Hello Everyone!
So this is the first fanfiction I have written in…um…over ten years. (Holy cow!) So, when I should have been working on my thesis, I found myself typing away at this, following the plot of the comic, but then taking it further, because I felt it could have gone further (and deeper) and really wanted to explore that. It is certainly longer than I had imagined it would be.
I had been inspired by the doujinshi "Ichikabachika" for UKUS. (And please, if you know who created it, please let me know so I can give credit!) I love the pairing; as UKUS more than USUK, simply because I have always felt that England would be in the lead of the relationship. Age or something like that. But I also like the dynamic of Fem!America, and wanted to write a kind of character analysis that way.
On that note, yes, there is a lot of long paragraphs and monologues, and not so much dialogue. Please be patient for that, I was really wanting to explore the characters, instead of just all talking.
::grumbles:: If only my thesis was that long…. -_-;
I had also intended it to be a one-shot at first, but I kind of left it open at the end. I suppose if I get enough favorites or reviews, or requests, then I would try to keep going. I do feel like the characters are a bit OOC, but then, when compared to the original comic/anime and the other fanfiction I have read…well…
Anyways, constructive criticism is welcome! Please favorite, comment, review, and let me know if I should continue.
Rating is T for curse words and insinuations (as in referring to adult themes in a tasteful fashion). I don't think the rating will go any higher, but I guess as/if I continue on it may or may not change.
Thank you for this opportunity to express myself!
Ah! Also, I honestly have never liked the head-cannon name for Fem America as "Amelia", I just don't care much for the name, honestly. And after some research to common English names during the colonial times, Ann (or spelled Anne) was fairly common, so I went with that instead.
**UPDATE: After reading a review, I have updated this chapter to reflect their suggestions. Hopefully this will make this story easier to read.***
Chapter 1: Revelations
Anne F. Jones, personification of America, was pretty sure that she could handle anything life threw her way. Yes, she was terrified of ghosts, but that didn't mean she couldn't figure some way to fight them. That was why she watched the horror films at all; notes. Because she was America, dammit! She was the hero; she should be phenomenal at everything! And because she was America, she couldn't afford any weakness. She was no fool; she knew that she was not well liked by many, and even hated by a few. That was fine; they were intimidated; fine. Anyone who felt that the whole world should love them is shockingly naïve; and also a little narcissistic. So she had no delusions about her place in the world. She was the hero not to be loved by all, but because she genuinely loved to help people and because she had the ability to help people. Besides, hero, who doesn't want to be a hero?
But because of her place in the world, she had been denied any kind of romantic connection. She wasn't overly concerned for it, things like that could be messy, she knew. She'd seen the chick flicks. But her lacking of experience did hinder her in navigating certain conversation topics or innuendo. But then, when her purity came out she wasn't sure what made her more miffed, that some were surprised that she was a virgin spoke two different conclusions: that she by default was suddenly ignorant of everything or that they'd previously believed she was a whore. Those old bastards! Being a virgin doesn't equate with stupidity. Doesn't mean she is some innocent little child; she is physically nineteen years old and has lived for 400 years; she knows what sex is. She just hadn't experienced it.
On that note, she was being completely honest with herself when she internally admitted that while she understood romance and sex, she was terrified of having to experience it. It was such uncharted territory; certainly not aided by everyone else's refusal to discuss it with her on the absurd notion that they'd taint her purity. It was awkward, sure, but not a sin. Perhaps that was what held so many back; some archaic notion that discussing sex with a maiden was a dirty thing. Not that it stopped them from acting promiscuously. But oh, they were older, wiser and this somehow gave them the notion that they were superior to her. Really, were they so intimidated by her that they felt the need to attack her chastity? Tch! Men!
So count her surprised and thoroughly freaked out to be quite suddenly presented a love confession and a request to court in her Manhattan apartment she used for the times she hosted the world conference. Well, that was the polite way to say it. The confession was riddled with sensual talk and…bedroom suggestions. Freakin' Ero-Ambassador. And she just stood there dumbfounded by this revelation, unsure of how to proceed. Because it was England. It was stuffy, cantankerous Arthur who confessed that he desired her. And no! For the millionth time, America, his few drinks did not mean he was drunk! Git! Yea, she didn't believe the old salt. Yea, they were allies. They could be civil and pleasant with each other; going for drinks. But they also argued constantly over practically everything. England was usually first in line to criticize or insult her and her country. He had a quick temper laced with soul-crushing words. And those eyebrows! No, he couldn't love her. He was still (Still!) angry over her revolution!
He had been her 'big brother' during her colony days and resented her break from him ever since. Yea, so dating one's former brother didn't sit too well with her conscience. He'd burned down her capital! He took every opportunity to display his power and wealth when she was a fledgling country with practically no wealth to speak of. He maintained a haughty disposition when she did need to rely on his help; lording it over her with a satisfied smirk. As if to say to her, see what you've lost; what you've given up? And now, suddenly, he realized he loved her? He's kidding, right? No, this was a temporary lust surfacing here; a ploy to dominate her in some manner to appease his ego. No, Anne grew angry, he didn't love her. And so she told him where to stick it.
"You're definitely drunk, Iggy." She sighed heavily. "You don't mean it…"
"Of course, I mean it! Why would you think I didn't mean it?" he replied, indignant.
"You want that report alphabetical or chronological?"
"Oh, I know we were as siblings before, but that time has passed. Things have changed, right? And I realized that, with that, my love for you has also evolved." He quieted as spoke his next words," I've always loved you, Anne; always. I just didn't recognize it for what it was."
"I'm still not convinced."
"Do you…hate me?"
"Yep," She deadpanned.
"Wait! I have a question! Does it…does it bother you that I love you?" What? What does he mean with a question like that?
"It….doesn't bother me…I guess."
"Really?!"
"But it doesn't matter, Iggy. It's not like I can return your feelings." She sighed, but he had stepped forward to grasp her hands excitedly.
"Alright," his voice took on a sinister tone for a moment, "I'm going to try my hardest starting today, to make you feel that way!"
"You're not listening to me!" she snatched her hands away, "Now go away. I've got a game to finish!" She never should have stopped playing and opened her door. But the Brit didn't seem to hear her. Not drunk, my foot! She glared as England just smiled and said he would make her a snack! The sheer cheerfulness of his demeanor was agitating; she could practically see flowers blooming alongside sparkles floating around him as he practically flew into her kitchen, like in the manga Kiku would lend her. She shouted that she didn't want clumps of coal for food and reminded him that he was banned from using her stove, microwave, toaster, waffle iron, Foreman grill, and oven. Absolutely no fire! Her only response was a cheerful 'Alright'. She twitched at the tone before returning to her game. She couldn't in good conscience throw him out now; he was clearly too drunk to even be driving. Heroes didn't let their associates drink and drive; he might hit someone.
He returned with a plate of sliced apple and orange, carefully arranged deli meat with cheese, and some saltines. He placed it on the coffee table alongside a glass of orange juice. Anne was engrossed in her game, however. She didn't notice his expectant stare until he coughed distracting her into falling into a trap. Cursing, she scowled his way, but he only smiled and gestured to the snacks he brought.
"Um, thanks."
"Of course, America."
"Dude, go on and take the guestroom. You're going to need to sleep that off or your hangover is going to suck. We have the final day of our annual conference tomorrow." She had made no move to eat the food; simply returning to her last save point to try the mission again. Arthur sighed and made himself comfortable on her couch beside her.
