Continuation of "The Fires of Saigon"
It was the last meeting about it. After this, we wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. Actually, it was out of our hands by this time, but this was the formal ending of it. After so many debates, conflicts, decisions and finally, conclusions of it.
Of the Vietnam War.
Of all this trouble we had gone through. It had turned into an ethical question.
Should we interfere with other countries business?
If they were in trouble, wasn't it our duty to help those in need? Even though it meant pushing other countries away. Even though they didn't actually want us there. We had compromised the world politics because of this. The countries of Asia wouldn't talk to us anymore. China most certainly wasn't happy. Neither was Russia. Or, so we figured. None of them had showed up.
England looked around in the conference room. It seemed somewhat normal, didn't it? Germany telling Italy off, Spain and France chatting, Romano sulking behind Spain, Switzerland and Austria silently debating, with Liechtenstein sneaking off while her brother wasn't looking so she could see Hungary and Japan exchanging pictures, the Nordics sitting in their corner and Belgium and Luxemborg discussing what England assumed was finances. It seemed so normal.
Then he turned to America.
The war had changed him.
He wasn't the same overconfident boy he used to be.
He wasn't the hero anymore.
America tried to make a façade, to pretend that he was alright. Poor boy. Thinking he has to be strong on the worlds behalf. I've been there too, England thought. Sailing around, thinking I could save the world. Build a better one. At least, that was what I thought I was doing. Turns out I did more damage than help.
And that's what he's doing.
Saving everyone.
But you can't always save everyone, can you?
England snapped back from his thought, when America suddenly stood up. All eyes were on him.
"Right! I think we should get this meeting started and I-.."
France slowly stood up.
"Amérique."
America stopped midsentence. He looked at France, silently.
"I think you have said enough on this case, non?"
There was a long pause between the two. America looked like he had been kicked. Hurt flashed across his face, and even though he tried to hide it, we all saw it. He bit down on his lower lip, sitting down again. At first he tried to hold his head high. But then he looked around and noticed the faces of pity and some of disgust, knowing what he had done. He lowered his head.
England felt a sting through his heart.
As much as an ignorant bloody bastard the boy could be, it still hurt him to see America like this.
"Well, we all know what we are doing, 'ere, oui?"
The nations nodded silently.
"To finish it."
He took a deep breath and continued.
"As most of you already know, we have decided to let Vietnam stand for 'erself. She needed to take action, and we couldn't provide 'elp anymore. She needed to do it without us."
England glanced at America. He was curling his hand into a fist, and turning his head away from France, looking down. They all knew he was talking on America's behalf.
"We 'ave promised not to interfere with their business, as it is for their own good. We expect them to make peaceful negotiations, as it was part of our agreement. We would retreat our forces, and they would end it by themselves."
America did not look up the whole meeting.
As soon as it ended, he was the first to leave.
England looked after him as he left, and noticed the Nordics looking after him as well.
"He shouldn't have invaded like that, meddling in others affairs, " Denmark said. "It did more harm than good anyways."
"He was just doing what he thought was right," Finland objected.
"Yeah yeah. Sometimes I think, it's just because he wants attention. Showing off what he can do. Saving a country on the other side of the world, even though we all know it means nothing to him," Denmark continued.
"And you don't show off?" Norway asked, raising an eyebrow at Denmark, who waved his hand impatiently.
"I don't go to war against someone I know nothing of."
"You did 'nce." Sweden retorted.
"That was a long time ago."
England couldn't help but agree. They've all been there. Conquering. But it was oh so long ago. They've learned by now.
"But this is a different world," Denmark said. "The world back then was unfinished, because we were still shaping it. It was still new and warm like a freshly made sword, easy to bend. America's trying to change things that go back before he even existed. "
It was raining. Again.
Sometimes England would enjoy the pitter patter on the windows, but tonight it sounded dull. Like.. Rain. Cold and wet.
He sighed and sipped to his freshly brewed tea, humming slightly as he felt the warmth sliding down his throat. He wondered what America was doing now. Hopefully not something stupid. He leaned back into his armchair, enjoying the warmth from the fireplace. He gazed into the dancing flames, remembering what it used to be, out there.. In the cold. Wishing he could just go home already. Being afraid of what might happened the next few minutes. But he would never that admit it to anyone.
