Choices

The Western Front: 1st January 1917

Arthur Kirkland a.k.a England a.k.a The British Empire stared out into the cramped, dim dugout, at the dust hanging in the air and crumbling dirt that fell from the ceiling, and the packed earth seeping through the planks that could barely be called walls, at the flickering, sputtering single light, at the splintered and worn long table and benches and at the couple of dozen people crowded so close together that there was scarcely room to breathe. God, he was tired, hadn't slept in days and they expected him to make some floral longwinded toast. Eloquence was never a strong point of his but Hey Ho, that's what you get when you produce the world's greatest playwright, even if that was three hundred years ago. Might as well get on with it. He cleared his thought and raised his glass.

"Ladies and Gentlemen … here's to another year of hell … may it be the last."

A mutter of assent, there was a lot of resignation there, let alone exhaustion, more than there should be, and they called him a pessimist. There was a strange sound; the susurration of a few to many people downing a slightly too strong Scotch, an inhalation followed by the hiss of nearly forty thoughts being burned in a long hot streak down to the stomach. Speaking of drink, he placed the glass to his lips and threw back his head; burned like hell, smelled like a hospital and tasted much, much worse, but waste not want not, especially considering where he was. This could be his last for quite some time; at least it woke him up. Sleep was not good for him, not after what he had seen, what he would see if he went to sleep. He saw the same look in all the others eyes as well.

They all looked "hollowed out" .Instead of life and light there was just a deep emptiness with brief flickers of something that was far removed from the people he though he knew; it was like staring into a well, if said well had something truly horrible lurking at the bottom. Gods they all looked awful. India's normally dark skin was ashen and his dark eyes had sunken so far back into his skull that you could barely tell the bugger even had eyes. Matthew seemed washed out, his colour faded to the point where he was almost a ghost in actuality rather than by reputation. And Emma, dear, sweet Emma, was downright skeletal. he could see the skin hanging off her bones from across the room. At least she was still smiling, you could depend on her for that and he loved her for it, they needed the small things these days.

"Git ta say Art that was pretty shite even by ye standards."

Ah, Angus being a dick, there was another thing you could always depend on, even in the worst of times, especially in the worst of times.

"Fuck off git I'm not in mood for your shit."

The tall Scotsman, who had been edging round the long table on his left, abruptly stopped holding up his hands in supplication.

"If I did'ne know any better I'd say ye was in a bad mood wee brother."

"Didn't you say last week that I'm always in a bad mood?" Arthur growled. He really was not in the mood.

"Well more so then usual," he sat down on the corner of bench refilling his glass from that damn hip flask he took everywhere and holding it out to Arthur. "Tak a seat little brother, ye need another drink, trust me I know what I'm taking aboot."

Arthur gave him a long hard stare, green eyes looking into green; he wasn't used to compassion from his brother. Angus' gaze held no deception, but then again, his brother was hard man to read, always had been, especially since mother died, but there was something else there, something that he hadn't seen in over 2000 years, concern, and that disturbed him. Try as he might Arthur found he couldn't hold his brother's gaze, not with … that … waiting for him, he didn't deserve it. He cast his eyes down. There was a stool and not much else save for floor boards, they were both damp, along with a table, they were always bloody damp.

Well what do you have to lose? If Angus is a git then everything will be normal and a little bit more normal would be nice around now and, if not, then maybe a change would be good.

Arthur closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, opened them again, sank down onto the bench and passed Angus his empty glass.

"There ya go," Argus grinned. "Now get some o this inta ye and tell ye big brother what's eating ye." Angus said, filling and passing Arthur's glass back, again from the hip flask. Surprising that; none of the Kirkland clan had ever been very good at sharing and this was the good stuff.