"Once again, I am not drunk."
"Uh-huh. If you're not drunk, then I am not a chick."
"I'm quite certain you are a woman."
"Quite certain you're drunk." She managed to get her character to the top of the base they were storming and began to blast her opponents to oblivion. She chewed her lip, trying to decide if she should employ her grenades; she was running low. "Just go to bed and we can forget this night ever happened, alright."
England wasn't about to admit how her dismissal of his feelings hurt him, but reasoned that she was just overwhelmed by his declaration. Of course she was. The poor dear has never been in a relationship before. I'm sure my confession must have been startling, he thought to himself as he watched her. She really is beautiful. It is amazing that no one else has tried to capture her favor before. Well, no matter, she is loved by me and I will ensure she realizes it. And when she is ready, I'll be more than happy to express just how much I love her when we make love. Oh, it shall be wonderful. She has never experienced the shattering intensity that comes with lovemaking. She'll realize was she had been denying herself for so long. Anne felt his gaze on her and when she looked back he had the most obscene expression. Was he thinking something dirty?! Jeez, this pervert! She saved her game and shut everything off.
"I'm turning in." she announced escaping the living room as fast as possible, ignoring his call that she hadn't eaten her snack. She climbed into her bed with the hopes that the nights revelations would disappear by the morning. She would find out hours later that she thought wrong.
And for the past several months, even when he was back in his country, England had kept true to his word. He'd sent her flowers with lovingly constructed letters, and while even Anne had to concede the gesture was sweet and the poetry beautiful she was still not convinced. Again, this was England who was pursuing her. But when he called to discuss that he wanted a relationship with her she found herself getting pissed through each 'chat'. Because like so many of the others, he spoke in delicate terms, as if she couldn't handle a conversation about adult relationships. All this 'don't worry, pet, we can take it as slowly as you need to,' and then, 'it's alright, love, I know this must be scary for you, but I understand.' And sure, it was nice that he cared enough to consider her feelings, but the thing was that he just assumed he already knew her feelings. Again, someone was handling her with kiddie gloves simply because she was a virgin. Damn it all, she was not afraid of relationships. She was not afraid of sex. She just didn't think he was being sincere. It was his manner, his tone that irked her. His sweet-venom words that said 'I care for you' but what it really meant was 'I control you.' No. Just No. This bird was wild and free, mister.
There was really very few people she allowed to 'treat' her, and that was a generous word, as the younger nation she was. Lithuania could simply because he was the sweetest guy in the world. And while he treated her as 'younger', it was polite, respectful, and he was very wise. Toris had been through a lot, was once very powerful (he beat Prussia before!), and definitely much older than her. He would calmly offer her advice when she needed it, helping her work through her issues with unshakable patience. There was Prussia because that was just his way. Everyone was inferior to the most-awesome Gilbert. And she had a soft-spot for her former mentor. And they were in the "Awesome Trio"; which brings her to the third member, Denmark. But his manner was more along the lines of 'big brother' and teasing, rather than intending to be insulting when he called her "little one" (and the former Viking was indeed huge compared to her petite figure, but she was stronger!). Finland was another because of that one Christmas, but it's more motherly in that the Finn brings her cookies and cuddles, and it only counts if he wears the beard. And Sweden by extension then because he was Papa-Finland's "husband" and since she had been "adopted" by his "wife", he awarded her with treats and pats on the head. (Ah, she really liked Sweden, actually. He was a really cool dude once you got past the intimidating part. And he made the best meatballs and pepperkaker, or ginger snaps.) And China, because he was hella old!
In retrospect, sure, she allowed many to treat her as a "younger" because their way was not condescending. They respected her sovereignty and her strength. (Well, except China, but that was only on bad days, really. She reasoned it was because of his age. Old bones must be creaking and stuff.) England, on the other hand, had always had this superior air to him that grated on her. Every time she did something wrong, unladylike, immature, whatever, he wasn't far behind scolding her for being so ignorant. It was always followed with I didn't raise you to be that way.
France was kind of the same, but instead of scolding he would shake his head with an irritating smile and comment on her 'rustic, simple' background. Ass. He'd been that way since he met her again during her revolution, but she said nothing because he was financially backing her war. And don't even get her started on the perverted gestures he would tease her with; he was probably the only one who didn't shield her from the 'adult' conversations, but he didn't shy that from anyone; not even Liechtenstein, much to her Swiss brother's anger. First with over-the-top romantic invitations at her debut to the world, since she appeared more 'womanly', and then at the revelation of her maidenhood, became more…how to describe it…more predatory. Not that she expected him to actually do anything; France was not a rapist. If he went too far, he was quick to apologize and try to ensure she felt comfortable again, before turning his attentions onto someone else. The way she saw it, if France was the cat, then she was the catnip. Just something he wanted to play with. Pretty harmless.
In fact, he'd come to her defense on more than one occasion when another patron at whatever establishment they were at overstayed their welcome around her and became too crude. (But she wasn't about to sing his praise by himself; Denmark, Prussia, South Italy, and even Canada had done that for her as well. And let's not forget Spain, Portugal, and Belarus who pulled her from the crowd when her virginity was made known and the teasing went too far that she was nearly in tears. Belarus had brandished her knives while Spain offered her his handkerchief and Portugal offered some chocolate, telling her to come back when she was ready, or if she wanted to leave then they would cover for her. The Iberian brothers later sent Romano to check on her and comfort her. She'd been surprised and had never been more grateful to them.) And on the other hand, if England was the cat, then she was the mouse; something to be devoured. It just didn't sit well. She was too suspicious.
Because she'd seen how ruthless he could be during her revolution, and in 1812, and then during her Civil War where he sympathized with the southern states; which if they won she could have been killed. (And Texas, wonderful Texas, acting-personification for the confederacy states would've realized far too late that he'd accidently killed her. Her poor honorary-bro lamented sometimes still that he should've known better and that he never intended to hurt her. Silly Texas; it was war. Things happen, but now they are all the stronger and closer for it, right bro?!) Arthur was a brilliant strategist, being older than her meant he knew how to hurt her while she was still figuring everything out, he knew how to manipulate and press his advantage. Burning down her capital in 1812 nearly incapacitated her and her people had to fight without her, luckily winning while she spent a great deal of time recovering. He burnt it down even though she'd personally apologized for burning Mattie's (it was a mistake, a miscommunication, it wasn't supposed to happen, and she would pay for damages and whatever Mattie needed to recover, but England had denied her and turned her away; wouldn't even let her see if her twin was okay).
Did he think she would just forget all of that?
So to be able to lord something else over her, like a relationship or sex, she could just imagine how much command he would expect to have over her. It was risky, in her mind, and though she loathed admitting it, even to herself, their history and all that, made her kind of afraid of him. Ugh, what a blow to the hero's ego. She was a goddamn world superpower, but he still had such a hold over her, so why give him more ammunition?
So every time he asked to 'court' her, she denied him; simply stating that it was an impossible venture. The conversation usually ended with an argument in which Arthur complained that she wasn't giving him a chance and badgered her as to why that was. It was true, she wasn't, and she refused to discuss the matter further as well; simply thanked him for the nice gestures and asked that he stop. Stop it now. She was sure he'd eventually give up. It wasn't that she didn't want to be in a relationship with someone, but she'd assumed that it'd never happen because of her position in the world. There were those who didn't hate her, but she didn't want to destroy her friendship with them by risking a potentially bad relationship. It didn't stop her sometimes wondering what a relationship with someone would be like; there were plenty of nations that were very attractive to her. She was pretty accepting, she thought, of many personalities. Wouldn't be good to be shallow, right? So she went down her list, because advances from Arthur had her thinking about relationships. Damn him. Her list was of nations she'd considered being in a relationship with.
