Let Me Be
Something inspired by a recent episode of Memphis Beat that wouldn't leave me alone, and something to post while I continue to combat writer's block on 'At the Core.' I don't know if this has been done before, and this isn't beta'd. If any lyrics end up being incorrect, feel free to let me know.
Characters and songs aren't mine.
"America, America... Really... This is just too painful to watch anymore." France shook his head slightly with a hand held to his forehead in one of his usual overly-dramatic gestures.
America paused in angrily stuffing some of his files for the current meeting into his attache case and gave the older blond a confused look. "What are you talking about?"
"As much as I love to rile up England as much as you do-"
"I don't love anything that has to do with that grumpy old jerk!"
France smirked to himself but continued on. "As fun as it is it can be rather annoying too, especially when it just drags these meetings on for longer than necessary. Not to mention even less gets done than usual."
The younger man turned back to his papers and such with one of his more common petulant faces in place again. "Yeah, well, if people would just listen to my awesome ideas, especially England, then we wouldn't have to have these long, boring meetings so often. I mean my idea to pour liquid nitrogen into the polar oceans to help keep the ice caps from melting was a great idea!"
France coughed into his fist and tried to lead the conversation away from where it was going. "Yes, well, be that as it may-"
"And then England had to be all, 'REJECTED!'" and he mimicked the island nation's thumbs-down method of denial and a very poor excuse for the man's accent, "and called it a stupid idea that would cost too much money, and aren't I still dealing with the recession, and it's not like it's all that easy to get that much liquid nitrogen anyway-"
"America..."
"And it's not like we were getting anywhere anyway! These meetings are so stupid. When do we really ever get anything done? I mean, like I said, if people would just listen to my ideas, then maybe we could get something done, but everything always ends up in a fight, and nothing ever gets done. I could have been playing games with Japan or Tony or something instead of wasting my time here. I bet England would just be holed up in his house reading a stupid book or gardening or knitting or something like the old man he his."
France raised an eyebrow at the younger man's rant and was growing increasingly glad that they were the only ones left in the conference room. "America."
"He's always making fun of my ideas or just rejecting them out-right! And then he acts all nice when talking with like...Germany or Japan about...alternate fuel sources or something!" His hands shot out to his sides before falling back down. "It's not like I'm not trying that too! I mean, we're starting to come out with more electric and hybrid cars for one thing! And did you know it actually doesn't take all that much to convert an engine into being able to run on stuff like used cooking oil? Although I'm still not sure about the long-term effects it would have on an engine..."
France now had both brows raised, intrigued by the honest and intelligent turn that the other man's rant had taken, but he wanted to get back to his original intent for having stayed behind to talk to the younger blond.
The meeting that day had started off like any other and continued on like any other with the usual talks about the economy and environment and such with little actually getting done. When America – who was overseeing this time since they were in New York City – shared another one of his, like usual, ridiculous ideas during the afternoon portion of the meeting his suggestion was, also like usual, rejected by England, and it had all devolved into another one of their verbal fights from there. France found it all amusing of course, but they really were holding up the meeting. Everyone was dismissed for the day nearly an hour after the scheduled time, and they hadn't even finished with the day's agenda.
The European nation decided to just get straight to his point. "America..., why are you so focused on England than say..., well..., anyone else really? His rejection in specific in this case. Most people agree with how hair-brained your ideas are most of the time, but I only ever see you really react when he rejects them."
America had paused in gathering his things but then started back up again. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not...'focused' on him or whatever. Your old-man brain must be making things up. I mean you're older than England right? So it's to be expected I guess."
"And again you mention England..."
The young superpower stopped again with his hand almost around his empty coffee cup and seemed a little in shock.
"As I've mentioned before, while it's still entertaining to watch you two bicker like an old married couple," and he nearly laughed at the look that earned, "for the most part it did get old a few decades ago. When are you two going to stop dancing around the real problem?"
America fiddled with the empty cup. "Wha-what problem?"
France merely crossed his arms and gave him a Look.
