This is my version of the beginning of the Special Relationship. Again, I'm not sure if I got the genre right. Is this angst, or hurt/comfort? Anyway, enjoy. Also contains a sprinkling of RoChu.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Last time I looked in the mirror I wasn't Hidekaz Himaruya.
The allies had regrouped in an empty bar somewhere in Berlin. The city itself was a wreck; houses were bombed and Russian soldiers filled the streets as the people went mad. The bar was one of the only ones open, tended to by a single barman.
America was away finishing off Japan, so only four of the allies were present. It was obvious that none of them were in very good shape. China looked exhausted; his fight with Japan had almost finished him. England wasn't in much better shape; the repetitive bombing of his land and people had taken its toll on his body. France remained in the corner, away from everyone else. While he felt relieved to have been liberated, the war had somehow defeated him, both physically and mentally. Only Russia looked unaffected by the warfare. He had recently returned from capturing Germany, the fate of whom was soon to be decided. The silence washed over them like a wave; respect for the dead, respect for the dying. It seemed to last forever.
Finally it was broken by the dramatic entrance of America. He glanced quickly around the room before saying quietly yet effectively,
"It is over."
The news was received with several spontaneous exclamations; a gasp from France, a moan from China, a tired sigh from England and a pointed cheer from Russia. Seconds later the allies' attention wandered elsewhere. China began to examine his wounds, shuddering as his hands came into contact with each. Seeing him, Russia approached the barman and ordered drinks for both of them. France mumbled something about having to leave, not wanting anyone to sense his shame.
America crossed quickly over to where England was sitting, panting slightly. Straight away he asked the ominous question.
"Are you ok?"
He looked England in the eyes, his voice full of concern but insistent. England turned away in shame, trying to avoid the question.
"America, I'm... fine." America looked England up and down sceptically, his eyes full of disbelief.
"No you're not. Don't try to deny it." America persisted. England pushed him away, still refusing to meet his eyes.
"Just... leave it, America."
Something like anger flashed across America's face. In a move he grabbed England's shirt and dragged it upwards, exposing his torso.
"America, what exactly do you think you're doing?" England's face had gone white with shock. America glared at him and gestured to the horrific wounds across England's chest and stomach.
"Here and here and here." He said harshly, jabbing his finger at each individual wound, making England flinch back.
"How dare you say that you're not hurt, England. I mean, look at this." He gestured to a massive wound across England's heart, caused by the London Blitz.
"Damn it, England, I swear I'll kill the Bastard that did this to you."
England was slightly alarmed at his fury; he had had no idea how protective America was of him.
He tried to calm America.
"Germany has already paid more than twice over for all he did to me. Please America, just stop it. This is nothing, honestly. I promise. I don't want your pity. Besides, surely you must be hurt as well?"
America was gripping England's shoulders so tightly it hurt; possessive, controlling. England calmly lifted his hands and placed them on America's wrists, rubbing them softly until he released his grip. England took America's hands in his own. America exhaled slowly, shaking off England's desperate grip.
"Don't lie to me, England. You're hurt and we both know it. As for not wanting my pity, you have no choice. You need it. You need me. Maybe not always, but right now, anyway. As for me, to be perfectly honest with you, I only have one wound. From Pearl Harbor."
He tore apart his sleeve to reveal the jagged wound, already scarring over. His eyes widened in shock as England began to trace it gently with his fingertip. Despite the pain, he rather enjoyed England's cool touch against his skin.
"You need me too." England said slowly, meeting America's eyes. "You're tired. This battle has taken the wind right out of your sails. You need to rest." He sounded sad, concerned.
"You're tired too." America replied simply. Then, to England's complete surprise, America folded him into a gentle hug. England too found his arms wrap around the taller man, his body slowly relaxing into America's embrace.
As they rested in each other's arms, all of the suppressed emotions from the past years slowly began to divulge themselves. Somehow they found themselves crying on each other's shoulders, taking great shuddering gasps to conceal the tears that just kept falling.
When they finally broke apart, England placed a hand softly on America's face, whispering,
"We'll get through. Everything will be fine. we'll see to it."
America nodded, and then knelt down before England. Slowly he began to remove England's shirt, exposing the damage. He then began, gently and lovingly, to kiss each individual wound, as if the simple touch of his lips could heal England's injuries. England was at first too shocked to speak, but then began to moan unrestrainedly from mingled pain and pleasure.
When America reached England's neck he pulled away, lifting up his head to meet England's eyes. In them he found what he had been looking for; disappointment. He could tell that England wanted more. England realised that America had noticed his hunger for more, so he quickly averted his eyes. America noticed and forced the nation to look at him. England was blushing heavily, and America wasn't much better.
England finally gave in to his desperation. He pressed his lips softly against America's. America gave a gasp of shock but kissed back passionately. England deepened the kiss but allowed America to dominate. He began to tear off America's shirt while America held England's damaged body close to him. Finally they pulled away.
"What was that?" America looked at England with anticipation.
"It was nothing." Again, England refused to meet his eyes.
"No, England. Look at us. we're half naked and we've just been kissing the life out of each other. You're just a silly tsundere; Japan told me so before I almost killed him. Say it. Go on, say it. You love me! You. Love. Me. You, the personification of Great Britain and Northern Ireland are in love with me, the personification of the United states of America."
"Fine. America, I love you. I have loved you since you became a man, and on the day that you left me my heart was broken. I will love you for as long as I live, perhaps longer. Do you love me too?"
"England, I have always loved you, since forever. When I broke away from you I pretended I didn't. Now I can't deny it anymore; I need you."
"I need you too."
Having confessed, they began once more to kiss.
Meanwhile...
"Become one with mother Russia, Da?"
"Please do not bother me now, Ivan; I'm too busy recovering from my injuries to fend you off."
"Just for tonight then, Da?"
"Oh, very well."
The two pairs soon left separately to find an open hotel for the night.
All would be well.
Thanks for reading. Did you like it? If not, I would like to hear why.