Arthur needed to gather his thoughts, his eyes began to wander around the room once again, anything to not have to look at the Scotsman next to him. Everyone had collected into two small huddles and pairs and a low hum of conversation had begun to permeate the cramped space. There was even the occasion burst of laughter. His mouth quirked into an almost smile. It was good to see them all so absorbed in their own little worlds, to see that they could remove themselves from all this, he doubted that any of them had even heard him snap at Angus.

"It's a rare sight," Arthur murmured. Though he wasn't looking he swore he could sense Argus raising one thick eyebrow. "This," Arthur gestured to the room. "Look at them all, no one's fighting, no one's arguing … they're all just talking, sharing something." Arthur reached over and grabbed the scotch glass, taking a swig "Even after all that's happened, all that we've done to each other, here we are just being …" He paused, his face fell, going any further would bring it all back and he could not let that happen.

"Just bein' people," his brother finished, still looking straight at him, he took his own swig. "Ay tis a rare sight, Empires and Colonies gittin on, but that's not what's bothering ye'. Give it time an ye might git a good fist fight goin' but ye right, tis good ta see us git along." Arthur turned slightly to face him, he was still grinning "Now, cummon ye wazzuk, tell ye big brother. I aint gonne' bite."

Arthur gazed at his brother for a long moment. He saw that Angus' pale face and shock of red hair was still matted with filth from earlier in the day, when he'd gone over the top to get a message to Ludwig and Gilbert, crawling through the mud for hours so he wouldn't get spotted. He didn't find them of course, but it spoke to his character that he had tried. Arthur sighed, leaning on the table, cradling his head in his hands.

"I just can't help but think this is my fault, dragging them all into this," his voice was so low that he was not sure that Angus could even hear him. "Matthew, Jett, all the others, they wouldn't be here if I hadn't asked them … told them to come."

"Ach ye always were a ninny" Arthur tensed, so much for compassion "What choice did ye have? Eh we just do what our bosses tell us ta do, even ye, oh great leader" Arthur head shot up at that one, Angus was grinning like a fool. He readied an acidic retort.

"Listen" Angus cut him off. "Ye made an agreement, an oath to help Emma if something ever happened, an something did happen. Ye, being the gentlemen ye are, could never let a lady down, besides you an me both know that this was goin ta happen someday, it was just a matter of time. Why don't ye just stick with that?"

"That's not really an excuse, Angus."

"Nay it's not, but it's the only one ye have."

"Well that just makes everything alright doesn't it."

"That's the spirit, Art."

"I hate you sometimes." There was a long pause "Three years is a long time to fight for nothing, Angus."

"We've all bin in longer fights, Art, you and Frannie especially."

"Not like this Angus, and you know it, nothing like this." He looked up to see his brother giving him a long hard look.

"Art," he said softly, "the way I see it, at least ye here an willing to suffer with em, a least ye see that they are sufferin and want it te stop, at least ye know that this," he gestured at the packed mud walls, "is wrong."

"I just …" Arthur sunk lower on the stool "I just wish I had chosen differently, at least tried to make things better." He felt a hand touch his shoulder. Glancing up he saw that his brother's smile had changed, it was genuine for one.

"Mam always used te say that ye should ne git lost in if's, that it would drive ye mad" The hand squeezed gently. "Canny have ye going mad Art, who'd git me home after the pub." The grin was back, Arthur grinned too.

"You think Ludwig and Gilbert are alright?"

"Ay," his brother crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, "they may have it just as bad as us, but they know how te deal with this, nit a doubt in my mind." He chuckled. "Besides they git the best beer, no doubt they're sitten round a big ol fire an singin those stupid songs o' theirs." Arthur chuckled too. He somehow couldn't imagine Ludwig in drunken song. Gilbert, on the other hand, was a different story.

Angus ran a hand though his messy hair, his face going serious "Listen Art, I think ye need te clear ye head, need some privacy, head out, the morning air will be good for ye." Arthur's face creased in indignation.

"Angus, I am the host for this particular evening and a host never leaves his guests unattended. It would be unseemly." Angus' grin returned, several degrees wider.

