This is the Hardest Part of Leaving You
Chapter One: Little Boston?
The wind created goosebumps on Arthur Kirkland's bare arms, he would usually adorn long sleeves or a jacket, but he left it at his small abode. The talk grass swayed slightly from the wind that grazed it as he walked with his lover. Arthur gripped the slightly larger hand with his own, chagrin racing over him as he realized that his hands were sweaty. Alfred didn't mind, but the Englishman was fretting inside of his head. Although he enjoyed the moments he got to spend with the loud-mouthed man; as countries, they never spent much time together.
Cries of pain and whimpers echoed from behind the trees. The couple's attentions were fixated on the voice, and it seemed of one of a small child. Their fingers unlocked, and the thick-browed blond ran towards the crying sounds, eventually seeing a small girl with dark brown hair crying. A scrape was adorned by her leg, some blood, and it ranged from her knee to her ankle. His breath hitched in his throat as pools of green gazed into his own; the sadness in those eyes made his heart beg for mercy.
As his heart cracked into weeping pieces, she sniffled softly. Her cries faltered and halted to a stop, the brunette child managed to voice a hello with a bulge of tears hitched in her throat.
Arthur shook his head to get his mind back on track, and smiled softly at the girl, "You're going to be okay poppet, I'll clean that scrape up for you. What do you say?"
Her head shook softly, her eyes and face red from crying. And for the third time his heart like another Nation, but didn't feel like a full-fledged country.
His thoughts were interrupted as his lover made his presence, loud-voiced, but as he laid eyes on the little green-eyed girl, his voice stopped. With two tall people around her, she started to cry. Arthur bent down and scooped the child in his strong arms; as she cried he rocked the brunette gently.
Alfred took a step closer to the two and spoke "Little girl, could you tell me your name?" She may be a country, but it seemed unlikely, even though there was something about her that both adults were sensing.
She sniffed and then spoke "M-My name is Boston..."
Both blond men stopped in their tracks of thought as they heard the words of the city that was shared between the both of them. Leaves rustled quietly in the background as the silence rang loudly in their ears, only for a few moments until the girl spoke once more, now stifling out a question towards them.
"Who are you?" she almost demanded, looking up towards the Englishman that had her in his arms. If he had not seen the little city crying before, he'd think she was a bit of a brat. But as seeing her in a weakened state, and then being taken down by words from the girl's mouth, he realized that she was a strong little one. Little Boston had forgot about the large scrape that her knee now bore, and started to interrogate; this is my kind of child, he thought.
His lover had answered him without his own knowledge, most likely in Arthur's long train of thought. It had probably been longer that he realized, staring into glazed green eyes, weakened from crying, but strong from courage.
"Should we name her, Artie?" spoke an unusually-soft voice coming from Alfred, trying to be soothing to not upset the child that sat upright in the arms of 'Artie', a name that had been fashioned over the years. Arthur always tried to steer his mate to not speak in a demeaning manner to him, but the matter and principle never sunk in to the large-brainless head of America's. After a few years of being called that wretched nickname, loss had sunken in, and he knew he'd never win, so England surrendered under that name.
There was not much to ponder, should he name the little city -rather than a nation, but still important- a fitting title, or not? Of course he would name her, and he had in mind for raising this little girl that fit some perfectly in his arms, spreading warmth to his chest as she cuddled closer.
The couple looked at one another, and at once, simultaneously said…similar names.
"Abigail Kirkland."
"Abigail Jones."
Oh, were they at a standpoint, and the two fought for about fifteen minutes before the louder one got his was as the girl spoke in a definite tone, "I like Abigail Jones better."