There was Denmark, of course. Being in the trio with her meant they were fantastic friends, often having fun and she could rely on him, and Gilbert depending on who was to be the 'hero' for the night, to get her home safely. They'd shared an amicable and lasting (one of her longest, uninterrupted in fact) political relationship, which he'd been supportive and trustworthy. He could certainly keep up with her without turning it into a competition (like Russia seemed wont to do); rather he just enjoyed being there and having fun. Hence, he was a member of the Awesome Trio. And he was actually pretty handsome too. Like all around handsome; she'd seen him half-naked. Holy cow.
Most nations were blessed with good features in their own way; Sweden, Turkey, Netherlands, Germany, and Lithuania were all examples of very fine, masculine specimen, to name a few. (And yea, Toris was definitely a part of the super-manly list. It was weird because of how domesticated he could be, but if the others would consider his history, then it stands. And if she looked carefully at him during tense moments involving him, her, Poland or all of the above, they'd see the fierce warrior beneath the gentle man.) Everyone had their thing really. Even, she shuddered to admit, Russia had something going for him. She didn't know what, but Belarus certainly saw something in him.
She was briefly attracted to Romano in the twenties when they'd both worked hard to curb the mob problems in both their countries. He was good-looking, a spectacular cook (even if it was only his foods), and he treated her like a lady. He was a little emotional, but then so was she. Most people's assessment of South Italy, all the Italies really, was very unfair. Sweet little Feli avoided violence passionately; she could respect that. It wasn't weak; it was a desire for world peace after centuries of violence and loss. She didn't know Seborga that well, but he was a lot like Feli and, according to her little bro micro-nation, Molossia, was dedicated to the preservation of written arts. That's not weak, she argued, that's noble. They were often seen as weak, where once they were strong. As if that was grounds to insult them left and right. But isn't that how history goes? The powers of the world shift over time, some getting strong while others wane, before they shift again. But Romano…poor Romano was so often overlooked. It was terribly concerning.
Anne liked all the Italies well enough, but if she had to choose she'd prefer Romano, who was also very intelligent, loving, generous, and considerate. Who listened to her troubles and fears without judgement, and even if he couldn't offer solution like Toris, he could sympathize and treat her to gelato to feel better. He knew he was physically weaker than her, yet insisted that he go first when venturing into danger zones, despite how terrified he was to do it. It wasn't because he thought her weak, it was because she was precious to him (she swooned a little when he confessed that) and it wouldn't do for her to be hurt. She also realized that she had a true friend in Romano, the kind that would put her up for a night if she had nowhere to go, no questions asked. A romantic relationship would utterly destroy that; she wouldn't be able to handle the loss of such a friend. Though there was no doubt he'd be a fantastic lover.
She admitted she'd always be a bit taken with Japan, one of her best friends. After the Second World War, she had feared that she'd lost their friendship completely. She was pleased to find that once things had calmed, after she worked tirelessly with the Allies to rebuild Germany and Japan, he had come to apologize for Pearl. Tearfully, and against protocol being that she was technically in control of the Asian nation, she bowed low in return to apologize for the bombs; that she hadn't wanted that to happen and felt that nothing she could do could atone for it. He had been surprised at her apology, but had easily accepted it. It was a devastating war for everyone, after all, and would be happy to be on good terms with her again. She'd hugged him tightly before apologizing again for invading his personal space, especially after a small grunt of pain as he was still recovering from the effects of the bombs. They'd been great friends ever since, both geek-ing out over anime and games together, but she also understood that her presence could be overwhelming to others, like the introverted Japan where a relationship could…'break' him. Maybe. So she wasn't about to push that.
She also found Australia attractive for pretty much the same reasons as Denmark in that he was fun, easy-going, adventurous, and at least seemed to genuinely like her around. They'd got on very well in the Second World War, her constantly travelling between the European and Pacific theatres, to fight alongside each other. He was a nice dude, was sympathetic that she was fighting on two separate fronts that were a great deal distance apart, and appreciated that she still had come to his aid when England had been so far stretched that he simply couldn't. She'd travel there at least once a year to relax and have fun with him and New Zealand for camping or whatever adventure they'd concocted. But she also had to admit he was like a brother or cousin to her, like Canada or Texas, and romantic notions might have been hard to override familial inclinations. So, yea, awkward.
So her list was pretty short, but like she thought, every nation had something going for them. Even England, she had to admit to be fair. When he wasn't being a stuck-up jerk, he could be very amicable. As his colony he had always been gentle with her; taking a care that she was happy and healthy. It wouldn't be until her rebellion and after that the tenderness would cease. His age attributed to a vast knowledge of the world, even if he was a bit shrewd and cynical. He tried very hard at his cooking, even if it was an utter disaster. When she was his colony, she didn't want him to feel sad, so she'd tell him it tasted wonderful. It was the thought that counted, really. And while she could cook, it was never anything elaborate or fancy like France's or the Italies. She couldn't construct adorable cakes or rice balls that look like Pokémon or whatever like Japan (Seriously, how did he do that?). So who was she to judge?
Arthur had this way about him that she certainly envied or admired. A quiet strength that reminded her of the tales of knights he used to read to her. She could just imagine him in armor, on horseback, sword raised as he charged his enemies. Or a mysterious cloaked figure in the woods, with his air of magic and his archery. And the fearless privateer, feeling perfectly at home on the open seas. She imagined him as a King, sitting high above the rest. Even when he was feeling run down after the Battle of Britain, he managed to appear impressive and undaunted. He was brave; like her. His aura was…dignified, proud, and intimidating. He could make her feel stupid or incompetent in the blink of an eye. He cut an impressive figure. He was nobility, where she was just a peasant; graceful where she just clambered along. He was refined where she was so painfully common; elegantly crafted while she was just crude. It hurt sometimes to stand next to him. Not just for her pride, but her self-worth. She was America, damn it all! She had her accomplishments too; why did they always seem to pale in comparison to him?
She knew he was a powerful force, admitted it easily, after all she had to fight him for independence. It was practically suicide to go against the British Empire. France had given her money, and Prussia had taught her military tactics, but she was sure the neither truly believed she'd win; they merely wanted to cause England some pain without hurting themselves overmuch. (She figured as much by the amount of surprise there had been when she'd attended her first world conference and ball. France and Prussia played it off, but they were pleasantly surprised and immediately used her victory as means to pick on Arthur. She didn't appreciate that very much, really. Her victory was no tool for amusement or bullying. That war was painful and devastating on both sides.)
Their break from one another changed many things about their relationship. Tenderness had turned harsh; friendliness had turned cold, and there would be no more smiles for her. She understood why, of course. He would never forgive her for leaving. While he remained Great Britain, her leaving had damaged some of his interests and his ego. He'd sought vengeance, and nearly a century later, accepted a professional relation. But the bitterness was always there, even when they'd gone to dinners and drinks. His smiles would be tight and his eyes sharp. It made her squirm. It made her angry at herself for still being so afraid of him. And she felt like he knew he had that power over her. This was why she couldn't accept his feelings as genuine. It was why wasn't sure she could trust him not to break her heart; a heart that after so many trials still loved him, in a way. She did. He would always hold a place in her heart, and sometimes she hated that about herself.