Once again being embraced by the comfort and the safety of his house, he heard a somewhat harder patter. But.. That wasn't the rain, was it? He sat the teacup down on the table, slowly standing up. He made his way to the front door and opened it.
America was sitting next to England, staring into the blue. He was just sitting there.
England had found him outside the door, soaking wet. Just standing there, staring into the door. Of course England had hushed him inside, taking off his bomber jacket.
"Good lord, you're completely soaked!" he stated. He looked him up and down. This simply wouldn't do. The poor lad looked like he'd jumped in a lake. England really hoped he hadn't done that.
"America, do you mind taking off your clothes? I can't get you dry if you'll keep them on and you'll get si..-" Before England could finish his sentence, America was already taking off his shirt. England helped with his shoes, and he took his pants off himself. England then quickly covered him with a blanket, guiding him to the sofa.
"Come here, let's get you to the fire, eh? Nice and warm."
America just nodded.
When England had situated America by the fire, he went out to dry his clothes, coming back with a spare set of clothes to him. He placed it on the table, and went to sit next to America.
"You warm? Need another blanket?"
"I'm fine," America answered with no emotions in his voice whatsoever.
"So.. What do you want to talk about? I'm assuming you want to talk to me about something."
America didn't move.
"Right then. If you don't want to talk, that's fine. Your decision." England paused and looked at America for a while, without really saying anything. He then sighed.
"Well, I'm off to bed. You can just sleep in the guestroom. The bed's already done for you."
He stood up and left America by the fireplace.
The tea was cold by then.
It was after England had gone to bed.
He had actually slept for a while. He could hear the creaking of the door and he felt someone shuffling around in the bed. He knew who it was. But he was shocked when he felt a pair of arms wrapped around him and a head pressed against the back of his own. His eyes shot open, staring ahead of him.
England could feel the warmth radiating from the other person.
They were like that for a while, England feeling America's breath down his neck. Suddenly he could feel America shift, holding closer around England.
"Scared," he mumbled into his ear.
One word. One word and England could feel how his insides where sucking unpleasantly, like a vacuum in his stomach. He didn't say anything and he tried to move as little as possible. Only, his chest was betraying him. It was moving fast up and down, his heart pumping faster.
"I was so scared."
England could now feel how his heart had this heavy weight on it. It was so hard to describe. Like.. Like something was clenching his heart.
Since .. Since that time.. America had never been this close to England. He'd never once expressed how he felt, except the "I'm hungry", "My feet/something else hurt", "Man, I have a massive headache" or others of that kind. Sure, he'd be happy, frustrated, but something deep? .. Never.
The closest thing he'd come to a expression of feelings from him was at the end of the second world war, were they were walking by the graves of the Normandy and he muttered "It's so.. sad," and left without any other word. He had always seemed so strong.
And now.. He was falling apart.
"The.. The feeling that I couldn't d-do.. anything.. That.. That I was .." America's words turned into quiet sobs.
England's heart was breaking.
America took a shaking breath.
England didn't utter a word. He didn't dare. He felt as the back of his shirt became wetter from silent tears.
"I.. I couldn't.. Save.." America held a long pause, trying his hardest to get it out.
"It's my fault. And now.. Now she's dead."
England clenched his eyes closed, refusing to give in. He had to be strong now.
"I'm.. I'm so sorry Arthur."
His bottom lip began to quiver and one lonely tear slid down his face. Arthur dammed that tear. It hurt. It hurt so bad to have America like this. America had barely ever called him by his human name. It was always those ridicules nicknames. He knew America had been avoiding his name. It was too personal to use. Too hurtful.
It reminded them both of the past.
He took a deep break and turned around, facing America. They stared into each other's eyes, getting lost in them. Seeking something in them.
Blue and green.
Happiness and hope.
Sorrow and death.
"Alfred.." he muttered.
America still held them close. Their breaths were mingling together. Arthur could see the tears on his face.
"Don't be."
Yeah, I read this wonderful story with US in during the Vietnam War and thought I wanted to write a follow up. You know, since many of the Americans who returned home had PTSD, and I thought America would be scarred somehow.