-1Disclaimer - None of the characters in this story belong to me, nor am I making any profit from them. I'm just borrowing Hidekazu Himruya's creations to make a hopefully interesting story.

Author's note - This story deals with friendly fire (or 'blue on blue') incidents and touches on events of the Gulf War and the current war in Afghanistan, but does not seek to condemn or condone the incidents mentioned. As an English person my knowledge comes mainly from the British media where American on British friendly fire incidents are most well documented, however only a few months after the incident in July 2007 that this fic focuses on, British forces themselves caused the tragic deaths of two Danish soldiers in Afghanistan. The aim of this story is not to make light of horrible events, but to acknowledge them that they may not be forgotten. My sources will be provided at the bottom of this page.

Canada stopped at the garden gate and looked at England's old-fashioned townhouse for a long moment. At length he approached the other nation's front door nervously. Arthur was a prickly, somewhat unpredictable man at the best of times (although far less psychotic than Russia), he could only tremble in trepidation at how England would be in the wake of this latest incident. He pushed the doorbell button, clinging onto Kumajirou nervously.

'What do you want, America! Haven't you done enough!' Arthur's voice was cracked and shrill with pain, he mourned every one of his soldiers lost in battle, but this was even worse. Matthew stepped forward, sticking a boot in the way before Arthur could slam the door on him, barely noticing the usual flicker of sad annoyance that he was mistaken for the louder North American nation as usual.

'It's me, Canada.' He said gently, watching Arthur blink his reddened eyes and waver. He smelt of wine and Canada guessed France must have dropped a couple of bottles off at the doorstep. He too had lost men to friendly fire and for all their squabbling the two old nations understood a lot of the other's history and motivation better than any other. At length Britain turned away and stumbled back through the dusty hall into the house, collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table. Matthew followed through the open door and opened cupboard doors randomly, looking for ingredients. As he cooked he started to talk. 'Alfred is hurting too, you know. Friendly fire deaths are the most tragic deaths soldiers face.'

'They killed my boys!' Arthur wailed, the sound muffled as he buried his face in his arms and slumped over the table. 'Why didn't they see? Bloody Yanks killing my boys again! When will it stop?' He wasn't ready to hear about bloody America. America could go jump in the river for all he cared right at that moment.

Matthew held his tongue, remembering how the phrase 'sometimes these things happen in war' had been of no comfort to him when an American F-16 had killed four of his boys in a botched training exercise near Kandahar. Instead he slid the first pancake out of the pan onto a plate and poured maple syrup over it. He nudged the older nation to start eating as he poured another round of batter into the frying pan.

Arthur looked up listlessly and Matthew noticed the bruising and cuts along the other country's cheekbone, the physical manifestation of world events. Fighting two wars was taking its toll and Matthew wondered how a country with Britain's history could continue fighting so keenly in a world where its importance and power were waning. He had always admired the mad bastard Britain had always been, but to see the other nation in such pain was humbling, it made him wonder if he could carry on being cheerful if even one of the most stubborn states he knew was so battered and bowed.

After strong, hot tea and sickly-sweet Canadian style pancakes Arthur seemed somewhat revived as he reached for his wine-glass. He still looked haunted and clearly mourning, but was a little more alive and aware of the world outside his private pain. He hung his head in shame, 'I act like this is the first time it's happened, as if I'm the only country to suffer this way. Sorry, Canada, I had forgotten you would be able to understand.' He managed a bitter smile, 'I must be getting soft, forgetting the losses of the Gulf War to sob like a child over a so much smaller tragedy.'

'Not at all. You hurt then and you hurt now, because they're your people. If you didn't watch over them so passionately you would not be the Britain we all know so well.' Matthew smiled in return and an idea struck him. 'Can you use this to try and get your bosses to lobby for better technology to be issued to the troops to reduce blue on blue incidents?' It would distract Arthur, but also help him to do something genuinely useful, hopefully bringing good of the tragedy.

Heavy brows drew together at that and Arthur almost leapt to his feet, sending the chair he was sat on tumbling back, falling to the floor with a clatter. Matthew could almost see the flames of determination burning around him in an aura before he paled dramatically and folded, falling into a dead faint. Matthew managed to catch the shorter man and dragged him up the stairs, cursing Arthur's lead-centred bones as he puffed and panted. He dropped Arthur onto his bed and pulled off the older nation's army jacket, tie and always shiny boots, before pulling the eiderdown up over him and stroked his hair in a gesture of affection he'd never have got away with if Britain had been sober and awake. Things would be more manageable in the morning.

FIN.

News sources I used in writing this story:

.com/apps/news?pid=20601102&sid=a4CuvxtxRW70&refer=uk

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.com/article/249726

.com/view?i=7bb_1199592410