Author's Note: I'm not the biggest fan of Russia and America romantically, but I like them as friends and rivals. But I wrote this for a friend who is in love with the pairing, after being inspired by a bit of historical information said by one of my professors last semester. Hope you guys enjoy.

Have and Have Not

Corn. In winter. It was never going to work. But you try telling that to your boss who would hear no different, and have it enforced anyway. After all, that was all a country could do, bend to the whims of those in power whether or not they agreed with it. It had happened before, when Stalin had suggested all of the land be cultivated collectively. It would bring an increase in agricultural production! Good idea! In theory, maybe.

Russia's people were dying with hunger in the pits of their stomachs. There was no war here, now. There was no plague. Just a famine that could have been prevented. Ivan was watching it happen to his people, those people he loved. And he was watching it happen to his sister just over the borders, and to those people she loved.

Because this man thought it was a good idea.

Ivan could feel their pain. The pangs ate at his own gut and ribcage. It was agonizing.

The faintest glimmer of hope shone off a bent and taped pair of glasses. The rested on the bridge of a blonde man's nose, smudged with dirt and soot. His clothes were patched, dirty, and ill fitting. There were dark circles below those blue eyes but a smile was still broad on his face. "Here," he said, arms out stretched and offering half of a loaf of bread, "It's not much... but... it'll help."

Ivan breathed deeply. He knew this man, this country. Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America was having a tough time of it, himself. The world knew of the stock market's crash, and the shambles it left the United States's economy, and effecting the economies of everyone else. But here he was, with holes in his shoes, offering part what little food his country did have to a country who had none.

Ivan couldn't stop the tears from welling in his violet eyes. "Spasiba, Alfred," he managed to choke, and enveloped the American in a gracious embrace. "Thank you..."