The other blond kept playing with his cup, trying to avoid the self-proclaimed Country of Love for as long as possible (He had a pretty good idea where this was conversation was going...), but he eventually started fidgeting again, and his nervousness and frustration finally got the better of him. "Fine! Okay? I know very well what the 'problem' is, but it's not like that matters! It's obvious he hates me, and nothing's going to change that! Even when I try to be nice he either takes it entirely the wrong way or I manage to mess it up myself somehow and only make things worse!" The paper cup was crushed in his hand. "It's...it's not like I want him to hate me! I... I just can't seem to do anything right..." At the end of his rant his body deflated rather like a balloon.
France sighed, but he was pleased that at least this part looked like it was going to be easy enough. With how pig-headed America could be he'd thought dragging a confession out of him was going to possibly be one of the harder parts in all of this. He put a hand on America's shoulder and was glad when it wasn't shrugged off. "Well, that is what I wanted to talk to you about."
America looked at him with another confused look on his face. "What do you mean?"
France removed his hand and flipped his hair over his shoulder in another of his over-used and overly-dramatic gestures before smiling at the younger man. "I am here to help you see that it is not a lost cause."
The confused look deepened. "What...?"
'Really... Is it denial or his thick-headedness...?' "I am here to help you win England's... Well, I wouldn't say fair, but...," and he had to keep himself from laughing by clearing his throat before continuing, "I am here to help you win England's heart. All things considered I don't think it will be as hard as you think it is."
America's confused look had turned into a very unsure but oh-so-slightly hopeful one, one that France wasn't used to seeing on the other's face but wasn't really all that surprised to see nonetheless. He stayed quiet as the frustrated younger man before him seemed to become lost in thought as he stared down at the conference table, though he was about to speak up again after a long moment of silence.
In a quiet and doubt-filled voice America beat him to it. "You...you don't think it's a lost cause?"
France offered him a small, honest smile. "No. He's the most stubborn man I've ever known and is very good at hiding how he truly feels behind all of that anger of his, but looking at it from a third party point of view... It's rather obvious that he still cares about you, you know."
America blinked at him with a blank look on his face before it broke out into a soft but still hesitant smile. "You think so? I just...get so caught up in our fights I guess I never notice. I...I don't know..." He went to rub the back of his head but realized the crushed coffee cup was still in his hand and tossed it away in the nearby can. "'Still cares...' That's another thing though, France. He might still care about me, but what if it's only like a little brother?"
The elder man's eye twitched a bit in annoyance. He didn't want to deal with this potential part of the problem just yet. "Now don't start that up. You have no idea if that's part of it or not, so there's no real use in getting worked up over it. It will be something we may have to address later on, but for now we need to make him realize that you honestly don't actually hate each other."
America finished gathering the rest of his things and closed his case. He still seemed to not be one hundred percent sure about this, but his usual enthusiasm and energy were resurfacing. "Well..., what do you suggest?"
France placed an arm around the younger man's shoulders and steered him towards the doors. "I thought we could start by just talking and looking at some pictures."
Knowing the other, America wondered what he'd just signed up for.
"I don't understand why you insisted on somewhere different. This place is rather crowded too. What's wrong with the usual pub we end up drinking at when stuck in this accursed city?"
The place was somewhat small and looked rather old, but it still had a rather inviting atmosphere. After the last three days of meetings however England really just wanted to crash at the usual bar they chose that served some good drinks despite being an American establishment. Though, if he thought about it, today's and yesterday's meetings hadn't been too bad, at least when compared to the usual, including how the first day had gone. There hadn't been any fights really other than one concerning the Italy brothers and those odd curls of theirs and another between Poland and Russia over Lithuania. They had even been dismissed early today by nearly two hours since they had actually been able to discuss everything on the day's agenda. 'Even that insufferable America and the frog have been sort of...well-behaved.' Really, the days had just been rather...odd. He didn't know what to make of it, which was just making his headache and a sense of unease that was building up inside of him worse.
France almost rolled his eyes at the other man's usual annoyance. "I merely thought a little change of pace wouldn't hurt, and, look, they even have a stage for some live entertainment."
The easily irritated Englishman scoffed. "Wonderful... I get to listen to two-bit American idiots who are likely tone-deaf, can't play a proper chord to save their souls, or think they're the funniest person on the planet while dealing with alcohol that likely tastes more like piss than anything worthy of consuming."
The older man tutted. "Good heavens, what has you in such a poor mood? Though...I suppose this isn't too unusual for you. If I didn't know any better, I would think you prefer being miserable..."
