Pairings: If you really really really want one, I guess you could squint real hard and find EnglandxAmerica, but I wouldn't count on it _

It's been so long... _

I thought to myself a while ago, "Maybe I should not do fanfics anymore... maybe I just shouldn't..." and really, I stuck to that for awhile. It wasn't really because of anything, it was just a personal thing I suppose.

But this idea has been bouncing around inside my skull and wouldn't go away. So, here it is!

I wonder if this will cause me to go back on my earlier thoughts about doing fanfics...

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. And therefor, I do not own the characters. Seriously...

P.S.- I apologize if some of this makes no sense... it made lots of sense to my tired brain... but I'm not sure how it will do with the rest of the world...

Arthur didn't understand him.

At every angle there was a twist, a flaw in every theory he had ever had, and this irked him to no end. No matter how he looked at it all, Alfred made no sense.

There was definitely, Arthur had long since concluded, something that was absolutely off about the man, but to pin it down seemed nigh impossible. Alfred was absurd. He just wasn't quite right. There was never something quite right with a man who could smile and joke at any time, who took almost nothing seriously unless he took direct interest in the matter, and who could remain nonchalant after watching the destruction of a military advancement.

Arthur's frustration had reached a peak as he watched Alfred from across the table, grinning broadly and assuring everyone present that, while yes, economic years had been better, everything was pulling though. It was that smile that particularly piqued his temper. The smile that just never seemed to fade and that had the unnerving ability to light up a room. It was just awful, Arthur decided with a scowl. Nobody should be able to smile as that man did. Either Alfred was some sort of genius or an absolute fool with that sort of grin. It annoyed the Englishman to no end that he couldn't make up his mind on which one he it was.

As discussed matters turned more and more grave, the smile just seemed to get more radiant and his face more carefree. He had had just about enough of it all and frankly he was ready to admit defeat.

It came to his mind that it had been like this forever, from the time when Alfred was naught but a child, to the present day when it seemed nothing had changed. In particular, Arthur recalled one incident so many years past, sitting in a trench in northern France. It was nineteen-seventeen, and he and Alfred had been assigned to the same place, stuck in those miserable holes, in a period of time when the rain seemed unrelenting. If you awoke in the morning, you found yourself half buried in the muck, and disease spread like wild fire. Enemy movements had been far off and no fire had come upon them in weeks, yet men still dropped like flies. The medics were at a loss—there were no supplies to care for the ill and supply lines for such things had been cut off. Try as the medics might, soldiers died from small things that even a child should have been able to overcome. It was hell; they were simply told to wait for the devil to return home.

It was on one especially cold and rainy day he did. The enemy lines had closed up and moved in the middle of the night, and they attacked with full force in the morning. Mortar fire and grenades exploded around and in the trenches, and shots filled the air with a horrible clatter. Their men were at a disadvantage, illness haven taken most before the enemy could, and those who still lived had lost hope long ago. Arthur and Alfred had crouched down amongst the other soldiers, backs to the walls and clutching their rifles like lifelines. Arthur remember looking down at his knees and screwing his eyes shut, wishing it could all just end, wishing, for a moment, that someone else was suffering instead of them. He was tired of seeing his men die. He was tired of the trenches that killed them. He was tired of the war and the hell it had let loose. He was just tired. With a sort of despair and hopelessness he had glanced up, looking to his American companion for something, anything. Or perhaps he was looking for nothing at all.

Alfred had glanced sidelong at him, his face calm, almost relaxed. With a long sigh, the American had turned his face skywards, rain running down his face and splattering his filthy glasses, regarding the grey heavens in silence for a moment.

A grenade soared overhead and landed within feet of the edge of the trench. There was an instant of nothing before mud and water had exploded, covering them all. Casually, Alfred had reached up and removed his glasses, bringing them down to his uniform jacket and rubbing them against his stomach. When he set them back in their rightful place they were still covered in filth and blood that was not his own.

Suddenly a wide grin had split the man's lips, and the British man watched, astonished, as Alfred turned his face to look at him.

"Weather sucks, huh?" He had asked, and Arthur had only been able to stare.

The groan of chairs being displaced jolted Arthur from his reverie and he quickly joined the others on their feet. A few words were traded between countries and then it all dispersed, each attendant returning tiredly to his own business. Well, Arthur noted sourly, most seemed exhausted, but Alfred, true to his nature, seemed overflowing his usual energy. Yes, he admitted, enough was enough.

"Jones, I want to talk to you." The American gave him a curious glance, gave a brief apology to Kiku, who he had been talking to, and hurried over to his side.

"What's up, England?" The stupid man had his head cocked innocently to one side and his weight was placed so casually, like nothing was wrong with the world.

Arthur studied him for a moment in one last ditch effort and sighed when the long sought after answers refused still to surface. His shoulders fell in defeat and, indeed, everything about him seemed to follow suit.

"How do you do it?" He asked, his tone that of a man who realized long ago he had been outwitted.

He received nothing but a confused look and that infuriating question of, "Do what?" A child, Arthur thought to himself. Alfred reminded him of a child.

Frustration permeated his voice as he clarified, his hand making brisk movement.

"Stay so bloody cheerful all the time!" He snapped, "It's that stupid smile of yours! How the hell do you do it?"

For a moment Alfred regarded him, blue eyes searching his face, his own visage unreadable. And for a moment Arthur waited, thinking just how unfair it all was.

Slowly Alfred's lips moved, the corners turning upwards into another smile, and Arthur was taken aback. There was no joy or carelessness now, just a deep, terrible sadness.

"Everything seems to fall apart now... What do we have left?" The words sounded so completely foreign off of those lips. A hand rose to Arthur's shoulder and lingered a moment before falling back to rest. With a sort of a half shake of his head, Alfred turned away and began walking briskly towards the door, leaving Arthur standing dumb in his wake.

Just as slowly as that terrible smile had come, Arthur seemed to slump in on himself, as he had done that day so many years ago in the trench. It was a horrible thing, he decided, truly a horrible thing when that grin faded away.

And there we have! Leave me a review telling me how much you liked it, hated it, or just found it downright confusing! Thanks so much for reading!~

-Wolfie