Against her better judgement she found herself imagining him as a lover. He would be sweet and kind, probably. All warm smiles and gentle squeezes of her hand. Not too unlike her time as his colony, only this round would be intimate. She felt her cheeks flush. He'd pull her close, warm hands on her face as he'd softly kiss her, and ask her how her day was, resting a hand on her back to lead her into the drawing room. She'd find little gifts here and there, love notes, and a tender greeting every time she woke; soft caresses of her cheek and a series of careless kisses on her face, lips, and neck. She'd have to lie about his cooking again, probably. Or at least subtly try to convince him to let her help. If she was sad, he'd be there with firm, long-lasting hugs and assurances that everything would be alright, poppet, he'd promise it. Anne felt her chest ache, because it all sounded wonderful. And in the bedroom, he would be intense with experienced hands and sultry whispers that would make her shiver, falling into a languid puddle in his arms. In there, she imagined she'd allow him anything he wanted if he would just keep talking like that; keep going. Please keep touching her. For gods' sake, just don't stop! And he would chuckle quietly into her ear, "of course, love."
Anne cursed loudly at her musings, enough to startle Americat who was napping next her on the sofa. The large feline blearily stared at her before removing himself to another place, away from her fuming. Who was she fooling; over-romanticizing that stale biscuit! He'd be overly critical as usual, but this time it'd be more constant, less subtle. What, was she trying to embarrass him? He'd argue incessantly against what he called her 'mad ventures', and clearly didn't approve of her trio-ship with Denmark and Prussia. He'd deny outings because 'we have much work to do, America, you especially can't afford to dally about.' And when they could spend a lazy day, 'why lounge about the home playing those silly games, there is still much to be done. Honestly America, why can't you act more mature?' And dinner, 'I shall not subject myself to that grease-filled mess you dare call food.' Clothing; 'surely you aren't leaving the house in that? She had perfectly nice slacks and blouses in there, he knows, he's seen it. And yet she insists on a simple linen button-up and jeans?' And when she finally broke; 'needn't be so melodramatic, America. Really, she should thank him. What would she do if left to her own devices?'
That was probably a more accurate assessment, she sighed. But where there should have been anger, she only felt great sadness. Because her first imaginings had been so lovely; it must be what she really wanted in a relationship. And Arthur…Arthur could be that tender, but he couldn't possibly be that tender with her. And it was likely that no one would be able to give that kind of gentleness to her; and that hurt. But she also had to admit as well; which caused the tears to fall, that as it turns out, she did find Arthur desirable. She realized that she might love him more that she cared to admit. That she was quite possibly in-love with him. And that just made everything worse.
Over the next several weeks she had been ignoring all of England's calls; instead having the interns' field messages on the off-chance it was actually for work. Whenever he tried to personally visit her, she pretended to not be home. She shut off her voicemail. She returned his gifts. She threatened Matthew with poisoning his maple syrup if he ever tried to sneak England into their company again whenever they visited each other. And no, she is not paying for damages to the door she broke down in order to escape; maple-crusted, traitorous bastard! Her goal was to erase that wonderful dream and that night out of her mind completely. She wasn't in love with him! A relationship would never happen; not in a million years! She would go on as usual; nothing has changed. She wasn't in love with him! And she had to admit that by the time the next World Conference arrived, she felt confident that things were back to normal.
Surely, England would've taken a hint and given up by now. Things would go back to the way they were; she with her usual heroic antics and he with his usual snarky attitude. Maybe she can convince Denmark and Prussia on another adventure to help tear her mind away. They'd understand that she needed an escape; they were great friends like that. And an adventure would be fun. Yea. Something insane too; something that'd convince Arthur that she wasn't worth the effort. She wouldn't change; no. She was herself and that was that. They were too different, you see. And that was alright; they could be adults about it. Besides, there were those that liked her the way she was. And Arthur had…his magic friends, or whatever. He had France. Try as he might to deny it, but they are actually good friends. There. She could go her way and he could go his, and everything would be fine. All would be right in the universe again. He could find someone else to love, and she would also…well, she would continue on as she always had. Need not fall out of love with someone they were NOT in love with from the beginning. The plan was perfect, really. So naturally, the old kettle had to go and muck things up in the most traumatizing way possible.
"America. Let me kiss you," said the old pirate, in the breakroom, with a blush that reached his ears. He'd found her talking to Lithuania about their future joint military exercises, which she was super-excited about; she hadn't been to Vilnius in forever! Both she and Toris started at his declaration, but for different reasons she'd imagined. Toris, poor thing, was most likely shocked by England's boldness. Anne, however, was furious. So she decided to pretend, like before, that it never happened.
"So about those documents, Lithuania…"
"Eh…well…" Poor Lithuania looked so uncomfortable. Jeez, nice going, Arthur! But the Brit certainly didn't like being ignored, at least in person, as far she knew. He gave an indignant 'hey', looking about to drag her off. Nope, she thought; nip this in the bud.
"Cut it out, England. I've told you, I don't have time to go along with your drunken whims." She snapped coldly.
"I know." He started, looking upset, "So I've been thinking too. I don't want to bother you more than this…so, kiss me, America."
"Do you want me to hit you?" By this point Anne was shaking with rage. How dare he?! To think he had every right to come and make such demands of her. What the hell did he think she was? Had she not made herself perfectly clear? The nerve! And to do this in front of Toris…maybe she should just punch him; it might knock some sense into that haughty brain of his. "Why the hell would I kiss you?"
"This is a wager. If we kiss and nothing happens, then I'll give up." Arthur seemed to be losing some of his earlier confidence.
"Of course nothing will happen!" Anne nearly shouted.
"Ah, then I will give up."
"You're actually serious about this?"
"Of course," He responded primly, while Lithuania shifted nervously in the background, trying to interrupt what was shaping into a possible fist fight. Noticing her friend's turmoil, and she hated causing the gentle nation any distress, Anne took several breaths to calm herself down and look at the Englishman squarely.
"So…there's absolutely no benefit in it for me…" she sighed, before Lithuania asked if he should leave, "Lithuania! Are you abandoning me?!" Her inner screams of "Nooo" drowned out his unsure argument ("But, Miss America…"). No, she needed a witness that England would not leave her be! This was getting out of hand!
"I—"England interrupted, "If you refuse to do it, that's just words, and I cannot give up on just that. But if it is still no good even after a kiss, I am sure I can give up then."
"That's just weird!" Practically harassment, she screamed into her head. But clearly, England had touched the gentle soul that is Toris because suddenly the quiet nation turned to America and argued on England's behalf.
"Do it, Miss America!" Anne jumped at his sudden loudness. "Mr. England has opened his heart to you! A hero should respond to that!"
"L—Lithuania?" What the shit was this?! "What are you saying?"
"Do you really think it's alright to make light of someone who treasures you so much?!" the brunette had become increasingly agitated, "He gambled everything, knowing the risk! You could at least give him one or two kisses!" Is he fucking serious?! Toris knew of her and England's history, she'd told him all the candid details. Of all people, he should understand her position! "Or," he continued quietly, "Do you not have confidence in your kissing ability?" To most others that would have been an innocent assumption, but she knew the swordsman well; saw the crafty glint in his eyes. He'd just baited her. That sneaky little—! She suddenly had the urge to punch him too! He may be gentle and sweet, but he was a sly one! He wielded a sword named kindness and he killed with it too!
