Considering his hatred for hospitals, it was quite amusing to Hong Kong to find himself in one, voluntarily. Of course, as it wasn't for him, it was marginally better, but it stank of disinfectant, reminded him of death and they were all so impersonal. Nothing but endless oceans of white, grey and blue andit was a boring place to wait. The magazines on the tables were so old that the seams were giving up on them, a crease imperfecting a cover girl on a year old glamour mag, splitting her in two. One driver's magazine was advertising an exclusive test for a car already on the market and selling well.
An idle cleaner glared half-heartedly at the Asian, as if he was making the place dirty, while she mopped the same piece of floor that she'd been cleaning for the past fifteen minutes. He absentmindedly listened to the droning music over the stereo, which occasionally switched to over-excited DJs who chattered about meaningless things, concerts and anecdotes that made no sense.
Sometimes a person would walk out the hospital, more often looking even more ghostlike than when they went in, all with bags under their eyes and pain in them, obvious in the knowledge and acceptance of fate. Some came with children to see grandparents - sometimes, it seemed all that kept them strong was the infectious enthusiasm and hope of the youngsters. The innocence brought an amount of light and a lifting of tension from the cold, harsh buildings of this place, a chain reaction bouncing along from one person to the next, like nuclear fission, he thought - but not as dangerous.
Clipping of high heeled shoes echoed along into the waiting room, and brought him out of his trance, as she announced in a voice as clipped and emotionless as the sound of her shoes, that 'Mr Kirkland was ready to see him' and to follow her. He dusted himself off and rose, sweeping a stray strand of charcoal hair out of his eyes, then walked after, nodding lightly in a sort of greeting.
Each corridor seemed longer than the last, and they met very few people, just closed doors and near silence. It was nearing ten minutes when they finally arrived, after numerous sets of stairs and several miles of corridors - he wondered how many blisters the woman had, wearing those shoes all day.
Room 674. Exactly the same as the hundreds of other rooms here, except that he knew the patient inside. He flicked his head towards the woman, impatient for her to leave so he could be in peace. Minutes later the clipping of her shoes finally stopped echoing, and he tapped on the door then pushed it open before waiting for a response.
There were three nations in the room - two sleeping, one awake. Canada was lying across a few chairs at the side of the room, legs dangling off the end, blissfully and quietly asleep. America was sat in a plastic chair half slumped over the bed, slight snores rattling in his rib cage, with England's hand stroking his hair subconsciously as he looked out the window. Hong Kong coughed tactfully to get England's attention, to which he smiled.
"Ah, good afternoon. Take a seat; there's one next to Canada. It's nice of you to come all this way." The Asian noted that his hand did not remove itself from sunshine locks, just stilled its motion.
"Not really." he took the chair and placed it on the opposite side to America, near to the door. Glancing out the window, he saw a huge oak tree, with golden leaves tumbling to the ground with the erratic puffs of wind. A light drizzle pattered against the window, obscuring the view, but Hong Kong had a feeling that England wasn't too bothered.
"It was nice of you to come, it's an awfully long flight - seven hours is it? The twins had just flown over, but they're still jet lagged, as you can see." With his unoccupied hand, he motioned to the two sleeping forms, of which neither stirred. He supposed they probably wouldn't wake up for a while, and had been asleep for some time.
Although a glimmer of a tiny being told him England wasn't alone.
From a pocket, Hong Kong pulled a couple of dumplings. Offering one to England, who took it with a murmur of appreciation, the Asian's mouth quirked up slightly at the side when he found it had retained some warmth during the journey - dumplings were better not stone cold. He leaned back as England went on to recount who had visited, what he had received, and that the dumpling was nice, did he make it himself? Affirmative, of course, but it received thanks all the same.
The words ran out, so they were left listening to the rain on the window in a mutual quiet. A natural pause, of which there were now so few. Still, the question burned at the back of his throat, demanding itself to be the breaker of beautiful silence. He sighed, and England turned emerald eyes to met chocolate orbs.
"What happened?" He had received a garbled half phone call from America which he had been unable to decipher, until Canada had used the other half to tell him something had happened to England. He was surprised that they'd called him really, but it must have been urgent if they had gotten around to him. It must have also been without England's consent because there was no warning not to bring fireworks. Not that he could, not through airport security now.
"Don't really know. But had I been human, I think it would have been-" He made a slitting motion across his throat. "Sprained the wrist as well as a few cuts on my hand - must have hit some glass or something. Don't know what brought it on though. I'm fine now - thanks for coming." Hong Kong decided it was probably worth the flight to see that vibrant smile, the one everyone thought he had lost years ago. Perhaps with the empire. Perhaps with America. It didn't really matter - what was important was that he'd found it again. The Asian smiled in return, glad that his brother finally felt needed again. Even if he didn't show it, he did worry about England as a family member would.
It was a good sign for England to be recovering, after all these years. Years spent in self deprecation, stress and sleepless nights. No matter how much he hated hospitals with their bad connotations and awful memories, this visit had provided the Englishman with a break. Hong Kong peered a little closer at the blond, noting several things; his hair was slightly lighter. There was an injection of pale pink into his cheeks, even after only one day of rest. He looked healthier... and dare he say it, released.
England looked at him curiously, as if asking for the verdict. Whether or not he'd guessed about Hong Kong's study was inscrutable.
"You look better." He paused for a moment. "Healthier. At ease." The blond tilted his head for a moment, considering. He then attempted to get a decent view of himself in the metal rail running down the bed.
"I do?"
"You do." Hong Kong rose and wandered over to the window, pushing it open. A few weak rays of sunshine poked through the cloud, and wobbled into the hospital room, then flopped all over the bed and England. A gust of wind whipped the thin curtain up, almost reaching the Englishman before giving up, returning to its original position.
The Asian looked out the window, down to the courtyard where a few children were amicably played tag or something akin to it, and a man wandered towards the reception. One child, the nearest to the man made eye contact with him, then ran after a few moments. Only one person could evoke such a reaction...
"Russia's arrived." He turned around quick enough to see England glance down at America, then Canada, then chuckle quietly. Hong Kong quirked an eyebrow up, even though he could probably ascertain England's source of amusement.
"This should be fun - Russia, his enemy, and his friend." He crossed his arms, wearing a thoughtful look. "Now, the question is whether to wake America?"
I hope you liked it? I quite enjoyed writing it, but really, it's about absolutely nothing. You could essentially sum the whole thing up in less than 100 words... Oh well.