"There's the little brother I know, go on git yourself some air, I'll cover for ye, maybe turn this into a real party, ye know I'm better at those."

"Crassness and barbarism a "real party" does not make."

"Go on ,ye prick, ye still tense as when we caught Wales with that sheep. Here," he reached into his inside coat pocket, withdrawing a large yellow and green packet, cigars and good ones, "I'll even share mi smokes, only four left." He waggled the packet under Arthur's nose.

Arthur sighed, running his hands from his hair down his face, he was so tired he could barely feel it. He could use a smoke right now.

"Ye'll only be gone five minutes, ne one will notice." Arthur gave one last look at the packet and gave in.

"Give me two and you've got a deal, I may need a while."

"Deal" Angus carefully withdrew two brown roles from the pack, he even produced a silver lighter and handed them all over. "Now git ye ass out of here, I git a party te save." Argus jumped to his feet turning to face the room.

Arthur stood, smiling and shaking his head. He wove his way through the crowd as Angus began to address the others in a booming jolly voice. He had always been better at crowds, especially when drink was involved. Just before he reached the door he spotted a brown paper package tied with far too much string on a table tucked against the wall. He had got it this morning but didn't have to time to open it, too much planning for later, too many meetings. After a brief pause he grabbed it. It had quite a bit of heft and clinked softly. Given who had sent it he could guess what it was.

Heading out into the night two things hit Arthur instantly. One: it was cold as hell it bit into him like a thousand tiny mouths gnawing at his bones with needle teeth. He leaned back though the opening, grabbing the coat hanging just inside, throwing it over his shoulders, thank god for British wool; and two: it was an incredibly clear night, the stars were laid out in all their glory above him in a great tapestry of night. When was the last time he just watched the stars? Too long as far as he was concerned. He heard a cheer behind him and decided to move away a little further down the trench. He did need some quiet. After finding a somewhat dry spot of bench, just under a wooden overhang jutting out of the trench top, he sat down. There was a good amount of light thrown out by a single flickering shuttered lamp hanging from one of the boards. It should have been put out as it was far too tempting for snipers but Arthur silently thanked who ever had forgotten. He lit up and took a long drag, holding the smoke in his mouth and letting out a long, satisfied breath, releasing a stream of smoke into the cold morning night. These were damn good cigars. Arthur looked at the package in his lap. It was not well wrapped. Enthusiastically might be a better word. There was a least ten feet of string wrapped all around the entire package and the paper itself was covered in stamps and stickers. There was a lot of red white and blue and a lot of eagles. Arthur rolled his eyes. At least some things never changed. Drawing his trench knife he took to the task of cutting away the garish packaging to reveal a decent seized box. Flipping it open exposed some tissue padding and a letter. He was surprised that it hadn't been taken by the censors at the mail station but there were such things as happy accidents. He decided to open the letter first. Cracking it open he withdrew a short letter of large expressive handwriting as well as several splotches of ink. Alfred was overly enthusiastic in all things, not just wrapping packages.

Yo Artie!

The Hero is here once again to save the day! Hope things aren't too bad over there. Heard things were hard but I'm sure you can handle it, you old dog. Just in case you're getting all grouchy again I sent over some awesome presents from the Best Country Ever! The beer has lemon in it, IT'S SO COOL! (Don't worry, no burgers this time. They said that it would go mouldy or something on the boat ride over but it can't be any worse than your food, dude). If things go on any longer I might have to come over and save the day and I have an awesome idea to build a giant steam robot to fight the bad guys with. It'll be the coolest thing ever, just you wait and see (Congress keeps saying it's impossible and a waste of money but they're just a bunch of grouches like a certain Brit I know). Hope you're doing ok, remember you gotta be my sidekick when I fight the forces of EVIL! So don't go getting in sulk about being all alone and not being as awesome as yours truly. Anyway, hope you like the gifts and remember to write me back. One of the scarves is for Mat. Tell him he should wear it as it's way more awesome than any of the other ones he has. Say hi from me and remember to share old man!

