wish to hear more? Understandable. But surely you, more than anyone else, can see why Communism is the only way forward for us all now.”
“I...” Oh, he did. He could see it, feel the pull. Hadn't his people always been put in order by their worth? Even as a little child, still with all his baby teeth and still too small for his scarf to fit properly, he remember the hierarchy. The layers were simply built in to his world, and he knew the pains of those who were trapped beneath the weight of the extravagance of those on the top. “I very much like the idea of everyone being equal. And for the laborers to no longer be as slaves...”
“Then what is holding you back? Why do you hesitate?”
Russia stopped again, organizing this thoughts. “I have an...acquaintance,” he began, thinking of America. “A young man who is very much in favor of Capitalism. He tells me about the...ah, what phrase does he use...the 'self made man.' How it is wonderful that all people have the freedom to make the system work for themselves and create their own fortunes. And I...I do see some of that too. I can remember the liberation of the serfs very well, you understand. And how happy so many of my people were to start their own businesses, make their own money and success and rise up in the world.”
“But those self made men, those were the minority, and exception rather than the standard,” Lenin said with unnerving calmness. “For every man who was able to make Capitalism work for him, there are hundreds, thousands more who were exploited, enslaved, hardly better than serfs. For that matter, it was the same ideals of Capitalism that tied you to serfdom as long as you were. Are you content with allowing them to suffer-”
“No!” Russia hadn't meant to shout, but the word came out too loud all the same. “No, I love all my children! I only want the best for them...”
“Then Communism is your only choice. Your people will only suffer under Capitalism. You have been through so many cycles of it, haven't you? You see how it goes around and around, only changing who is exploited and beaten down to keep providing the money. And at the cost of your people's well-being and happiness. You know how badly so many workers are treated, do you not?”
“Isn't there a less extreme option? Improving working conditions-”
“No,” Lenin said flatly. “That will work against us. If the laborers find their situation improving, they may become complacent and lose the motivation to push forward with us. They will settle for their lower position, and things will only continue as they have.” His eyes went sharp, grazing over Russia for a moment. “You are sick. I can see that, but I hardly need to look at you to know about the sickness in this nation. Capitalism is causing you to break down, as it will one day to all nations. It will destroy you, if you allow it to continue as it has been. The only way to overthrow Capitalism is through revolution.”
Revolution. It wasn't difficult to imagine it at all, the tensions finally boiling over into something real and concrete, more than the occasional riot and burst of unorganized violence. Something that could actually change the world. “It will be difficult. A revolution.”
“Naturally. Surely you know that true change like this must be hard won.”
Russia nodded. He knew that lesson well. How often had he paid for safety and success in blood? So often...but if the end result here was a world without hierarchy, a world were everyone was equal, no one was hungry, everyone worked hard and shared everything...it sounded beautiful, like a dream. It was almost hard to imagine such a thing. He was almost reluctant to believe in it, but here was a man offering him all the things he always wanted but never thought were possible.
“I-I will think on what you have said,” Russia whispered, reaching out to shake Lenin's hand again.
“Don't think too long on it, comrade,” Lenin said, locking his eyes with Russia's. “And when...ah, if you chose to join our cause, you may contact me in the same way you did for today. I will welcome you with open arms.”
Russia headed back outside with a spinning head, suddenly loath to return to Nicolas and his extravagant, shining world. Dark rain clouds had begun to gather overhead and Russia tightened the scarf around his neck, bracing himself for the coming storm.
Author: inner_wings
Recipient: bleakwinters
Characters: Russia, Lenin
Rating: PG
Summary: Russia finds himself drawn to what Lenin has to say, and decides to meet the man himself, face to face.
Lenin was like a thunderstorm, Russia decided. The man radiated quiet energy constantly, with periodic bursts of passion. There was a tension in the air around him, and it was almost intimidating to Russia, almost frightening. But he was always fond of storms as a boy. The earsplitting crashes of thunder might have made him cover his ears and run for the shelter of Ukraine's skirts, but the world was clean again after the storm. Fresh, alive...healthy.
Perhaps Russia himself something extreme to fix himself now. He was sick, had been sick for ages. He could feel it in his people, in their anger and sorrow and dissatisfaction, but the sickness has moved into his body now. The feverishness weakness, the pounding headache, the churning in his stomach...he could barely remember how it felt to be well. It wasn't the first time in his history that problems with his state and people had made him ill. He had been terribly sick during the Time of Troubles too, and it was terrifying to feel himself breaking down like that all over again.
Something was broken deep inside, far deeper than his own body went. There had to be a way to fix it, with a change in policy or laws...or the destructive, frightening healing of a storm. The thought made him shiver, but with apprehension or eagerness, he wasn't sure.
It was that which finally drove him to seek out Vladimir Lenin. He had seen the man speak from a distance on number occasions, read his pamphlets, heard word spread about him on the street under hushed breaths. He could form an option on the man from that range, but there could be no substitute for speaking face to face. Yes, that was the logical next step.
An excuse had to be made up for Nicolas, of course. He couldn't very well tell his Tsar that he would be gone for a few days to meet with a revolutionary. Weak-willed as he was, Nicolas wouldn't stand for that kind of behavior from his country, Russia had no doubt of that.
The excuse, in the end, was that Russia was ill and going to see a doctor in Moscow. It was surely an easy lie to believe; Russia knew he looked wretched. Nicolas had been concerned and sympathetic, offering one of the doctors who tended to his own family if Russia didn't feel well enough for the trip. That was what made Nicolas so difficult. He was wholly inept as a ruler, a spineless fool...but he wasn't an unkind man. Russia couldn't help the little stab of guilt when he thanked Nicolas for the thought, but assured him that he could manage a little traveling.