"As if! I don't want to kiss England!" she shouted.
"Then it's decided. I'll just be in your way, so I'll excuse myself now." He said with a sickly sweet smile. And before she could counter, citing that she had every right to refuse, that England should respect that and piss off, he'd smartly shut the door behind him.
"Eh—Lithuania!" That son of a—!
"America." England stated behind her, causing her to jump. Oh, you're so mean, Lithuania! "Well…"Anne noticed he was fidgeting, crumbling her resolve. B—but I just have to deal with it for a few seconds. It would be better for them, she thought, to simply talk and hash it out, but knowing him he'd drag it out as long as possible. At least this way, she reasoned, she could end this in a matter of seconds. A hero would face this head on! "It'll be over really quickly so…" It's just a kiss with England.
"Ok…" she finally answered, "Let's do this." Stay calm! Anne couldn't look at him directly, not when he looked so hopeful, so chose to just close her eyes and wait for it to be over. But it seemed like the wait was forever. He's so slow…hurry up and just do it! She cracked open an eye just in time to see him centimeters from her face. His eyes held the same intensity that she'd imagined that she nearly flinched backwards. But in that moment, Arthur had lightly grasped her arms and their lips connected.
Anne nearly screamed. She wasn't ready for that! It was a surprise attack! That's unfair! She tried to calm herself, but couldn't stop the tension coiling her body. I…I'm shocked, but it's okay. If I can just deal with this for a little…It'll be over really…huh? England's mouth had barely disconnected before continuing forward, using the hand he'd placed on her cheek to guide her chin upward and her mouth to open to him, where he'd immediately slipped his tongue to brush across her lips and across her own tongue. Tongue?! She yelped into the kiss. Wait…we didn't discuss this! This is foul play! Wait…hey… He'd held her fast, never straying too far, to continue his ministrations.
He'd let out a small hum of pleasure as he tasted her. Anne, meanwhile, had every intention of literally shoving him off, placing her hands on his shoulders. But with each expertly placed kiss, she couldn't bring herself to act. What is this?! What is this?! What the hell is this?! Tense as ever, her hands that were supposed to push him away were now grasping for dear life, and England had taken the opportunity to wrap his arms more securely around her with one steadfastly holding her around her arms to steady her, while the other curled around the small of her back to lean her into a better position. He'd pulled her flush against him, reveling in their warmth that mingled between them, which might have been for the best, she faintly thought, because she was sure her legs were going to give out. It's just a kiss but…my strength…is drained…my head's all fuzzy… Unbidden, the fantasies she'd allowed weeks ago flashed before her; the tender kisses and loving embraces, gentle smiles and caring words. Tears were beginning to form at the corners of her eyes.
She felt some of the tension leave her body as the images replayed throughout her mind and England continued to lavish her with attention, holding her close, shifting his arms to run his hands comfortingly over her back or up to run gently through her hair. What is this? She gasped into his next long kiss, finally allowing her own tongue to dance across his. No… Anne leaned into the kiss and Arthur gave a small groan of approval. I can't…resist. This wasn't supposed to happen, she thought, feeling herself tremble in the embrace. It certainly wasn't good, as she just failed to do what she planned. Oh no…
When she finally returned to the meeting room, after spending several minutes in the ladies room trying to compose her herself, Lithuania had spotted her immediately. Smiling wide and innocent, he'd asked her how it went. Anne responded that it was his fault she had a hard time to which he gave an airy laugh, only stopping when she threated to punch him too which made his demeanor look more nervous.
"So…it went well, then?" Anne glanced over to Arthur, who was already seated in his place, waiting for the meeting to start. Feeling her gaze, he glanced back to her, raising an eyebrow and giving a triumphant smirk. Feeling her face heat up, she hid behind the report that she had been trying to get from Toris earlier, and cursed the Englishman to hell. Lithuania tried to get her attention ("Um, Miss America?") as Germany angrily yelled for everyone to take their seats, since he was hosting this time, and everyone needed to shut their mouths and do as they were told. She sat in her seat between her Canadian twin and an already napping Greece with a huff. It was hard to focus on anything during the meeting. More than once, Matt had to elbow her to make sure she was on the same page of reports they were going over, so she could at least look like she was paying attention. Germany tended to call out nations when he caught them slacking off, though there were some nations he'd already given up on; hence Greece was still out and Italy was doodling on some scrap paper Japan had gifted him.
Her mind kept drifting to the kiss, and she felt it really unfair. This was obviously another part of his nefarious plans to control her; or destroy her. She was sure her heart was going to give out. She continued to curse him in her mind, because how dare he remain completely undisturbed by what had happened between them. Why do I have to be this irritated?! The American seethed in her chair as Canada would periodically shoot her worried glances. He did…that to me back then, but he hasn't looked at me once in the meeting, just sits there reading his erotica…What is he up to? Stupid England! She'd snapped her pencil causing the Canadian to jump and quickly grab another for her, hoping no one else saw.
Anne sighed, looking down at the report on…what is this, Fruit trade? What? Instead, however, the kiss played out on the page before her eyes in a flash and she froze. In fact, she was quite sure her own memory had made the moment all the more romantic, softening the edges of lines, and giving the scene a rosy glow. Her mind was a traitor too. Her face felt like it was on fire and she spared a glance to England who had looked at her with the same infuriatingly smug grin; like the cat that had captured its prize, the mouse, and—shit! What the hell?! She snapped yet another pencil, as France finished the final presentation for the day cheerfully dismissing everyone. Anne wasted no time, abandoning her things (she knew Matt would take care of it), and tore out of the room, ignoring France's teasing stab about needing the toilet. Asshole. No, french-fry, her problem was much worse! I mean, you've got to be kidding me! I can't stand England leering at me anymore! She heard footsteps thumping behind her and looked back to see Arthur running after her. What the—!?
"Why are you chasing after me?" she shouted.
"Because you're running away!" America wasn't as familiar with the conference building in Germany as she would've liked, but had hoped it would've provided an escape, but she didn't know where these hallways led and England was right on her heels. She'd cursed when, upon turning a corner, she hit a dead end. Skidding to a halt and almost snapping the heels off her pumps, she gasped in horror. Oh no…
"England, wait a second…" but he tore in behind her, effectively pinning her against the wall. Her wrists in a light grasp in his hands, he leaned in close to stare directly at her to whisper that he was waiting. He gave a Cheshire grin reminding her that she'd been staring at him during the whole meeting. Oh yes, he'd noticed. Surely he imagined it, she argued.
"Were you thinking about it? Our kiss?" he was so, so close; she could feel his breath as she tried to face away and deny it, but he took the opportunity she presented, "Really?" he whispered against her ear and allowed the barest hint of his tongue to slide against the sensitive lobe, causing her to shudder. This is too much!
"P—please let go of me."
