A/N: Well here we have an odd little one shot. If you guys clicked on this because you wanted some honest loving USUK then turn away now, because there is none of that.
Mistakes are my fault, but do not blame me!
Also, I apologise if my line breaks don't work.
"Arthur, come on. It was like, a hundred years ago. Just let it go. Arthur, I just want to talk!"
"Can't you see why I might not want to?"
And Alfred has to admit that he can't. He honestly can't. Sure, it meant something, and it hurt like a bitch to have to do it, but Alfred cannot see why Arthur would want to cling onto the pain. All he wants to do is move past the pain, to build something bigger. Why can't Arthur see that?
Why doesn't Arthur want to build it with him?
The blank expression on his face answers Arthur's question for him. Arthur just shakes his head and exits the room.
Alfred watches him leave, feeling more empty than before.
.
It bugs Alfred that Matthew seems to get it. He never talks about it, but that's the way it goes. Arthur can't even remember his name half the time, but every single instance when their eyes meet across the conference room, you can see the connection.
Matthew is apparently the only one who can handle Arthur drunk, not because Arthur is doing something differently, it's that he doesn't have anything he has to explain to Matthew. Alfred has sat there, watching the two of them slowly get drunk, but they never say a word to each other.
And when the night ends, they claim it was good, and that they should do it again sometime.
Alfred doesn't get it.
What is the connection Matthew has that he can share no part of? He was Arthur's favourite as a colony, why is Matthew suddenly so special?
Alfred asked Matthew about it once. He just got a strange look on his face, and said the only words that ever seemed to stick in Alfred's brain.
"If only you knew."
.
Knew? Knew what? What is this huge secret that no one seems to be telling him? Why?
Alfred is frustrated.
Not that this is anything new, the character of Arthur almost being as puzzling as Russia. The country or the person, take your pick. But for some reason this bugs him so much more.
He just wants Arthur by his side. He wants to sleep with him, and wake with him. He wants to come home and find Arthur waiting for him, and to always be waiting for him. He doesn't want to be left behind anymore.
He explains this to a random stranger in a bar, who simply looks back at him and says, "Tough love, huh?"
Alfred doesn't quite understand the words. He loved England as a brother, but broke away from him. He had to. There weren't supposed to be any brotherly feelings left…
Nevermind, that's not what the stranger meant.
And Alfred has to pause for a moment; does he even want Arthur like that? Like, as a boyfriend or something?
He takes a moment to relive his fantasy, with Arthur home, possibly ordering in, because god knows what people think of Arthur's cooking, but this time adds in the brushing of lips. Hands held under the table.
The image is so much sweater, that Alfred has to conclude that he wants Arthur like that. As a boyfriend, or something.
He's not sure if he's ready to call it love though.
Arthur would have to prove to be trustworthy.
.
He thought it would be easier. He though that, after he knew his goal it would be so easy to achieve it. But at the next world conference, and his subtle advances aren't working, Alfred just asks him outright.
"Will you do on a date with me?"
Arthur looks up, hurt, with tears forming in his eyes, and storms out of the room without giving him an answer.
Matthew smacks him on the head on the way out, too.
.
Alfred is cold. His house in New York is too big and too empty. He's got the thermostat cranked, but he can't seem to stop, or even slow the numbing and freezing emptiness from spreading through his chest.
He's got blankets piled around him, but all they do is leach warmth from his skin, because its Arthur's arms he needs around him and the blankets are only a poor mock-up.
Alfred wants, no needs, to hear Arthurs voice. Needs his smooth accent around him, telling him everything is okay. That it will always be okay.
But for whatever reason, even though he knows Arthur will fly across the world on America's whims, he doesn't call him. Maybe in fear of rejection, or pride in his nationhood, but while he can pick up his phone and stare at the contacts, but he can't seem to make his fingers press the call button.
So he does the next best thing. He calls his brother.
It's only then, that he realises he is crying.
.
Matthews arms are colder than he'd like them to be, but his voice is soft and quickly sooths Alfred into a dreamless sleep.
It's probably because Matthew has a lot of experience with this. As shameful as it is, it is a part of Alfred's personality that can't be ignored.
At first, Matthew was glad to learn that his brother had a weakness. That he was as vulnerable as the rest. Matthew found more of his own strength, and gained compassion for his brother.
But now it only serves to make him angry. There is no way his relationship with the greater part of England would be this bad, if he only showed this side of himself to him.
He hates Alfred because of his pride. The abominable pride that prevents so many people from moving on with their lives. Matthews fists clench at the thought.