Regards

Alfred F. Jones

P.S Say Hi to the perv for me. Her package got delayed at Customs or something, they said sending a cat to a war was against some code or other. IT'S SO UNCOOL!

Arthur smiled. His son may be an irritating child but he was a sweet one when he wanted to be. Placing the letter next to him he flipped aside the tissue wrapping to reveal several interesting items. First and in pride of place was a brand-new revolver with a small note stuck to it that read Got you a prototype Dude! Picking it up, Arthur felt the weight and heft of the thing. He had to admit, it felt good. Alfred's lot were getting disturbingly good at making guns, it seemed something of an obsession for them. Placing the firearm to one side Arthur saw that there were two glass bottles of beer. Neither of them had labels which left Arthur somewhat suspicious. He would not put it past his son to send him something truly awful claiming it was a new alcoholic beverage. There was also a small brown box with Hershey's Kisses written on the top in bold red letters, Arthur remembered when these first came out in 1903 Alfred had gushed about the damn things for week, but he himself was yet to try them. It should certainly be an experience if nothing else. Finally, nestled at the very bottom of the box were two scarves patterned to look like the American flag. Picking them up Arthur saw that they both also had a Bald Eagle emblazoned on one end, wings spread with the words Home of the Free knitted in bright yellow across their chests. Arthur closed his eyes, breathing in heavily. Alfred was strong, powerful and the eternal optimist but his total lack of subtlety was something to behold. As Arthur began a closer inspection of the items he got the one thing that he genuinely had not expected, company.

"Mon Lapin, I don't suppose you 'ave room in your cold 'art to let a poor lady take shelter from this terrible cold with you? An innocent maid such as myself should not be abroad alone on a night like this."

Arthurs head snapped up. He would have known that dulcet tone anywhere. He had known it for most of his long, long life, and low and behold there she was. Francine Bonnefoy, otherwise known as the Republic of France, stood just outside the pool of light thrown out by the lamp, sapphire blue eyes sparkling with amusement at his no doubt slack jawed surprise at her arrival. Taking a moment to compose himself before answering.

"Ah, my Lady, you would grace this poor soul with your angelic presence. I would be honoured to entertain on this fine morning, if you would have me." If she was going to be overdramatic then so was he.

She laughed, high and lilting, but it sounded somewhat forced, there was an edge there, grating and sharp. He couldn't blame her; she'd had it worse than any of them apart from Ivan, but no one had heard from him in quite some time. As she moved forward into the pool of light he finally got a good look at her. She still insisted on wearing that ridiculous blue shirt and cloak combo and the bright red trousers that always got her shot at, but, as she said, she was willing to die for the sake of style. At least she was covering it somewhat with the long grey coat that hung from her shoulders. He had to admit though that in combination with the knee high black boots, the way her golden hair framed her face and the way her breath fogged when she breathed out creating the effect of looking at her though a thin sheet of smoke was striking, she was almost perfect. The "almost" was important. There were a few hairs out of place, unhooked from the bun, splaying out from her head in a strange ghostly halo. He also noticed that she had not quite buttoned up her jacket correctly, or at least one had come undone. Most importantly, her eyes, she actually looked tired, her normally perfect face marred by the slight impression of bags hanging beneath eyes and an almost imperceptible sunkenness in her pale cheeks. She would normally never let herself been seen with even these tiny blemishes, her pride would not let her. She must be feeling like shit.

"My dear Arthur, I know I look fabulous, but didn't your mother tell you it's rude to stare?"

Arthur blinked. How long had he been staring?

"Of course, I do apologise." He shuffled over, giving her some space on the dry part of the bench. He'd get damp but he was a gentleman after all.

Francine glided over, all poise and grace, and sank daintily down on the bench next to. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the military issue garb but he would never tell her that, it would spoil her fun.