"I will, darling, if you let me kiss you." Anne sputtered in embarrassment, wanting to yell every obscenity she knew, but the moment she turned he'd captured her lips again. I never said he could! This kiss was much more passionate then the last, she could tell, for he wasted no time slipping in his tongue and pulling her close. Aah, geez…Look at you, America; just pitiful. Your first real kisses were taken by England. But it seemed her heart paid no care to her mind because she'd responded to his affections without any real resistance. It would be true, she'd panicked at first, but had enjoyed their kiss, was enjoying this kiss. It just felt so nice, but her mind was still in the background, ramming against its confines, trying to wake her up; telling her this was a bad idea; that she was falling into a trap. His hands had long since released her wrists; she could escape if she wanted to. Didn't she want to, her mind would prompt. But her arms had wrapped themselves across his shoulders.
Arthur had his hands roaming across her back and hips, wedging a leg between hers, pressing her more firmly against the wall so she could maneuver however she needed to and allow both of them more intimate contact with each other. He couldn't believe his success. Finally, he thought, finally! She was responding to him, and he'd understood. She'd had been afraid of being intimate, and that was okay. He could patiently teach her. He'd honestly expected her to allow only one kiss before shoving him away the first time (and he mentally reminded himself to thank Lithuania for helping him convince her to do so in the first place.) That she had allowed him to continue was surprising as he had thought he'd need to take it very slow; for his America was so pure. He slowly let his hands roam lower. So pure, but from the timid passion she responded with both times, deferring to him to lead the way, she was also so eager too! This was an unexpected and exciting turn of events. His hands reached her rear, squeezing gently, and he felt his temperature rise. Oh dear, he thought, perhaps we should stop before we take this too far for a mere hallway. He was certain her first time should not be in a hallway; of course not. No, it should be special, romantic, and only when she was absolutely sure she was ready for him.
America screamed the moment she felt his hand squeeze her butt, startling Arthur and gave her just enough space to punch him in the jaw. He yelped, stumbling backwards, hand clutching his face and glaring at her.
"That hurt! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Ah, calm yourself, Arthur, old boy. You startled her. Still; forgot about her punches.
"I'm the one who should be asking that! Why'd you grope me? Why'd you pull me closer?!" she sputtered, red-faced.
"Why?" he already repositioned himself in effort to show he meant no harm.
"Stop doing it!" she growled, calling him an idiot.
"Wot? Are you embarrassed?" How sweet, Arthur smiled at her.
"Oh, give me a break! I told I wasn't up for you drunken whims earlier. Don't act like everything's changed now!"
"I've told you several times this isn't some drunken whim. I am absolutely sober, I'll have you know."
"Yea, sure, whatever. You were still copping a feel!" Arthur made a great show of exasperation.
"How many times must I say it before you understand? I just realized that I like you. It isn't a whim, if I feel that way all the time; if I have felt it for a long time." Anne squirmed in her place, "I love you, America… I love you."
"I—I don't get it. You've never shown any interest…any inclinations of the sort before. You've always suggested the opposite before; that you hated me. To say you 'love' me…I…I can't…"
"It's okay if you don't understand." He held her face, placing his forehead against hers, "I'll prove to you that I love you. I'll make you love me." She wanted to argue more, but she couldn't get any part of her mouth to move. "I love you, America" He had tried to kiss her again, but instead she'd weaseled out of his grasp and bolted. This time, he did not give chase. Back in the conference room, Matt had left her a note that France had her briefcase, since they were staying in the same hotel, and would be waiting for her at the hotel's bar. She sighed and made her way there. It was times like this she wished she looked older then nineteen, because she could really use a stiff drink. But instead, she'd only flopped heavily in the stool next to the French man and ordered a Shirley Temple; going to go soda at bar, one might as well get a fancy one. France carefully observed her while sipping his glass of Merlot.
"So…Angleterre has finally confessed his amour to little Amerique?" He smiled easily. Anne almost cracked the glass.
"He—he did. How did you know?"
"Ah, I always know when love iz sparking between two nations!" he laughed, charmingly. America snorted into her drink, and asked who was gossiping. Really, sometimes these old dudes were a bunch of old bitties. He only smiled and mentioned his Canadian favorite. In fact, he leered at her, he had heard from Canada, who had heard from Lithuania, of whom was apparently present for a part of the event, that Angleterre had passionately kissed America! That it positively left Little America flustered with embarrassment! "Who would've thought that zhe old goat had a romantic bone in 'im, non? He must've learned it from moi, oui?" It was then he noticed Anne's expression. "Ah, are you alright, mon coco?"
"I'm going to murder Lithuania," she grumbled, flushing madly. She so did not need teasing from France tonight. She should just steal his wine and toss it back. "Look, I mainly just came for my briefcase, France. Thank you for holding it, "she accepted it when he passed it to her, "But knowing you, you want details, and I really don't want to talk about it, but its England's fault! He just won't take a hint!" France carefully regarded her, looking slightly amused by the pink dusting her cheeks and nodding that he was listening.
"But you know," he started carefully, "It got your heart racing didn't it," Smiling when she blushed harder.
"I'm not…I don't…feel…the same."
"Non? But you'll let yourself be kissed? How unusual," he smiled deviously and quickly leaned close to her, placing a hand on her cheek to pull her in for a kiss. Anne reacted immediately with a sharp rap on his head and pushing him away. The French nation stumbled back, but righted his self with a triumphant smirk. "See? That wasn't so hard. With your strength you could have easily shoved him off. So why do you think you didn't?"
"That—that wasn't…He just kept telling me he loved me with such a serious look on his face." Anne thought back to his heartfelt declaration, once again seemingly romanticized by her memory of it, and the flashes of her fantasies. She knew her face must have been on fire, and she felt herself try very hard to reign in her emotions before she started crying again. It really just wasn't fair. She was in love with him; she was certain of it now. And it was killing her. She just had to be weak and allow herself to fall. No, this was exactly what she was worried about. He was going to reel her in with pretty words and before she knew, she'd be underwing again; at his mercy. Dammit, why did she have to be so terrified of him? But maybe it won't be like that, a part of her supplied, it could be as wonderful as you imagined.
"Well, I'll stop being the third wheel now," She watched as France stood, grabbing his coat. What was he talking about? She felt a presence behind her, and suddenly there stood England looking concerned. Apparently, France had texted him that she was drunk and needed to be helped back to her room. She whipped back to France, but he was already gone. When did he have time to contact England?
"America," England began. "Are you alright?" He had stepped closer to hold her arm, as if to steady her, but she flinched at his touch. He looked concerned as he scrutinized her face. Anne was panicking on the inside. What was she supposed to do now; run?
"I—I'm fine. I'm not…" she curled into herself, but Arthur would have none of it.
"Are you sure about that? Your face is all red." He had reached for her face, placing his forehead against hers. "You're warm too. Come on then—"America jumped and yelled for France, startling the Englishman. "What the hell is the matter with you?!" And wasn't that the question of the year? Several patrons were looking her way, curious to her outburst. Think! How do we salvage this? Her lucky break came in the form of a small receipt that France must have slipped near her when she was busy internally freaking out; probably the same time her texted England, knowing she'd be too distracted to notice. No, not a receipt; it was a bill and a very expensive one too, at that.
"France left me the bill!" She snatched it off the counter to wave it Arthur who took it and grimaced at the total. Anne internally sighed; her boss was going to kill her when he sees that charge amount on her government credit card. It was several hundred over her spending allowance for food. Dammit, Francey-pants! Why do you have to order the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu?! Oh, she couldn't take this stress anymore. She fell back onto her seat, folding her arms on the counter and promptly burying her face into them, giving a pitiful little whine. I just want to go home and never leave my bed again!