Because he knows how things would work out, if Arthur had someone else to depend on. He wants Francis to himself. But he will never ever ask him, because he couldn't bear the consequences of Arthur being left alone.
He puts up with it. But that doesn't mean he doesn't hate his brother.
.
Alfred can hear Francis and Arthur having sex. It's lunch break at a world meeting. It disgusts him, but all he will do is grind his coke straw into the ground because he'd really rather not see the two of them going at it. He wants to get up, to move away, but some part of him is forced to listen.
And his voice hitches in his throat when it's his name pouring from Arthur's lungs at the finish. His mind goes blank, like it's unable to process the information, and while a part of him is ecstatically happy, another part of him is sick.
What is holding Arthur back? Why isn't he in his arms right now? He absolutely detests the perverted Frenchman right now.
He completely misses the fact that it's Matthew's name on Francis's lips.
Arthur doesn't look at him for the rest of the conference.
.
He's home again, and he's cold. The same bone chilling coldness that can't even rival the time he was snowed in to his broken car, stranded on a Canadian highway.
Despite the fact that it's his brother he calls, it's Francis that arrives on his doorstep. He wants to stand and punch him in the face, but his legs turned to jelly hours ago.
Francis calls him a fool.
And then he leaves.
Alfred cries himself to sleep, and the nightmares are so bad that he wakes up screaming.
.
He gets a plane ticket to London. He doesn't really want to, but the nightmares haunt him, and he has to actually make sure that Arthur is alive.
That he isn't in some hospital dying of cancer, or being buried alive, of any of the horrible visions Alfred saw while he was asleep.
But he arrives to find that Arthur's house hasn't burnt down, and the neighbourhood is peaceful and quiet.
It's decidedly anticlimactic.
Alfred doesn't want to go in. he doesn't want to knock on Arthur's front door, he doesn't want to admit to his weakness.
So he sits in the car, afraid to leave, but afraid to enter.
And in the end, his weakness makes the decision for him.
He falls asleep waiting, and when he wakes he's screaming and crying, and Arthur's house is right there, so he bolts. Across the lawn, up the steps, bursts through the door without knocking.
Arthur is sitting there right where he usually is, on his favourite comfy chair, tea on a nearby table, re reading some Shakespeare for the umpteenth time. Arthur barely has time to look up before Alfred in flinging himself into his arms.
Alfred feels safe and warm. The panic melts like frost in the warm rain, and Alfred is able to breathe again.
"America, lad? What's wrong?"
And Alfred in suddenly snapped back to reality. What is he doing? Why did he even come to London? This was a very bad idea.
"I'm the hero, and I have to protect you." His voice isn't nearly as strong or as loud as it needs to be. In fact, it sounds like a whiny child.
It's good enough for Alfred.
"Dude, I just stopped by to make sure your house hasn't burned down yet, all here by yourself." The excuse sounds weak, even to his ears, and is completely destroyed by the fact that Alfred is STILL crying. But he has to be okay, and in order to be okay, Arthur has to accept the lie.
Arthur's face is blank, but he makes no comment.
"Yeah, just checking in, so I'm going to go now." Alfred turns and exits the room without further comment. What else is there to say.
Alfred is too weak to strip himself of his pride and be honest.
Arthur doesn't want to do it for him.
.
This is a very bad idea. Alfred knows this, and yet he cannot stop himself.
It's a Christmas party. That's all it really is. But for Alfred it is something so much more.
Arthur looks beautiful. It is obvious that France got to him before the party began, because the clothes he is wearing are not his own. They fit him perfectly though, and Alfred had trouble tearing his eyes away.
Arthur is drunk though. The pink tinge on his cheeks, and glassy eyes only make his appearance more appealing.
This is a very very very bad idea. Arthur is absolutely one hundred percent drunk. He's willingly talking to Spain after all. Alfred goes over to talk to him.
.
The hotel room is dark and neither of them has bothered to turn on the lights. Arthur is still incredibly drunk, so he isn't exactly kissing back, but Alfred feels like he could die of happiness because Arthur's lips are so much better than he imagined they'd be.
Clothing is lost in a scrambled frenzy of crashing limbs and lips and the only words that can be found in Alfred's head are that Arthur is absolutely perfect.
Alfred thrusts into him and Arthur cries out. It's the most beautiful Alfred thinks he will ever hear in his life. It's beautiful and his alone. Alfred's eyes lock on to Arthurs a second before they both come, and he feels something.
Something big, huge even. Something wonderful and yet painful at the same time. Alfred feels like his heart is leaking out his eyes, absorbed by the bright green emeralds. And deep within, he can feel Arthur's heart beating in his own heart's place.
Then Alfred's vision turns white, and the world explodes with pleasure.
