A/N: Morning all! I haven't been on for ages, so I'm sorry for the lack of updates! Thank you to all those who have reviewed and favourited my stories- you lot keep me (in)sane! ^_^

This particular fic is for .AqUa-ELriCiAnS., who kindly sent me a message with their vote on my poll (check it out on my profile and vote vote vote!), requesting my next fic was some America x England. Seeing as I live in Arthur's wonderful country, I got straight down to it- I hope I have done a good enough job! ^_^

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. If I owned stuff, I wouldn't have to write fanfictions. The characters represented in this fanfiction are in no way supposed to be an accurate representation of the countries or their armed forces.

"…Artie?" a familiar voice brought silence to the meeting room. Every pair of eyes at once turned to the doorway, each belonging to a military man, politician, business executive or just someone important in a suit. The blonde at the head of the table looked to the door, annoyance and embarrassment clear on his face. All across the table were plans and papers, almost all of them covered by a huge map of the world with odd scribbles on it. Arthur sighed.

He had used his human nickname in important company… again.

He hadn't knocked when interrupting someone… again.

He had barged in on an important meeting… once again.

…In front of his Prime Minister, too.

England knew he shouldn't expect any better from the American, who had been doing all three of these things for centuries, but he couldn't help a little pang of annoyance. He rose from his chair and looked to Alfred tiredly.

"Do you have a problem, America?" asked England quite curtly, knowing even this Ludwig-like show of annoyance wouldn't affect his younger brother in the slightest.

But then, Alfred's bright, sky-coloured eyes met Arthur's emeralds, and at once the island nation knew something was wrong. He should have noticed earlier- his stance, though still proud and as attention-grabbing as ever, was slightly more withdrawn and stopped. His smile was gleaming by cheerless, and his eyes weren't shining with the same light they should. Arthur looked to the table.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I think it would be best if we took a tea break at this moment in time- the United States and I need to have a word. We will re-convene in thirty minutes." Before the irritated grumbles (slightly placated by the thought of tea) could reach Arthur's ears, he had swept over to the door, turned Alfred around and practically frog-marched him down the corridor.

They passed through red-papered corridors with gold-framed pictures of Arthur's Francis-and-Antonio-beating… er, heroic deeds. There were paintings of his monarchs and of his great men- from military officers who died with great prestige, to literary geniuses who had brought their ideas to life in cleverly woven tales. Arthur could easily name each and every one, list their deeds in chronological order, go on for hours, eyes shining with pride- but this time, he paid the blank eyes no heed as they reached the end of the landing. Opening a white door, Arthur ushered the young nation into a large drawing room, grand windows holding the dreary drizzling weather on high for all to see. Arthur pushed Alfred gently onto a plush settee and poured them both cups of tea. For as long as he could remember, Alfred had always found an impossible supply of piping hot tea in each of the rooms in Arthur's house.

"Now then, Alfie." Arthur took a seat, the nation's childhood nickname slipping off his tongue before he could stop it. Not that he would have. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'!" Alfred replied automatically, sitting up and flashing another empty smile at the gentleman who sat by him, tea in hand.

Arthur fixed him with a serious look. "Come now, tell me honestly. Why are you here?" He wondered vaguely whether America was regretting coming to confide in him- after all, he had never been the touchy-feely kind, and he had always dealt with his little brother's problems in the same way- with a sigh and a bitter, barbed retort about how stupid he had been, followed by a begrudging agreement to help out despite being glad he had been asked to. Each of those replies lurked at the back of his head guiltily- he hadn't been the best emotional support, he knew. He could only hope that Alfred would confide in him and give him a chance to react properly before his little brother put up that same wall that all the other nations seemed to erect between the island nation and themselves.

It was Alfred's turn to sigh. That was why he had come to Arthur- he could always read him like a book. Even when he tried to conceal his problems and his worries, somehow there was always the Englishman there, just in the background, watching with poorly hidden pride as he struggled out little by little.

"I…" but, somehow, the words wouldn't come. His new boss- so good with words, and yet here was Alfred F Jones, struggling to talk to his closest friend about his worries. He looked to the floor, almost visibly deflating a little at disappointment. Arthur couldn't make everything better if he couldn't even tell him what was wrong!