"It's alright, dear. It's alright." England had placed a hand on her back, rubbing circles, speaking softly. He tried to coax her from her spot ('come on, sweet, look at me'), brushing her hair away to her shoulders for a glimpse of her face. Anne sighed heavily, finally sitting up.
"My boss is going to kill me when he sees the charge on the account."
"No he won't. Luckily, I know the frog's room number and can forge his signature very well." Arthur smiled a little deviously, "It'll be charged to his room." Genius and ruthless; it was practically his signature move. "And I will talk to him; make sure the damn frog never does something rude like that ever again." A dark aura seemed to faze about him. Scary bastard, this one. But just as quickly his demeanor became casual and easy-going again after signing the bill with France's forged signature. "There now; all better, yes?" he gently pulled her from the stool to guide her away. She didn't even notice he'd placed a few notes down to cover her single drink's bill and tip on the counter. Well, she thought, yes, it did fix that problem. She wouldn't ever forge someone's signature; wouldn't have even thought to do it. But she still had the source of her stress, currently with a hand on her waist and the other gently grasping her right leading her to the hotel's lobby, to worry about. "Now, what is your room number, sweet? I'll take you there."
"I can get there on my own." She tried to tug away.
"Oh, don't be stubborn now. You need to rest that off." He didn't snap at her. In fact, he seemed perfectly contented. His eyebrows were not furrowed in their usual irritated position, he looked relaxed, even had a small smile on his handsome face. Dammit, Anne, pull it together! She had abruptly turned away mumbling that she wasn't drunk. "Only a few, right?" He had sounded amused. No, she snapped, she'd hadn't any! Just that soda and, oh hell, she hadn't paid! He stopped her from running back. "Not to worry, love, I got it." Pulling her along, they walked hand in hand and asked again for her room number.
"You knew I wasn't drunk then. So you don't need to escort me to my room."
"Yes, well, I was hoping to be able to talk to you. Now, room number?"
"I don't want to talk." Arthur had pulled her into the elevator, and after giving her a pointed look, she sighed and pressed the number to her floor.
"I really must insist. It is obvious you are feeling some reservations about our courtship—"
"You have no idea what I am feeling."
"Then please; explain it to me so that I will. It is important that we discuss it before we go any further, dear."
"No it isn't," she said stubbornly, and briskly left the elevator after it signaled for her floor, "because this isn't going to go any further than it already has." Arthur was hot on her heels and she could tell from his gait that he was offended. Good, she thought it best they hash it out and he will realize this is a bad idea.
"You are being unreasonable!" he huffed.
"I am not. That's you! I've made it very clear where I stand and you still won't back off!" Anne slammed the key card into her door, thrusting the door open. "Give it up, Arthur! I will not be…I won't!"
"What are you so afraid of?" he stopped her from slamming the door in his face.
"I'm afraid of you!" both personifications paused. Shit, I said that out loud! Dammit, Anne, you're such an idiot! She contemplated forcing the door shut, but she might end up breaking it. Yea, that'd go over well with her boss. An international incident with an ally, in another country, and all because she was having a breakdown. She could feel the lump building in her chest and cursed the man before her. Any moment she would lose control. Arthur, however, stood shocked at her declaration. As if he hadn't even considered that she'd confess such a thing. Afraid of me? He frowned. How can that—wait, since when?
"I see," he began, quietly, "And how long…that is…Anne, you…you do know that I would never hurt you…Don't you?"
"No, what about our past wars?"
"Those were wars, Anne. I'd thought we were already past—"
"And practically every time we see each other!"
"What are you—"
"I can't do anything right by you. It's always something…Something I am doing wrong; something is wrong with me. And don't you dare pretend you've gotten over our wars. Your drunk-talk and-and your sharp…your hurtful words say otherwise." Her control must be gone, she thought, it was getting harder to breathe. "And you wonder why I don't believe you! You couldn't possibly…and not after—This is just some ploy, some trick to control—"At some point she registered her door closing; Arthur had let himself in and his hands seemed like the only thing holding her up. She was practically hyperventilating and was still frowning at her, concerned. He'd firmly spoke her name, but everything seemed to just spill out. "This—this…can't be true. You don't actually love me. Not anymore. And it's not fair! Not fair when I…when I still love—"
"Anne, listen to me, please."
"I don't want to talk about it. Please…please just go."
"No. We need to discuss this. If not for our courtship, then for the sake of our alliance. This is…concerning to me. That you'd be, "it stung to repeat the revelation and he had to take breath before finishing, "afraid of me, it is….important that we address it"
"…please, Arthur, just…" God, that was tiring.
"No, sweet, I cannot. Not now. I am…sorry." Arthur wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. He'd assumed her reluctance was due to her innocence, not a lingering fear of him. He knew she had been afraid of him during her rebellion; he had made sure to instill that in her. He had made sure she knew just how powerful he, the British Empire, was in hopes that she'd think twice about leaving him. He'd been selfish and prideful, but did make an effort to defend her at Parliament. He knew now that if he'd wanted to keep her he had gone about it all wrong. His biggest regret was losing her. But he let his anger get the best of him, especially in 1812. He'd been so frustrated with everything that had happened.
It certainly didn't help that in the midst of his fight with the frog, the Frenchman had hinted that he'd manipulated her in to her rebellion as vengeance for losing Matthew. 'It waz so easy', Francis had boasted and Arthur knew he was trying to bait him into a careless rage, 'You made it so easy, Angleterre. All I 'ad to do waz drop a few seeds of doubt; you did all zhe rest!' Arthur had been trying to keep her with him, and so he'd tightened his hold which only made her pull harder. The venom being whispered in her ear, to his naïve little flower, had only made it easier for her finally break from him. But in the end, just as he couldn't shoot her, she could not shoot him. The rain had blended her tears, but he knew they were there. But…but he had been too angry to notice then. And when 1812 happened, he had been merciless. And he'd seen the look of hurt and betrayal in her eyes as he turned her away when she tried to apologize to her twin for the fires in his capital; when her men held her back from running to a burning White House trying to single-handedly put it out or salvage what she could; when his own men had laughed at her distress, calling her a traitor and a whore. But back then, he'd called it justified; that she should have known better; that she had it coming for making an enemy of him; that he felt nothing about it because he no longer loved her.
He'd been lying to himself that her cries did not leave painful stabs to his heart. He'd spent decades denying it; turning his nose up at her progress, at her misfortunes, at her Civil War—the most painful aspect of a personification's life. He kept denying; that he cared not if she died, but still he investigated the South under pretense. He wanted to see how strong they were; if she could win and survive it; carefully listening to Matthew's reports of her when the boy would see her. And when she did win, he was proud of her. When she finally returned to Europe, to England, for a world meeting and ball…God, she looked so tired, so small. She was dreadfully thin, pale, and for many years after prone to illness. He grimaced when the others snickered at her simple clothing, seasons out of fashion, and unable to afford the nice accommodations they could, chuckling that she had to stay at a boarding house. His anger had died out by then and he felt ashamed that once he had been laughing along with them.
But when he saw her then, he'd known that he still loved her, but even then had told himself that it was as an older brother; that there was something wrong with him for staring too long at the soft curve of her neck. It would be years before he reconciled with himself that he truly loved her more than that; that he desired her. She'd worn a simple, blue gown to the ball. One that accented her eyes. No jewelry for she could afford none, second-hand gloves, with her hair pulled loosely into a braided bun. No jewels there either, but flowers. Not roses; too expensive, but tiny pink blooms found in the local meadows, in his English fields, that had been woven within the golden strands. They laughed at her for that too, but to him, she was breathtaking.
