❝now i wonder what my life is going to mean if its gone❞
Title: Don’t Be Such A Stranger
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 2,250
Characters: America ; Vietnam (brief mentions of France)
Rating: PG
Warnings: n/a
Summary: My fill for hetaliasunshine, written at parable91's request. Long after the war is over, Vietnam and America finally begin to reconcile. He invites her on a road trip across his country, which she reluctantly agrees to. One week together will test their relationship and change it-but in the end, Vietnam finds it worth the cost.
Don’t Be Such A Stranger
“Please, remind me again why I agreed to this?”
France, standing beside her, ran a hand through his blonde hair and chuckled. “Don’t ask me, cherie; I didn’t tell you to come.”
Vietnam scowled at him, dark lined etched across her otherwise pleasant face. “Yes, but you just had to point out how pitiful America looked, and couldn’t I cut him some slack just this once, and ‘fifty years is a long time to nurse a grudge, Vi’.” The last words were delivered in perfect French as Vietnam slipped into the accent as naturally as she spoke her own language.
“But did I say you had to come?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “No. You didn’t say that.”
“So, you’ll agree with me when I say you made the decision to come on your own?” She nodded, reluctantly. “And therefore, a little part of you-une très petite partie-must want to forgive him.”
“I wouldn’t go that far!” Vietnam exploded, her cheeks turning a vibrant scarlet as pounded small fists against France’s chest. “Don’t just jump to conclusions, like that!”
“…um, France? Viet? What are you doing?”
Vietnam spun around so quickly that her ponytail managed to whip France in the face. America stood there, looking perfectly casual and a bit perplexed. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his faded jeans, the other was adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose.
“Y-you’re early!” she muttered, avoiding his gaze.
America glanced at his watch. “We said eight-thirty, didn’t we?”
Vietnam sighed. “I suppose we did.” She turned back to France for a moment, but he merely quirked an eyebrow at her as though to say-Don’t look at me. You got yourself into this. Vietnam huffed out a sigh and looked to America. “Let’s get going, then.”
“Right-o,” America said, a boyish grin lighting up his features. “Let’s roll.”
Waving goodbye to France, Vietnam followed America away from her embassy and towards the parking lot. It took her a moment to recognize which car was his, but when she did, she let loose a groan.
“Oh, no-I am not going on a road trip with you in that screaming metal deathtrap-no, absolutely not.”
America, who had already opened the passenger’s door for her, stopped and tilted his head. “Are you seriously dissing my car, Viet?”
Once again, Vietnam crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance. She eyed the crimson Ford pickup with distaste, deciding she much preferred the sleeker automobiles manufactured in her brothers’ homelands.
“It’s perfectly safe, I promise…” The words trailed out of America’s mouth, and he caught Vietnam’s eye for a moment. They stood frozen, both caught in reverie.
“It’s perfectly safe, I promise!” America roared over the thunder as rain poured down upon them. Vietnam nodded, and signaled for her troops to keep going.
“The Viet Cong…” America muttered, his hands clenched around the gun. “Be careful, Viet…we can’t let them…” His words caught in his throat as Vietnam, several feet ahead of him by now, went up in flames. The landmine struck fiercely, and the troops’ screams echoed through the dark, rainy forest.
“Whatever,” Vietnam said, breaking the awkward silence. “Let’s just get this over with.” Ignoring America’s outstretched hand, she hoisted herself up into the passenger seat. America chuckled ruefully and took his own seat.
“Stop number one,” he said with a smirk, “New York.”
---
When people asked her, she said that she couldn’t remember why she had trusted America so much for so long. No one was ignorant of their history, and so people didn’t press the issue. Still, Vietnam’s sister had asked her, once, “Were you in love with him?”
Vietnam had sighed and shaken her head. “No,” she had replied. “But if I was, it would be because of New York.”
She had fallen asleep, lulled by the steady motion of the car and the silence created when she refused to respond to America’s abortive attempts at conversation. Her head leaned against the window, and her shell-pink lips were slightly parted-she looked peaceful, content.