"What do you 'ave there? Perhaps an illicit package from a lover back 'ome? Lapin I didn't think you 'ad it in you. I thought I was the only one. I'm 'urt." Her twisted, lecherous smile shone in all its perverted glory.

"Dear god, Francine, it's always about sex with you, isn't it?"

"I am the country of love Arthur, everything is about sex." Arthur huffed.

"Well that is not the case with me."

"But you are Mon Lapin and bunnies are the most active in realms of love."

"You are a perverse and twisted woman, you know that?"

"Naturellement and you are a stuck-up prude." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"If you really must know it's some gifts from our son," said Arthur passing her Alfred's letter. "Expect a cat at some point in the near future, I suspect it will be somewhat agitated due to being in Alfred's presence for more than five minutes." Francine laughed, her eyes scanning the letter.

"Ah, I am still the old perv I see. That boy, he breaks my 'art" She leaned back closing her eyes in a long drawn out sigh. She looked so tired, like a rose that was starting to wilt; there was his poetic streak, only there when he needed to insult someone. Here was his greatest enemy, totally beat, just sitting next to; there were weapons, no real arguments save for the standard ribbing. They weren't even trying to strangle each other, a refreshing change after all these years of personal grudges and ceaseless warfare. But it hadn't always been like that, not at the start at least. Things had been … not good, not all the time … but better. This reminded him of those times, when they weren't fighting all the time, when they could talk. He made a decision.

"Francine" Her eyes cracked open, a sliver of blue appearing in the pale face. "Here you look like you could use these." He was holding out the other cigar and one of the beers. She turned her head to look fully at him.

"The Great British Empire, sharing" she said in genuine surprise. "Will wonder never cease?" Arthur smiled shakily at her.

"Why Francine, I am merely offering an old war companion solace on a cold January night, is that not what you asked for? What else is a gentleman to do?"

Grinning Francine took both. Slowly raising the cigar to her lips she asked,"I don't suppose the gentlemen would 'ave a light for an old war companion?"

Arthur quickly raised his brother's lighter up to her. Sparking the light he carefully lit her up. Despite the lamp he still needed to lean closer. He felt unsteady, he thought the scotch was getting to him. They were very, very close to each other. Her smile was very hard to look away from. He lent back, taking another drag on his own smoke. It had burnt down quite far since his last, he should have been paying attention. Ah, well, still plenty left. He was broken out of his short reverie by the click and hiss of a beer bottle opening. Looking back up he could not help but laugh. The amount of suspicion that Francine was eyeing the beverage with was hysterical; he supposed that he would have looked the same given what he knew of Alfred's pranks. She slowly brought the bottle up to her nose and sniffed, recoiling slightly at the apparently pungent aroma.

"What, is, This?" the amount of disgust in her voice was impressive.

"It apparently has lemon in it. I'm somewhat sceptical of the addition myself but Alfred seems to have faith in it" Francine frowned.

"What ever 'appened to the classics? Why fix what isn't broken?"

"Well," Arthur chuckled cracking his own bottle, "you know how Alfred is with new thing."

"True, cheers" They chinked and drank. There was a pause.

" 'orse piss"

"It's not that bad … I mean it's not good but it's not bad"

"I've 'ad better drinks in Turkey and alcohol is banned there. BLECH!"

"Well it seems quite appropriate given our current location"

"What are you saying about my beautiful countryside?"

"You're saying we're not currently sitting in a shit hole?"

"Shut up Angleterre" she sniffed. Arthur laughed long and loud, throwing his head back. It felt good to laugh.

"Well here's to us, Love" They chinked their glasses again, drank and lapsed into a companionable silence.

"Hey, Francine?" Arthur's voice broke the silence after a while.

"Hm?"

"Do you ever think about if you could have done something different?" She tuned to look at him, her eyes sharp and questioning.

"Why?"

"Just a thought"

She made to say something but paused, thinking, then,"Well, like what, what would I have done differently? Give me an example."