England turned to him and nearly bristled like an angry cat. "What is that supposed to mean, yo-!"
"AH! An open table near the stage. Let us go and have a seat and order something to drink." France then proceeded to drag the still protesting Englishman over to one of the small round tables near the little stage near the bar.
England reluctantly plopped down in one of the seats. A waitress soon came over to them, and they ordered a couple of beers to start with. The younger man leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest after she dropped off a bottle for each of them. "You know I would have preferred sitting at the bar. Sitting over here means having to wait for the waitress to bring our drinks instead of just having the bartender refill them right away."
France waved him off as he took a sip from his bottle. "I don't think it matters all that much. You'll still get your drinks. Try and relax. That's why we're here isn't it?"
England grumbled as he took a drink of his own beer, but his posture did loosen up just the slightest bit.
The other blond hid a knowing smirk behind his hand as he leaned on one elbow. "Besides... I don't think you'll want to get too drunk..."
About to ask why when that was basically the only reason he was even there in the first place, one of the waiters chose that moment to walk onto the stage with a microphone stand, efficiently derailing England's train of thought and gaining his and most of the other patrons' attention. The waiter then brought over a stool before leaning towards the microphone. "We have a regular joining us here tonight, folks. Everyone... Alfred F. Jones!" He lowered the mic a bit before stepping away from it. Quite a bit of the audience clapped and cheered while the lights dimmed over everything but the stage. England didn't know what to think, so he sat there with his arms crossed and an expression battling between confused, intrigued, and exasperated. France somewhat wondered how that worked but just settled on feeling pleased that he was paying attention to the stage.
America walked out from behind the small curtain hiding the entrance to the backstage area with an acoustic guitar strapped to his chest, though he still supported it with both hands. He headed over to the stool and sat down on it, fiddling a little with the microphone before clearing his throat. "Um... Good evening, everybody. I only have one song I'd like to perform tonight, and it's sort of meant for someone...special..." He looked right at England for a short moment before settling in and preparing to play.
England was now more shocked than anything, though the confusion and intrigue in his expression were still there too. When America started strumming away on the guitar, the still stunned blond thought he recognized the tune but wondered if he was mistaken or if the younger man was just playing it slower and softer than he was used to.
America closed his eyes and leaned a little more towards the mic before starting to sing.
"Baby, let me be
Your lovin' teddy bear.
Put a chain around my neck,
And lead me anywhere.
Oh, let me be
Your teddy bear.
"I don't wanna be a tiger,
'Cause tigers play too rough.
I don't wanna be a lion,
'Cause lions ain't the kind
You love enough.
"Just wanna be your teddy bear.
Put a chain around my neck,
And lead me anywhere.
Oh, let me be
Your teddy bear.
"Baby, let me be around you every night.
Run your fingers through my hair,
And cuddle me real tight.
Oh, let me be
Your teddy bear.
"I don't wanna be a tiger,
'Cause tigers play too rough.
I don't wanna be a lion,
'Cause lions ain't the kind
You love enough.
"Just wanna be your teddy bear.
Put a chain around my neck,
And lead me anywhere.
Oh, let me be
Your teddy bear.
"Oh, let me be
Your teddy bear.
I just wanna be your teddy bear."
When he was done singing America stood up a little too quickly and bowed a little too stiffly before almost power walking off of the stage while the audience applauded his performance.
Normally, whenever England heard the younger man sing, his voice would grate on his nerves as America would usually butcher whatever he was singing by acting like the complete ham he was, but for this... His voice had taken on the lower pitch it carries when he's being completely serious about something, so it actually went rather well with the tone he chose to play the song in.
England very much still didn't know what to think.
'What...what was that...?'
The lack of America-Elvis stuff is sort of disappointing. Maybe I'll be helping a little in rectifying that with this? Who knows.
This is turning out longer than I had planned – originally three or four scenes and then the ending – but...oh well. I don't know when updates will be either. I can be on a roll and come out with something in an hour or two like this much (I've been sitting on this and the ending for a while but just decided to go ahead and break it up and post this much. I had originally intended for this to be a one-shot.) but then I'll hit writer's block for months at a time like on 'At the Core.' -headdesk-