America knew that she wasn’t. One hand on the wheel and the other leaned against the open window, he was actually concentrating more on her than the road.
“Heroes take care of people,” he murmured thoughtfully as he took the exit for New York City, “but I wasn’t too good at that, when it came to her.”
Vietnam, finally roused, glanced up with a yawn. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she glanced questioningly at him. “Did you say something?”
“Nope,” America replied easily. “Not a thing.”
He parked a few miles outside of the city-the citizens were always happy to watch “Mr. Alfred’s” car for him-and they took a bus into the city. It was midday, and so the sun beat down heavily upon Times Square as Vietnam tried to take in everything-the people, the noise, the lights.
“Y’know,” America began tentatively as they perused through Central Parks, hotdogs in hand, “I’m really waiting for you to ask.”
Vietnam, whose speech had been no less guarded as the day progressed, quirked an eyebrow at the other nation. “Ask what?”
“Well, when I invited you spend the week with me, I thought you’d say no. So when you said yes, I expected you to ask me why I invited you in the first place.”
Vietnam shrugged. “I guessed the reason.”
“Really.”
“Yes.” She brushed the inky hair back from her face and gave America a discerning look. “You’re all about saving face, America. Everyone knows it. Lots of people see you as a big, strong hero-and to some people, I guess you are. So when something happens that tarnishes that golden reputation, you want to fix it.”
“…you think that I’m just trying to save face?”
“I know you are. Easily abandoned once, easily abandoned again. Little boys don’t pick up toys again once they’re broken. And what could I possibly be to you, but a broken toy?”
“You and your family, the lot of you, need to stop speaking in such cryptic metaphors,” America muttered. He shook his head, a bit sadly, a bit ironically. “Maybe this isn’t about saving face to the rest of the world. No one even knows you’re here! Maybe you used to be my friend, and I missed you. God, and people say I’m suspicious.”
Something in Vietnam untwisted and began to mend. “You used to be,” she replied, a soft smile lighting her lips. “But, lately, you’ve gotten less so.”
She reached up and grabbed America’s glasses off of his face before he had a chance to react.
“Race you to that oak!” she yelled, and then she was off like a bullet, her hair swaying out behind her like a victory banner.
“Viet!” America cried, surprised. But then his words were covered by a hearty, albeit indignant, laugh. “Get back here with Texas!”
---
“Are you kidding me?” Vietnam wailed, throwing her head to the sky. “We get through three days-we see New York, Boston, and New Orleans without incident, and this is what stops us?”
America blushed. “I forgot to stop for gas,” he shrugged apologetically.
Vietnam kicked the car with one booted foot, glaring meanly at it. “Honestly!” she cried.
America wiped the sweat from his brow and rolled his eyes. “Hey, it’s not like I’m thrilled about it, either. No one wants to be stranded on Route 66 in the middle of the summer, especially not at noon.”
“I guess Houston will have to wait, then,” Vietnam pouted. “And I was so looking forward to shopping at the Galleria!”
“When did you get so into fashion?” America asked. “I haven’t seen you in an ao dai, lately.”
Vietnam laughed. “I don’t know…I guess when my economy started picking up, I had more time to deal with it. And Mei-mei’s always pestering me to go shopping with her, in Hong Kong, and Korea…” She glanced down at her wardrobe skeptically. Short skirt, knee-high boots, a loose, layered blouse. Draped necklaces and thin woven bracelets, and her favorite chunky watch. The only things about her that resembled the nation America had known has her hair-tied back in its customary ponytail-and her eyes-bright, playful, and yet still filled with something darker, as well.
“It’s cute,” America assured her, leaning forward to ruffle her hair. She stiffened, for a moment, but then relaxed. America grinned. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her towards the curbside, “let’s not just wait here.”
“I’m not walking thirty miles to Houston!”
“Who said you were?” America asked with another laugh. The truth donned on her as he stuck his out his arm, thumb pointed towards the sky. “What’s a road trip without some good, old-fashioned hitch-hiking?”