Arthur cradled his head in his hands, cigar smoking into the night.

"Well … like … gods… I don't know … like … what if we could have worked things out, what if we could have worked things out?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath. It wasn't fair what he asked but it was what had sprung to the forefront of his mind. Stupid. Shouldn't have asked. Why would she think about that. That whole debacle had been his fault to begin with he –

"Sometimes"

It was so soft that he barely heard it, but hear it he did. He slowly brought his head back up to look at her. There was the same look in her eyes as there had been in Angus', the same compassion and maybe something else, regret maybe? And there was something else even deeper down, but he didn't want to even contemplate that.

"Sometimes I do," she repeated "I 'ave a 'abit of getting lost in the past, thinking about 'ow I could 'ave done things differently." Arthur stared. He couldn't quite believe he was hearing this. She looked back up at the night sky, wistful contemplation plastered across her face. "We all have too much past, mon Lapin. We could drown in it if we let ourselves, but it's fun to dabble now and again" Her eyes closed "to imagine what we could 'ave 'ad if we just talked."

"What could we have had?" he knew the answer, but he needed her to say it. She turned and smiled once again. In that moment she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Everything"

"The world?" his voice shook.

"And so much more mon Lapin"

She could always make him smile; even when they had truly hated each other she could make him smile. He didn't hate her anymore, hadn't in a while.

"A lovely thought, love, imagine the world trembling at our feet, all would bow to kiss the very ground we walked on."

"The Art and Music, imagine Lapin, the greatest cities the world 'as ever known, a city of light and laughter, our 'ome."

"A more appropriate setting I could not ask for, my dear" He put his arm around her then, bold for him. She did not pull away. "The stars themselves would be our limit"

"A good dream, Lapin, terrifying, but good" She paused gazing up at the vastness of night and said, "It's too bad we hate each other, isn't it?" That hurt. Arthur nearly pulled away then. Did she still hate him? Instead he reached up, the cigar had long since burned out and been tossed away, and gentle took her face in his hand, turning her to face him. They looked at each other, blue and green, there seemed to be nothing else in the whole world just then.

"I don't hate you … my Lily"

"Neither do I … coeur de Lion"

It had been so long since they had each heard those names. If they had been hopelessly romantic this was where they would have kissed. They might have if a loud crash, a roar of laughter and a yelled "FUCK!" hadn't erupted from the dugout they had both just left. There was an unmistakable Scottish twang to the aforementioned furious yell.

"Oh, bloody hell" Arthur looked over to try and see what was going on, disentangling himself from the French women.

"It seems, mon amour, that your brother is doing what 'e does best, annoying you" She was giggling.

"Bloody Arsehole" Arthur muttered making to stand up. A hand stopped him.

"Let the children play, dear Arthur, they get so few opportunities these days" There was another crash, more swearing "It gets it out of their system, sit with me, you don't want to 'ave to deal with that." Her voice was gentle but firm, Arthur sank back down.

"A toast" she said, her voice rising along with what was left of her beer "I propose a toast."

"To what may I ask are we toasting?" Arthur's eyebrows rose. He'd already cocked one toast up this evening; he didn't want to face another.

Francine considered a moment before her face softened. She looked at him a moment and said,

"To what could 'ave been, mon amour" She sounded so sincere.

He looked up, her golden hair framing a gentle smiling face, and responded in the only way he thought appropriate. He raised his own bottle, "To choices, my dear"

They both chinked their glasses one last time, smiling at each other. They hadn't smiled this way in a very long time, somehow it felt appropriate. They drank, stood for a moment before sitting down and just holding each other close.

Arthur knew that after all this was over, they would need to talk. There was far too much baggage between them to get through in one morning, hundreds of years of it, but it was a start and that mattered. They both had choices to make in this and, for once, Arthur hoped that he could make the right ones, and maybe, just maybe, they could make this work this time. He damn well hoped they could.