The rest was relatively easy, making the right arrangements and connections. As with everything, success was all about who you knew, and Russia had taken care to find people who could help him plan a meeting with Lenin in a setting that was unlikely to attract notice or suspicion. Keeping everything a secret from Nicolas was still the utmost priority. Amazingly, for someone who had chronic bad luck like Russia did, the plan went off without a hitch, and he found himself in a quiet sitting room at the agreed upon location, waiting for Lenin to arrive.
Lenin showed up right on schedule, and Russia lept to his feet as the door opened. Lenin seemed sharper up close. More defined.
“You would be Ivan Braginski, then?” The man's brow creased slightly.
“I am,” Russia replied, holding out his hand in greeting. “I have heard much about you, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin.”
Lenin grasped his hand firmly in return...and a change came over his face at once. His eyebrows flinched up just slightly, and then his expression went still. Russia held his breath for a small eternity, until Lenin looked up again with a small, dry smile. “I would never have thought that our Motherland was in fact a man.”
Russia nearly gawked at him. It had been ages since anyone had recognized him like that. It was often a good omen, he found. Those who knew him right away seemed to understand Russia better than any others. St. Vladmir had known him. Peter the Great had. Alexander the Liberator recognized him too. But Nicolas...Nicolas had to be told. Russia had taken him aside after his coronation and tried to explain, but it still took a few hours before the new Tsar was even willing to consider that Russia wasn't completely insane.
What did it mean now, that Lenin has seen through his human flesh?
There were no answers to that question yet, so Russia pushed it from his mind and took a seat across Lenin at the table.
“When I was told about you, I assumed that you were just a man interested in joining our cause,” Lenin began after a moment. “But now I see that you must have a different reason for calling on me.”
Russia swallowed, suddenly uncertain. “I have...read your papers, and listened to your speeches. Of course I have read Marx too, and Chernyshevsky and I...I am interested. I can't commit myself to your Communism at the drop of a hat, but-”
“You wish to hear more? Understandable. But surely you, more than anyone else, can see why Communism is the only way forward for us all now.”
“I...” Oh, he did. He could see it, feel the pull. Hadn't his people always been put in order by their worth? Even as a little child, still with all his baby teeth and still too small for his scarf to fit properly, he remember the hierarchy. The layers were simply built in to his world, and he knew the pains of those who were trapped beneath the weight of the extravagance of those on the top. “I very much like the idea of everyone being equal. And for the laborers to no longer be as slaves...”
“Then what is holding you back? Why do you hesitate?”
Russia stopped again, organizing this thoughts. “I have an...acquaintance,” he began, thinking of America. “A young man who is very much in favor of Capitalism. He tells me about the...ah, what phrase does he use...the 'self made man.' How it is wonderful that all people have the freedom to make the system work for themselves and create their own fortunes. And I...I do see some of that too. I can remember the liberation of the serfs very well, you understand. And how happy so many of my people were to start their own businesses, make their own money and success and rise up in the world.”
“But those self made men, those were the minority, and exception rather than the standard,” Lenin said with unnerving calmness. “For every man who was able to make Capitalism work for him, there are hundreds, thousands more who were exploited, enslaved, hardly better than serfs. For that matter, it was the same ideals of Capitalism that tied you to serfdom as long as you were. Are you content with allowing them to suffer-”
“No!” Russia hadn't meant to shout, but the word came out too loud all the same. “No, I love all my children! I only want the best for them...”
“Then Communism is your only choice. Your people will only suffer under Capitalism. You have been through so many cycles of it, haven't you? You see how it goes around and around, only changing who is exploited and beaten down to keep providing the money. And at the cost of your people's well-being and happiness. You know how badly so many workers are treated, do you not?”
“Isn't there a less extreme option? Improving working conditions-”
“No,” Lenin said flatly. “That will work against us. If the laborers find their situation improving, they may become complacent and lose the motivation to push forward with us. They will settle for their lower position, and things will only continue as they have.” His eyes went sharp, grazing over Russia for a moment. “You are sick. I can see that, but I hardly need to look at you to know about the sickness in this nation. Capitalism is causing you to break down, as it will one day to all nations. It will destroy you, if you allow it to continue as it has been. The only way to overthrow Capitalism is through revolution.”
Revolution. It wasn't difficult to imagine it at all, the tensions finally boiling over into something real and concrete, more than the occasional riot and burst of unorganized violence. Something that could actually change the world. “It will be difficult. A revolution.”
“Naturally. Surely you know that true change like this must be hard won.”
Russia nodded. He knew that lesson well. How often had he paid for safety and success in blood? So often...but if the end result here was a world without hierarchy, a world were everyone was equal, no one was hungry, everyone worked hard and shared everything...it sounded beautiful, like a dream. It was almost hard to imagine such a thing. He was almost reluctant to believe in it, but here was a man offering him all the things he always wanted but never thought were possible.
“I-I will think on what you have said,” Russia whispered, reaching out to shake Lenin's hand again.
“Don't think too long on it, comrade,” Lenin said, locking his eyes with Russia's. “And when...ah, if you chose to join our cause, you may contact me in the same way you did for today. I will welcome you with open arms.”
Russia headed back outside with a spinning head, suddenly loath to return to Nicolas and his extravagant, shining world. Dark rain clouds had begun to gather overhead and Russia tightened the scarf around his neck, bracing himself for the coming storm.