---
“Wow, when you said ‘sea to shining sea’, America, you weren’t kidding.”
America, who had wasted no time in stripping to the waist, turned to her and smiled broadly. “Of course not! I never lie, especially not in songs!”
“I don’t know very many of your songs,” she confessed. “Well, the ones about you.” Instead removing clothing like America was doing, she rolled up her slim jeans to above her knees and wading carefully into the water. The Pacific Ocean lapped playfully against her flushed skin.
“There’s tons-I’ll teach you some. ‘The Star-spangled Banner’ is my favorite, though.”
“You’re such a narcissist.” She wrinkled her nose.
“So?” he asked blandly. “What’s wrong with being narcissistic if you’re actually the best?”
She laughed at the sheer absurdity of her words. “Do you even hear yourself, half of the time?”
“Hey, I’m not as bad as Texas,” America insisted.
“I know that first hand, now-no one is as bad as Texas!”
As their shared laughter died down, America began ticking off the days on his fingers. “Sunday, New York. Monday, Boston. Tuesday, New Orleans. Wednesday, Houston. Thursday, Chicago. Friday, Denver. And now, Saturday-Los Angeles. It’s almost over, isn’t it?”
“Today’s the last day,” she agreed. She jumped over an incoming wave and giggled. “Maybe we should have just spent the whole day at the beach!”
“So LA’s your favorite, then?”
“I couldn’t say,” she murmured idly. “The ocean will always be dear to me, though. But New York is the city of light and color, and fashion. And Boston was old and beautiful…it’s just too hard to choose!”
“I felt the same way,” America said.
“What?”
“When I saw all of you. Saigon was amazing-you guys aren’t kidding when you call it a pearl-but then, the north was full of forests and there were your oceans and ports…it was all beautiful, Viet.”
America sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“I’m sorry, you know. That I had to be so harsh with all that beauty. But I’m not regretful. I was trying to save you.”
“Fifty years is a long time to nurse a grudge.”
Vietnam thought of her eldest brother, and of Russia-both of them had said very similar things to her, once. She nodded, slowly. “I know, America. You were trying to be the hero. And, it’s…alright. I forgive you.”
A bright, vibrant smile lit up America’s boyish features. They were probably about the same age, but sometimes Vietnam felt older than him, and other times she felt so much younger. For this moment, however, she felt something entirely knew-that she and America were equals.
“Hey, if you forgive me, then tell me something,” America said.
“What?”
“What’re your songs like?”
Vietnam smiled gently. In response to his question, she lifted her head to the sky and began to sing. “Đoàn quân Việt Nam đi, Chung lòng cứu quốc, Bước chân dồn vang trên đường gập ghềnh xa, Cờ in máu chiến thắng mang hồn nước, Súng ngoài xa chen khúc quân hành ca…”
“What does it mean?” he asked when she had finished.
She gave him a sideways glance before responding, “Armies of Vietnam, forward! With one single determination to save our Fatherland, Our hurried steps resound on the long and arduous road. Our flag, red with the blood of victory, bears the spirit of the country. The distant rumbling of the guns mingles with our marching song…”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “But also strong. It’s a good fit for you, I think.”
Vietnam turned away to hide her blush.
---
“A week is too short a time,” she murmured wistfully. They were at LAX airport, and America was preparing to see her onto the plane that would take her back to Saigon.
“Well,” he said, “it’s not quite over, just yet.”
“Huh?” Vietnam turned, and found herself confronted by a mass of at least a hundred people. She recognized them-their features and faces, their hair and eyes and teeth. Something about them resonated deep within her-these were her people. “What is…?”
“Come again soon, Vietnam!”
“Anh Yew Em!”
“We’ll miss you!”
America came up behind her. “Vietnamese-Americans,” he said proudly. “So no one can ever say that we’re not friends, again.”
Vietnam smiled, and then, instinctively, threw her arms around America in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “This week…it’s been amazing.”
“Well, don’t be such a stranger!” he said. “And then maybe I’ll show you such a good time, again.”