"Come now, Alfie." Arthur said softly, setting down his cup and moving next to his brother. America had never found it hard to bring words out of thin air, but it was those of substance that Alfred was now having difficulty with. Arthur slipped an arm around America's shoulders and pulled him closer to him, leaning his head gently against his shoulder. This was how England had held him when he was still smaller than him- the awkward height difference didn't seem to faze Alfred, however, who snuggled a little into England's warm shoulder.

"Now then, why did you need to see me?" Arthur asked gently, his voice reminding Alfred of when he was just a young colony- calm, soothing, soft as the cooing of a dove. It stirred something in the American- Arthur had never let him down before. What was he afraid of?

"Artie… I…" he took a shuddering breath, nose brushing the island nation's neck. His eyes were watering, but Arthur just held the taller man more tightly, despite how uncomfortable this close contact made him feel. Though it was always different with America- he couldn't think of any other countries he would even get this close to- he still felt slightly odd, holding Alfred after so long.

"Go on." Arthur didn't realise he had begun stroking the other blonde's hair gently, golden strands slipping through his fingers, not as soft as it had been when he was younger but twice as bright.

"Y-You were… were right, Artie." Alfred said quietly, usually brash voice dangerously quiet now, even right next to England's ear. "I thought you were lying… when you said… nobody can be loved by everyone."

Oh.

"I thought… you were lying… but you weren't… were you?"

"No, I wasn't, Alfie. I wish I had been, though."

"I just wanted to be friends with everyone, Artie!" sobbed America, throwing his arms around the stunned Englishman and pulling him into a deep hug, nuzzling his damp face into the shorter man's chest as if in some attempt to hide himself, like he had done when he was little.

"…I don't… I don't want to end up… alone…" Alfred took a shuddering breath as the dreaded word slipped from his mouth in a fearful whisper.

"I know, I know…" The sudden movements surprised Arthur, but he placed his arms gently around Alfred's shoulders nevertheless and held him as the wet patch on his chest spread. Thoughts of changing were far from his mind- all he cared about now was reassuring the taller, younger blonde- his brother and his friend.

"Look, Alfie, I know it's hard to realise, but you can't be loved by everyone. But let me promise you one thing…" Arthur took a hold of America's shoulders and gently pushed him up, looking the sniffing Alfred straight in the eyes with a look filled with reassurance and honesty. "…I will never let you end up alone."

"Zut alors, l'Angleterre, ah did not know your eyes 'eld more water zan your Thames." France chuckled, wiping a tear away from the young nation's cheek. He huffed and looked away, more embarrassed than anything else. France smiled and ruffled his hand through the messy mop that Britannia called "hair". Of course it wouldn't do, especially as a neighbour of France, the most fashionable nation in the world, but the Frenchman could overlook it just this once. When an especially morose Arthur had been sat on the Dover cliffs for ages, he had asked what was wrong.

The young nation had tried to deny anything was, but after a little (perhaps just to get the Frenchman to leave him alone?) he had admitted it.

"I'm alone, Francis." He had spat. The new nation had a vehement temper- France knew. "You've got your friends on the Continent, but I have no guarantee anyone over there will look twice at me. What if I'm always alone?"

Francis had smiled a little, blue eyes meeting green with a reassuring light in them.

"L'Angleterre, ecouté."

"Speak sense, idiot!"

"Even eef nobody else notices you, ah promise you zis." Francis had tapped the smaller nation gently on the nose with a finger, earning himself a bad-tempered glare. "Ah weel never allow you to end up alone."

"Bye, Artie!" America waved as he pulled away from the front door, almost hitting three people as it shot off down the road- on the wrong side. England sighed as he watched America go. Goodness, that boy was madder than a march hare (and probably three times more energetic). Still, as he strode back into the meeting room (in a new shirt) and apologised for the abrupt halt to the meeting, he couldn't help but smile a little at the memory of Alfred's expression, finally confident that there was one nation that would never leave his side. It was true- Arthur wasn't in support of everything his little brother had done.

But he wasn't about to abandon him any time soon.

End Note: Not reviewing makes chibi!England sad. Be nice to chibi!Arthur and review! ^_^

Thanks for reading!