She was always beautiful to him. So naturally stunning that she didn't need to hide behind fancy clothes or heavy, gaudy jewelry. No. She was, is, America the beautiful. She need only enter a room and all eyes were on her; her laughter filling the space with warmth. Her sometimes outrageous ideas were, honestly, a breath of fresh air in a world of droll cynicism. So many times he'd had to stifle an affectionate smile at her imagination. If only he'd the power to make her dreams come true. And her drive for discovery, for invention, and that she wanted to share it with the world, had once wanted to share with him, was incredible to behold. So full of hope and wonder. She was not like the old world, with their spiteful natures, she was every bit the hero she aspired to be. And he only wanted to be near her then; to catch some of that light, as if it could cleanse him of his less then gentlemanly traits. She need only turn her bright blue gaze his way and smile, and he'd have been floored with an overwhelming sense of joy. Because she had loved him once; not his empire or his power, but him. For once in his long existence, he was enough. That was all she asked for; just him. Just him and his love.
But he'd let his drive for power get in the way. His affection should have been unconditional, but instead it became a reward for only when she pleased him, and he'd held her to impossible standards. He could not truly blame her for her actions; she knew so little of the world, and he'd conditioned her to be so in order to better control her. What happened between them was his fault. He knew that now. How like him, he'd thought, to blunder the only truly wondrous thing in his life for something as petty and arbitrary as power. But he had thought, or perhaps was taught, he could no longer remember, that gaining power was the purpose of a personification's existence. It was sort of true; it had been necessary for survival. But the world was so different than when he first appeared, and like so many of his old worldly peers, he'd clung to that antiquated cutthroat view. In a way, Scotland had been right about him during their wars with each other. That he was a fool; an insatiable tempest that could only end in disaster. And now, Japan's assessment of him, tsundere, was on point too.
He was as terrible as they'd said, wasn't he?
But he had tried to bridge the distance between them since then! Opening relations with her, mediating for her with other nations, trying his hardest to be present during their meetings just to see her, and never letting her too long alone with that dammed frog ever again. He'd hoped that it was working, that it was slowly repairing the damage he'd wrought upon them, that someday her smile at him would be filled with warmth again rather than a forced sort of pleasantness. And…and he'd thought it was working. They'd got on well enough, especially after both world wars. That she was afraid of him…it seemed almost silly. She was so strong. Her rise to the top of world…sure he'd been worried for her; a position like that, he knew from personal experience, brought a lot of enemies. Shadow-dwelling foes that would not hold their punches and would find every opportunity to destroy her; he wanted to ensure she knew how to protect herself, to not let any weakness be seen and exploited.
He wanted to protect her himself too, but it would appear she interpreted it as criticism. And judging from others' assessments of him, he supposed that perception was true. He was not talented in expressing the truth of his feelings after spending so many years needing to hide it from the world to protect himself. Damn it all; he just couldn't get things right, could he? It set a sharp pain in his chest, hearing that she was afraid of him. He knew that he would never harm her, but she did not know that. And it hurt him that she would think that he was out to hurt her. But he would never; could never! That his behavior in the past, centuries ago, was now coming to bite him in the arse was certainly a terrible revelation.
And oh! Now he had essentially cornered her, demanding that she allow him to court her, to kiss her, fantasizing that she'd someday allow him into her bed; god, he was a monster. It was no wonder she didn't believe him; why she ran from him. His poor little flower. His sweet, sweet beloved, now trembling before him. What could he do but hold her close. She squirmed, but he could not let go. He could only whisper apologies and his sorrow as she whimpered, begging him to leave her be.
"Arthur, please…" This must be a whole new-level of pathetic for her, she thought; if he didn't think little of her before, he certainly did now. But he was holding her, and what did that mean? He'd sounded so distressed. What was she supposed to do now?
"Oh, Anne. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I did not realize. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry for what?" she sniffled, "You haven't done anything…" Well not really, she said to herself, the one with the issues is me.
"Yes I have. I did this to us. And everything…our wars—I am…I should have…to have caused you such pain…I understand now, darling. My darling." At this point he had released her and was back to grasping her arms, staring sadly at her. So many things, instances and moments, made more sense to him now. So many times spent together, he looked upon in a new light, and found that he should have realized, should've seen her distress. When her maidenhood had come to light, oh, he should have whisked her away that very moment to hide her from predatory eyes; he was such a fool for simply staying away from the conversation, also too caught up in the revelation to actually see how she was faring; all his talk of protecting her and he had failed, "I understand. Please give me another chance. A real chance to prove to you my love; that you have nothing to fear—never have anything to fear from me. Please let me…I…I am…I know I am not the best at expressing myself, but I shall endeavor to be better. So that you shan't ever wonder my meaning; that you'll always know that I wish only for your happiness, to keep you safe. I want to show you that—that you are loved." He said feeling a little more confident. "That you are—you are loved the way you are. My previous words to you…I did not mean that you had to change. Please believe me; that I only wanted to protect you from the world. And you are right; they were hurtful. I should have never…but I was—I was also afraid. The world is not so kind or forgiving. I was worried that if had said what I wanted…that you'd reject me. It had taken me so long for me to finally—but I did not consider how you…"
"Arthur…" She really didn't know what else to say. It was certainly not how she imagined this conversation going. To think he'd actually agree with her thoughts about him and apologize…well, wasn't that something! Maybe Lithuania saw something in England when he confronted her that she didn't see, or knew something she didn't. But god help her, if he had planned all this somehow, she'd was going to….she would…well, no homemade doughnuts for him! You know, for a while. She was startled that Arthur was suddenly on one knee, holding her hands, looking up at her. Oh, what…what was he—?
"Anne, I know I have failed you, but I beg you now for another chance. Please allow me a chance to prove myself to you. And if after everything you still don't believe me, or if you cannot return my feelings, then I promise to let you be, no hard feelings. But I'd like the opportunity to try. We could be…could be friends even. Now I know you are afraid, and that's alright, and I accept responsibility for that, but wherever we end up, I'd like to change that fear to trust, if I can. Dearest Anne, I ask again for the honor and privilege to court you, because I love you. I have always loved you. And I will always love you."
He spoke with such sincerity, and then there they were, the fantasies she'd tried to shut away. It was so hard to push him away when he looked at her that way. Her hands had tightened around his and he'd responded with a gentle squeeze and rubbing his thumbs over her fingers to comfort her. Here wasn't the smug aristocrat, not the ruthless pirate, not even his usual stuffy, glaring self; there was hope in there, and sadness, but there was also the love she had come to miss centuries ago. She'd realized that she was still crying.
"Please tell me what you will have of me, and I shall fulfill it." He'd finished, but she didn't trust herself to form words.
Everything had just been too much, and while she was still cursing her own weakness, she'd simply fallen into his arms below and clung to him with everything she had left, while he held her to him, softly whispering to loving words to her and carding his fingers through her hair. After a while, her strength gone, the scene was fading into black and he'd carried her to the bed to rest, assuring that he would be there in the morning as she tightly grasped him to her, she'd held onto the warmth in his voice and the kiss she'd felt before sleep finally came to take them both.