“Yes-we shouldn’t be strangers.”
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 2,250
Characters: America ; Vietnam (brief mentions of France)
Rating: PG
Warnings: n/a
Summary: My fill for hetaliasunshine, written at parable91's request. Long after the war is over, Vietnam and America finally begin to reconcile. He invites her on a road trip across his country, which she reluctantly agrees to. One week together will test their relationship and change it-but in the end, Vietnam finds it worth the cost.
Don’t Be Such A Stranger
“Please, remind me again why I agreed to this?”
France, standing beside her, ran a hand through his blonde hair and chuckled. “Don’t ask me, cherie; I didn’t tell you to come.”
Vietnam scowled at him, dark lined etched across her otherwise pleasant face. “Yes, but you just had to point out how pitiful America looked, and couldn’t I cut him some slack just this once, and ‘fifty years is a long time to nurse a grudge, Vi’.” The last words were delivered in perfect French as Vietnam slipped into the accent as naturally as she spoke her own language.
“But did I say you had to come?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “No. You didn’t say that.”
“So, you’ll agree with me when I say you made the decision to come on your own?” She nodded, reluctantly. “And therefore, a little part of you-une très petite partie-must want to forgive him.”
“I wouldn’t go that far!” Vietnam exploded, her cheeks turning a vibrant scarlet as pounded small fists against France’s chest. “Don’t just jump to conclusions, like that!”
“…um, France? Viet? What are you doing?”
Vietnam spun around so quickly that her ponytail managed to whip France in the face. America stood there, looking perfectly casual and a bit perplexed. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his faded jeans, the other was adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose.
“Y-you’re early!” she muttered, avoiding his gaze.
America glanced at his watch. “We said eight-thirty, didn’t we?”
Vietnam sighed. “I suppose we did.” She turned back to France for a moment, but he merely quirked an eyebrow at her as though to say-Don’t look at me. You got yourself into this. Vietnam huffed out a sigh and looked to America. “Let’s get going, then.”
“Right-o,” America said, a boyish grin lighting up his features. “Let’s roll.”
Waving goodbye to France, Vietnam followed America away from her embassy and towards the parking lot. It took her a moment to recognize which car was his, but when she did, she let loose a groan.
“Oh, no-I am not going on a road trip with you in that screaming metal deathtrap-no, absolutely not.”
America, who had already opened the passenger’s door for her, stopped and tilted his head. “Are you seriously dissing my car, Viet?”
Once again, Vietnam crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance. She eyed the crimson Ford pickup with distaste, deciding she much preferred the sleeker automobiles manufactured in her brothers’ homelands.
“It’s perfectly safe, I promise…” The words trailed out of America’s mouth, and he caught Vietnam’s eye for a moment. They stood frozen, both caught in reverie.
“It’s perfectly safe, I promise!” America roared over the thunder as rain poured down upon them. Vietnam nodded, and signaled for her troops to keep going.
“The Viet Cong…” America muttered, his hands clenched around the gun. “Be careful, Viet…we can’t let them…” His words caught in his throat as Vietnam, several feet ahead of him by now, went up in flames. The landmine struck fiercely, and the troops’ screams echoed through the dark, rainy forest.
“Whatever,” Vietnam said, breaking the awkward silence. “Let’s just get this over with.” Ignoring America’s outstretched hand, she hoisted herself up into the passenger seat. America chuckled ruefully and took his own seat.
“Stop number one,” he said with a smirk, “New York.”
---
When people asked her, she said that she couldn’t remember why she had trusted America so much for so long. No one was ignorant of their history, and so people didn’t press the issue. Still, Vietnam’s sister had asked her, once, “Were you in love with him?”
Vietnam had sighed and shaken her head. “No,” she had replied. “But if I was, it would be because of New York.”
She had fallen asleep, lulled by the steady motion of the car and the silence created when she refused to respond to America’s abortive attempts at conversation. Her head leaned against the window, and her shell-pink lips were slightly parted-she looked peaceful, content.
