14 Mar. 13 – 9:59 PM
Last fic for Sweethearts Week. Seven done in 2 days... Wow.
14th: Celebration of Love
Usually our theme for this day is Valentine's Day, but since it technically isn't V-day, we decided to open it up. You can do the traditional Valentine's Day theme, go with White Day, or you can do any other kind of celebration of romance; anniversaries, weddings, engagements, you name it.
Note/Warning: Alternate History inspired by 1984 by George Orwell, mentions of sexual conduct, death
Rating: T
Cover
America smiled at the portrait. It wasn't often that he found one in the Queen's home.
"Does that portrait interest you?" He nodded at her question, but did not answer her at all. The largest of three superpowers, he did not answer to her.
It reminded him of his childhood days.
"Could I interest you in a pint?" He turned and smiled at her, nodding again. He waited for her servant to pour the ale into a suitable container and he reached for it when it was full. He took several mouthfuls of the beverage, hiding his disdain at the taste, before turning back to the portrait.
"Is there any reason for it being uncovered?"
"A bit of history, I suppose. After all, this man educated you at one point, yes? Let us be proud of the man that he helped you become."
Of course, he was proud of this person. The blond man in the portrait gave him everything... and broke him.
After the Great War, America had been praised and his country retained much of the value of its resources. Even the Depression could not keep him down at the lowest levels of the economy. Germany had seen its moment and struck the other nations when their ally across the ocean had not wanted any part of the Old World. No more crying for Mother.
The longer the portrait hung uncovered, the more fire burned and consumed America's insides.
England had come to him for help, yet, as much as America wanted to say yes, the government denied him.
The portrait on the wall hung as a memorial.
"Do you know the man's name, your highness?"
"He was England, Arthur Kirkland." The woman smiled, aged marring her skin with wisdom. "He would be your subordinate, should he have survived the war."
The Blitzkrieg had broken England and in turn, America had broken when his parent, brother, friend, had fallen in front of him, devoid of resources, social control, or economic value.
"Please" he had begged. "Take care of my people... Make them yours.
"Make me yours."
England's body had broken beneath his, his spine arching in awkward angles as they meshed together, trying to complete the puzzle that was them. They had yearned for each other and in the final moment, they were one.
America stood outside of the Tower of London. It was here that England fell. Though the road had been paved again and the building rebuilt, he knew that this was where his lover had fallen.
"Happy anniversary, England."
No one said that it had to be happy. Not all anniversaries are joyous, but they call for silence, the absence of pomp and circumstance.
As America walked away from the Tower of London, he tried to hold back the tears that attempted to flow out from his eyes.
The portrait, burned into his retina, was one of where they stood, not with their leaders, but beside one another, their eyes speaking of joy and tiredness of a war finally over.
Only thirty-nine years, and already it was a memory...
The most precious he had.
14 Mar. 2013 - 10:17 PM
Happy Sweethearts Week :)