Hey everyone! This is my very first Hetalia fic so I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Constructive Criticism is appreciated but flames are not.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia (yet)

Warning(s): none, just angst, angst, and more angst. Or at least I attempted to make it that way.

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Chapter One

Loss

Arthur tapped his foot impatiently, he twiddled his thumbs, he ran his hands through his unkempt blonde hair- he did anything and everything to keep himself occupied… to keep him from having a total breakdown. The Englishman was worried and it was to the point where it was almost unhealthy. It took every ounce of his being to fight the urge to cry as the horrible images of the accident replayed in his head like some kind of sick horror movie.

The burning building…

The explosion…

The blood…

Alfred's blood…

It seeped out of the protective helmet Alfred had worn and stained his sandy blonde hair, turning it a sickly brown. The other firemen dragged Alfred's unconscious form away from the burning building before another explosion of flame and shards of glass rained down upon them.

Only after spending ten minutes of convincing the officer that he was with Alfred did Arthur run to his lover's side, taking it all in; the American wasn't at all in horrible physical condition- minor scratches, bruises, and soot marked his tan skin.

But the blood… oh, the blood…

That was what worried Arthur the most, even after the paramedics had gotten the situation well under control. On the way to the hospital, Arthur held onto Alfred's hand for dear life, refusing to let go. There was no way that the Englishman was going to give up hope.

There was no way in hell.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

The doctor's voice brought the blonde man from his thoughts. Said Englishman immediately stood up, waiting to hear the best… or worst.

"Mr. Jones is out of the woods. He's safe," the doctor, now known as Dr. Richards after Arthur had read his name plate, announced.

Arthur released the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"However," Richards continued, and this made Arthur's blood run cold, "the blow to the head affected his memory greatly. The right side of his brain didn't suffer too much damage but enough to make a difference. I'd taken the liberty of asking him simple questions such as the date, where he was, what had happened, who you were, etc. The most information he knew was his name."

The personification for England felt the ground shift beneath his feet and his heart jump into his throat. Amnesia. One of the worst things that could possibly happen besides death. Hell, Alfred may as well have been dead.

"He is awake if you want to see him but don't be hasty. You'll only scare him," the doctor said.

Arthur gave a simple nod as his response, fearing if he said anything he would have a total meltdown. And this was neither the time nor the place to have such a reaction. The brunette doctor led Arthur into the room and the Englishman watched as Alfred looked out the window and into the city, staring at the towering skyscrapers and the zooming cars. The moonlight that was leaking into the hospital room lit the man's face perfectly, making Alfred more beautiful than he already was.

"Alfred?" Richards broke the silence and the American perked to attention.

Deep emeralds met with oceanic sapphires as the younger of the two eyed him curiously.

"Who are you?" Alfred wondered, his head tilting to the side a bit and his hair favored the right slightly.

The hurt was evident in Arthur's eyes the second those words left those beautiful soft lips, the lips he had the privilege of kissing time and time again. He looked at Alfred right in the eyes as they gazed at him with the utmost curiosity. Arthur had expected this question the pain made sure the Englishman knew it was there by clawing at his heart, threatening to rip it open at the seams.

A feigned smile danced across Arthur's face, "I'm Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too. I'm Alfred Jones," the American smiled innocently, unaware of the fact that with each word he spoke, he was tearing Arthur apart piece by piece.

"Mr. Jones, Mr. Kirkland is going to be staying with you and help you at home," Dr. Richards chimed in, cutting the tension of the atmosphere.

"But I can take care of myself!" Alfred protested, the determination evident in his eyes.

"Mr. Kirkland is just there to make sure you're recovering well, okay? Besides, I'm sure you two will become great friends," Dr. Richards smiled.

That defiant look turned into Alfred's trademark grin, the one that could light up an entire room the one that could bring a smile to anyone's face… the one that could be the death of Arthur.

"You are free to go in about a day or so. Until then, try to rest. I'll have a nurse check on you in a few hours," and with that, the doctor exited the room in haste, as if to escape the strain in the room.

Now the former lovers were left in an awkward silence, neither wanting to speak but yet had a million things to say to the other. Arthur sighed and sat in a chair in the far corner of the room. Had it all been a mistake? Had Alfred's choice of moving to England been a huge blunder? If Alfred hadn't chosen to leave his home country and stay with Arthur, he wouldn't be in this fix. He would still be the same loud, obnoxious, outgoing, loving git he had been.

"Arthur?" Alfred's voice shattered the reticence.

Said blonde looked up and watched as concern began to paint itself along Alfred's handsome features.

"A-are you okay?" Alfred wondered.

Was that… unease leaking into the American's tone?

"Yes, I'm fine, Alfred. You should rest like the doctor said. You want to leave as soon as possible, don't you?" Arthur spoke with a tone as if he was talking to a child. And… Alfred sort of was in a sense. At least mentally.

The American was now acting introverted and nervous, something the man never was. Stranger anxiety- something that toddlers go through when around others. Sure, Alfred had always been a kid at heart but the fact that he truly was going to act like a child was a bit difficult for Arthur to wrap his mind around.

Alfred had no clue as to who he was… or had been. Arthur had to understand that. The younger man was confused, that's all. And it was up to Arthur to comfort him and help him remember who he was. The Englishman just hoped that it wouldn't drive him to depression or insanity first.

Yes…

Arthur would help the American through this.

He didn't have much of a choice anyhow.

Alfred nodded and buried himself underneath the covers; he fondly scrutinized Arthur's every move as the Englishman strolled over to the light switch and flicked it off. The personification for England sat back in his chair and gladly let sleep embrace him after Alfred had fallen asleep as well.

Arthur: Crimson, what the hell?

Me: -smiles nervously- Sorry, Artie..

Alfred: -oblivious to the atmosphere- Please review! It makes Crimson happy!