America knew that she wasn’t. One hand on the wheel and the other leaned against the open window, he was actually concentrating more on her than the road.
“Heroes take care of people,” he murmured thoughtfully as he took the exit for New York City, “but I wasn’t too good at that, when it came to her.”
Vietnam, finally roused, glanced up with a yawn. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she glanced questioningly at him. “Did you say something?”
“Nope,” America replied easily. “Not a thing.”
He parked a few miles outside of the city-the citizens were always happy to watch “Mr. Alfred’s” car for him-and they took a bus into the city. It was midday, and so the sun beat down heavily upon Times Square as Vietnam tried to take in everything-the people, the noise, the lights.
“Y’know,” America began tentatively as they perused through Central Parks, hotdogs in hand, “I’m really waiting for you to ask.”
Vietnam, whose speech had been no less guarded as the day progressed, quirked an eyebrow at the other nation. “Ask what?”
“Well, when I invited you spend the week with me, I thought you’d say no. So when you said yes, I expected you to ask me why I invited you in the first place.”
Vietnam shrugged. “I guessed the reason.”
“Really.”
“Yes.” She brushed the inky hair back from her face and gave America a discerning look. “You’re all about saving face, America. Everyone knows it. Lots of people see you as a big, strong hero-and to some people, I guess you are. So when something happens that tarnishes that golden reputation, you want to fix it.”
“…you think that I’m just trying to save face?”
“I know you are. Easily abandoned once, easily abandoned again. Little boys don’t pick up toys again once they’re broken. And what could I possibly be to you, but a broken toy?”
“You and your family, the lot of you, need to stop speaking in such cryptic metaphors,” America muttered. He shook his head, a bit sadly, a bit ironically. “Maybe this isn’t about saving face to the rest of the world. No one even knows you’re here! Maybe you used to be my friend, and I missed you. God, and people say I’m suspicious.”
Something in Vietnam untwisted and began to mend. “You used to be,” she replied, a soft smile lighting her lips. “But, lately, you’ve gotten less so.”
She reached up and grabbed America’s glasses off of his face before he had a chance to react.
“Race you to that oak!” she yelled, and then she was off like a bullet, her hair swaying out behind her like a victory banner.
“Viet!” America cried, surprised. But then his words were covered by a hearty, albeit indignant, laugh. “Get back here with Texas!”
---
“Are you kidding me?” Vietnam wailed, throwing her head to the sky. “We get through three days-we see New York, Boston, and New Orleans without incident, and this is what stops us?”
America blushed. “I forgot to stop for gas,” he shrugged apologetically.
Vietnam kicked the car with one booted foot, glaring meanly at it. “Honestly!” she cried.
America wiped the sweat from his brow and rolled his eyes. “Hey, it’s not like I’m thrilled about it, either. No one wants to be stranded on Route 66 in the middle of the summer, especially not at noon.”
“I guess Houston will have to wait, then,” Vietnam pouted. “And I was so looking forward to shopping at the Galleria!”
“When did you get so into fashion?” America asked. “I haven’t seen you in an ao dai, lately.”
Vietnam laughed. “I don’t know…I guess when my economy started picking up, I had more time to deal with it. And Mei-mei’s always pestering me to go shopping with her, in Hong Kong, and Korea…” She glanced down at her wardrobe skeptically. Short skirt, knee-high boots, a loose, layered blouse. Draped necklaces and thin woven bracelets, and her favorite chunky watch. The only things about her that resembled the nation America had known has her hair-tied back in its customary ponytail-and her eyes-bright, playful, and yet still filled with something darker, as well.
“It’s cute,” America assured her, leaning forward to ruffle her hair. She stiffened, for a moment, but then relaxed. America grinned. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her towards the curbside, “let’s not just wait here.”
“I’m not walking thirty miles to Houston!”
“Who said you were?” America asked with another laugh. The truth donned on her as he stuck his out his arm, thumb pointed towards the sky. “What’s a road trip without some good, old-fashioned hitch-hiking?”