.
"Arthur, please wait! Arthur, can we just talk about this?" Alfred is soaked to his skin, and running in the rain. Anyone else and he would have just done home, but he's been trying to contact Arthur for days, and this is the first time he's seen him.
He loses Arthur though, among the busy streets of London. He sinks against a wall and doesn't even try to hide the fact that he is crying.
If he had a second chance he'd probably do it all again but…
God, he screwed up.
.
Alfred calls Matthew.
Matthew doesn't even bother to pick up.
.
It's another world meeting, and Alfred still hasn't gotten to talk to Arthur.
It's almost painful, watching him from across the room. Alfred can't focus. Over the course of the meeting his fear and confusion slowly fused into one emotion: Anger.
He'd had Arthur. Arthur had been right there with him, and Alfred was absolutely positive Arthur felt the same way as he did. So why wasn't Arthur by his side? Why was he across the room, hanging with France, who was for some reason cuddling Matthew?
It got so bad that Germany actually had to stop the meeting, and, with a glaring look exclaimed, "America! Would you mind explaining what's going on in your head! Or if you would rather not, then stop thinking about it, and pay attention!"
The entire room looked at Alfred expectantly. Alfred looked at Arthur. Arthur looked back, the expression on his face unreadable.
Alfred clenched his hand around his armrest, and then deliberately let go, forcing aside his anger.
"What's with you, Arthur? I wanted to talk to you."
"You can talk to me now." Arthur's voice is harsh, and strong. Alfred looks around, uneasily at the crowd of the meeting room, al avidly watching, except for those on their phones. "Nothing they can't hear."
"I thought we had a connection," is all Alfred can think of saying. Arthur just snorts.
"Well, sure, shoving your dick up my ass sure is a connection."
"It wasn't like that." Alfred's voice is soft.
"Sure seemed like it to me."
"It wasn't supposed to go like that!" Alfred insisted. "It wasn't just a… It meant more than that."
"I didn't want to sleep with you." Arthur's voice was as if he were explaining to a small child.
"No, this night was different. It was special."
"I didn-"
"I gave you my heart, and you gave me yours!" Alfred interrupted, screaming at the top of his lungs now.
"I want nothing to do with you!"
"Yes, you do."
"No, I really don't."
"Then why'd you sleep with me?" Alfred's tone is defensive.
"I was drunk out of my mind, Alfred. What was I supposed to do, perform some special martial arts anti rape move when I was so drunk I couldn't walk?"
"I dunno, maybe."
"You were the sober one that night!" Arthur is the one yelling now. "You picked me up, drunk, at a Christmas party. Even France would have the decency to do it at a bar!"
And now Alfred feels low. Because Arthur is kinda right about the France thing.
But Alfred hates that fact. His hands curl into fists, and he's getting ready to throw something, but then Arthur's expression changes.
"You know what, Alfred? You were right." Arthur takes a few steps towards him.
Alfred looks up sharply. What was Arthur saying? Arthur is steadily walking towards him now.
"You were right. I gave you my heart." Arthur stops only a pace away from Alfred's face, and Alfred can feel the hatred radiating of the Briton. Can see the anger in his eyes.
"But don't, Alfred F Jones, don't, even for a second, be fooled into thinking I trusted you with it."
And Arthur glares at him, as if challenging him to change his statement, but he knows he's won. Alfred has no good response to that. Alfred really doesn't have much of a response at all. How could he?
The entire meeting room is silent as Arthur walks back to his seat. He swings his feet up onto the table and gives Germany a nod.
Germany stands awkwardly, and continues his speech about oil and natural gas consumption.
Alfred fights tears throughout the meeting.
.
Alfred is angry at Arthur now. He was coming apart at the seems, and Arthur doesn't give a damn. And Alfred is so so angry. He wants to prove that he can do better. He is capable of finding someone to love.
It wasn't like Arthur had anyone else who would love him, right?
.
Alfred doesn't get it, when Arthur's kitchen in filled with food. Fresh food. Or when Arthur makes an attempt to cook, he actually consults a recipe, and actually seems to be getting better.
Alfred still doesn't get it, when Arthur pulls out all his old punk stuff, and comes to a world meeting on a motorbike. Yeah sure, Arthur looks sexy. But Alfred doesn't like him like that. Punk Arthur doesn't submit.
Alfred is still rather clueless, when he breaks into Arthur's house one day; it's tradition he's not going to stop, and finds Arthur playing the violin. He's got an acoustic guitar, an electric one, a violin and a piano in his house. And he's using all of them. He's trying out cords, recording himself, and playing with the accompaniments. He's composing.