---
“Wow, when you said ‘sea to shining sea’, America, you weren’t kidding.”
America, who had wasted no time in stripping to the waist, turned to her and smiled broadly. “Of course not! I never lie, especially not in songs!”
“I don’t know very many of your songs,” she confessed. “Well, the ones about you.” Instead removing clothing like America was doing, she rolled up her slim jeans to above her knees and wading carefully into the water. The Pacific Ocean lapped playfully against her flushed skin.
“There’s tons-I’ll teach you some. ‘The Star-spangled Banner’ is my favorite, though.”
“You’re such a narcissist.” She wrinkled her nose.
“So?” he asked blandly. “What’s wrong with being narcissistic if you’re actually the best?”
She laughed at the sheer absurdity of her words. “Do you even hear yourself, half of the time?”
“Hey, I’m not as bad as Texas,” America insisted.
“I know that first hand, now-no one is as bad as Texas!”
As their shared laughter died down, America began ticking off the days on his fingers. “Sunday, New York. Monday, Boston. Tuesday, New Orleans. Wednesday, Houston. Thursday, Chicago. Friday, Denver. And now, Saturday-Los Angeles. It’s almost over, isn’t it?”
“Today’s the last day,” she agreed. She jumped over an incoming wave and giggled. “Maybe we should have just spent the whole day at the beach!”
“So LA’s your favorite, then?”
“I couldn’t say,” she murmured idly. “The ocean will always be dear to me, though. But New York is the city of light and color, and fashion. And Boston was old and beautiful…it’s just too hard to choose!”
“I felt the same way,” America said.
“What?”
“When I saw all of you. Saigon was amazing-you guys aren’t kidding when you call it a pearl-but then, the north was full of forests and there were your oceans and ports…it was all beautiful, Viet.”
America sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“I’m sorry, you know. That I had to be so harsh with all that beauty. But I’m not regretful. I was trying to save you.”
“Fifty years is a long time to nurse a grudge.”
Vietnam thought of her eldest brother, and of Russia-both of them had said very similar things to her, once. She nodded, slowly. “I know, America. You were trying to be the hero. And, it’s…alright. I forgive you.”
A bright, vibrant smile lit up America’s boyish features. They were probably about the same age, but sometimes Vietnam felt older than him, and other times she felt so much younger. For this moment, however, she felt something entirely knew-that she and America were equals.
“Hey, if you forgive me, then tell me something,” America said.
“What?”
“What’re your songs like?”
Vietnam smiled gently. In response to his question, she lifted her head to the sky and began to sing. “Đoàn quân Việt Nam đi, Chung lòng cứu quốc, Bước chân dồn vang trên đường gập ghềnh xa, Cờ in máu chiến thắng mang hồn nước, Súng ngoài xa chen khúc quân hành ca…”
“What does it mean?” he asked when she had finished.
She gave him a sideways glance before responding, “Armies of Vietnam, forward! With one single determination to save our Fatherland, Our hurried steps resound on the long and arduous road. Our flag, red with the blood of victory, bears the spirit of the country. The distant rumbling of the guns mingles with our marching song…”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “But also strong. It’s a good fit for you, I think.”
Vietnam turned away to hide her blush.
---
“A week is too short a time,” she murmured wistfully. They were at LAX airport, and America was preparing to see her onto the plane that would take her back to Saigon.
“Well,” he said, “it’s not quite over, just yet.”
“Huh?” Vietnam turned, and found herself confronted by a mass of at least a hundred people. She recognized them-their features and faces, their hair and eyes and teeth. Something about them resonated deep within her-these were her people. “What is…?”
“Come again soon, Vietnam!”
“Anh Yew Em!”
“We’ll miss you!”
America came up behind her. “Vietnamese-Americans,” he said proudly. “So no one can ever say that we’re not friends, again.”
Vietnam smiled, and then, instinctively, threw her arms around America in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “This week…it’s been amazing.”
“Well, don’t be such a stranger!” he said. “And then maybe I’ll show you such a good time, again.”
“Yes-we shouldn’t be strangers.”