But it is made absolutely obvious when, at the next world meeting, Romano slides his hand into Arthur's. Then he leans back, makes eye contact with Alfred, and sticks his tongue out.
.
"You don't love him." The words roll of Alfred's tongue before he can stop them. Not like he really wants to though. Arthur stiffens, and turns back around to face him.
"I think, if you actually looked, you would find that I do."
"NO! I love you, Arthur. And no one can love you like I do."
"I don't want to be loved like you love me."
"That's not how it's supposed to happen!" Alfred is shaking with rage now. "We are one of those couples, like Germany and Italy, or Spain and Romano, or Russia and China, or Austria and Hungary. We are like them. Unshakable. Unchangeable."
"For your information," Arthur's voice is harsh, "Spain and Veneziano are dating, Germany is living with Japan as a couple, Austria is getting married to Prussia next summer, and Russia and Belarus have a son named Phillip. Why can't I find happiness where I want it."
"You and Romano don't work."
"Alfred, it has been made very clear to me throughout our interaction that while you love me, you have no respect for me, or my opinions. That's the seeds to an abusive relationship, and I want nothing to do with it."
"Arthur I would never—"
"You haven't proved to me otherwise."
"I'll fight for you. I'll give you flowers, and chocolates anything—"
"No. The respectful thing to do now, Alfred, is to accept that I know what I want for myself. To respect my relationship, and not stick your hands in and meddle. Maybe Lovino and I won't work out. Maybe we aren't compatible. But I swear to you, Alfred F Jones, if you get in the way of me trying to make the relationship work, than I will never, ever, be yours."
Alfred can't respond to that. He doesn't know how. Arthur walks off into the distance, humming a song that sounds familiar, but Alfred can't place.
.
Alfred and Matthew are in a bar now, and Alfred is recounting what happened. Alfred is freaking out, but Matthew just smiles into his beer.
"Why, why, why did he do that? He's supposed to love me."
"I'm glad." Alfred shoots his head up to look at Matthew.
"What?"
"I'm glad that Arthur found the strength to say that to you. I'm proud of him." Alfred feels his stomach sink lower. Why does his brother think this of him. He's the hero, after all. Shouldn't Matthew believe he get the girl?
"Look, Alfred. This is the reason England and I have such a connection. And that connection is you. You are so charismatic, that we can't help but be drawn to you. We want to bask in your light. But Alfred, you are not a kind person. If we devoted ourselves to you, you would tear us inside out until there was nothing left of our old personality, and we would be you walking slaves. We love you, we really do, but we aren't willing to risk our freedom for you."
"But, Matthew, I'm the hero, I have to save you, you have to let me in!"
"Alfred, those who seek to be heroes simply to be heroes, are only trying to disguise their own villainy."
"But you're my brother. You're supposed to take my side!"
"And maybe I would, if it wasn't or the fact that my boyfriend was to busy dealing with the mental struggles you put Arthur through to have time for me. And I'm glad he did, because now Arthur has someone, and he can be happy, and I now know you for the jackass you really are."
"Matthew, you dare to—"
"You argue with the logic of the racist, Alfred. You are simply incapable of seeing reason. And I want nothing to do with you."
Matthew turns, leaving his almost full beer on the counter, and exits the bar, never looking back. Alfred tries to find logic in Matthew statement, but there is none. It's just words and gibberish that he cannot understand.
And more pain than he knows how to deal with.
.
Alfred can't look anyone in the eye anymore. He would curl up and die, if it wasn't for the pride in his nation. That's all he really has left now. But he's not a superpower anymore.
China has become the center of industry, and Japan is the main source of world wide entertainment. Canada has some new weapons technology that is fearsome because it is freakishly effective, and runs entirely on renewable sources. In fact there is a lot of renewable stuff coming out of Canada these days.
But America cannot let go of the ways he has clung to so far, and slowly sinks lower and lower on the priority list. He's the one getting mistaken for Canada now.
America has fallen.
But why, he thinks to himself. "Why world. I thought you gave me you power."
"Indeed," thinks the world, "But don't be fooled. We never trusted you with it."
A/N: So yeah, hope my logic made sence in the end, and what I was attempting to portray came across. I've been working on this a lot, because I wanted to get something out before I go to florida for a vacation (yay!). So yeah.
Yes, Alfred is a Jackass. Capital J. This is what I think of when left to my own imagination about what Alfred is like. And don't get me wrong, I like USUK and everything, they can be really sweet.
But Arthur deserves better.
Didn't find a good way to mention this, but in this story, Arthur, Lovino, Gilbert and Austria are in a band. Yeah.