A/N: Hey, this is just a little something I wrote for Father's Day. I don't think there's enough platonic USUK out there. Still, you can look at it as romantic if you want to. First Heatlia fanfic, so critiques are appreciated! (BTW, I hate the title. -_-")
Warning: Some language and Iggy-angst.
Disclaimer: Make pasta, not copyright wars.
Love and Everything In-Between
It was a stupid holiday, really. That was what England had told himself for the past 101 years…every time the celebration rolled around. It was just another day formed in the heart of corporate America. It was an excuse for greedy companies to take advantage of guilt ridden children by telling them that buying copious amounts of tacky ties and cheap Hallmark cards would prove their love to the poor fathers they took advantage of day in and day out.
It was sickening…preying on family affection like that. It completely defaced the value such gifts should contain and belittled the meaning of fatherhood. England took a self-righteous sip of tea, nodding his head in time to his own thoughts. It was a ludicrous holiday that did not deserve any of his time nor his patronage. And yet…
He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see the ever flirtatious France mingling with poor, meek Canada. The former was holding a brightly wrapped present with a look of confusion upon his stubbled face while the latter blushed and fiddled nervously with the hem of his jacket, avoiding France's gaze.
England understood enough French to be able to follow the thread of their conversation.
« Um, merci pour le cadeau, Mathieu. Mais…c'est quoi? » France was shaking the gift roughly, pressing his ear against the side in an attempt to discern its contents.
Canada cried out, reaching a hand out to stop the Frenchman before instantly retracting it was a furious blush and muttered apology. « S'il vous plaît …juste l'ouvrir.» Canada's entire frame was trembling. He looked away from France's still skeptical face. His upper lip twitched.
Finally registering the near-desperate look upon his companion's face, France ripped the wrapping to shreds only to reveal-
«C'est pas vrai! Tu m'as acheté une bouteille de vin de glace! » France's and England's eyes both widened to the size of dinner plates in the same instant. Icewine was a treasure! Such liquor was extremely rare, not to mention expensive.
France gawked in disbelief at the tall, thin bottle in his hands. Its contents were practically liquid gold. He looked back up at the crimson-faced Canada, a single question burning in his blue eyes.
Canada's violet gaze remained fixed on the grown as his studded feebly. « H-heureux p-père de jour, papa…»
France's eyes softened. He set the bottle gently aside and pulled the embarrassed, quivering boy into his arms. «Merci beaucoup, mon fils. Merci beaucoup.. »
England turned away from the sight. Something inside of him was breaking. He couldn't (wouldn't) comprehend the sudden pang he felt settle in his chest, nor the telltale stinging at the corners of his eyes.
Such a simple thing: a thoughtful gift from a young man to his father figure…on Father's Day…Yet, it stung so much more than it should.
…so much more than England would ever admit it did.
He clenched his teeth together, fists balling up against the knees of his trousers. This was exactly the reason why England had packed a lunch today. He refused, point-blank, to participate in this ridiculous farce of a holiday. He knew that, if he were to go out on the streets, he would be bombarded with window displays full of every tasteless, cliché "male gift option" known to man. If he were to perhaps slip into a pub or to a café for a bite to eat, he would be surrounded by sappy-happy families all gushing and holding hands with their proud fathers, believing that one day of appreciation would make up for an entire year of neglect.
England was going to have none of it. And yet even here, in the sanctuary of the conference hall where he was surrounded by beings with no biological "fathers" to speak of, he still felt the vile gooeyness of the faux-holiday latching itself onto him.
England felt like he was going to throw up.
All because of a stupid bottle of wine and a hug…
Holding the tiny being in his arms. Surrounding him. Protecting him. Soft, pudgy hands pat the sides of his face playfully. Wide blue eyes, deeper than all the seven seas, peer curiously up at him. Golden locks swirl about in the wind, tickling is nose….
England shook his head vigorously, dispelling the image. Such thoughts were not helpful in the remotest sense, nor where they conducive towards aiding him in keeping the remainder of his sanity.
"Um…hello, England."
The addressed nation started, accidently spilling his tea across the table as his hand jerked wildly. Swearing loudly, England glared up at the newcomer only to meet the mortified gaze of Canada.
"I'm so sorry!" the blond squeaked. He fretted about nervously, pulling the curly strands of his hair which framed his face. "I didn't mean it! I'm so sorry England!"
A large brown blotch spreading quickly over crisp linen cloth… "I' m sorry! I didn't mean to, honest!" Crystal tears swimming in rich blue eyes. Small, round face red with shame. He flicks the tears away gently, kissing the smooth forehead. "It's alright, let's just get this mess cleaned up, shall we lad?"
Canada had set his bear aside, whipping what appeared to be a small package of Kleenex from his shirt pocket and dabbing furiously at the mess he'd partly initiated.
"Oh no, don't trouble yourself!" England said quickly, pulling away from his own thoughts. He drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and rushed to Canada's aid.
The two nations worked in silence for a few moments, avoiding each other's gaze. It was awkward, to be sure. England felt a trickle of sweat move down from his temple to his chin as the silence wore on. He glanced at his companion from the corner of his eye, examining the boy covertly.
England had never been exactly … close with Canada. Granted, the boy had been one of his colonies, but that had come at a late stage of the lad's life. France was the one who practically raised the boy. To England, Canada was more of an acquaintance and foul-weather ally than say…his child. (Unlike…someone…)
"Thank you." He muttered politely after the split tea had been cleaned. England signed down at his soiled handkerchief before packing the dripping rag away inside his briefcase.
"It was my fault, truly. I apologize," throwing his wet tissues away in a nearby bin, Canada smiled weakly.
That smile…
Brighter than the sun on a cloudless day. Directed at him. At him. He was the luckiest man alive…
"England?"
He blinked, realizing he shifted into a daze. Coughing to cover up the sticky moment, England gave Canada's shoulders an awkward pat. "So, what did you need?"
Canada blushed at the contact, moving an almost indiscernible amount away from England. He was really nothing like the boy he so resembled. Canada was soft spoken and polite. He tread meekly, kept to himself, and was barely discernable from the background furniture in any room. Hell, the boy went rigid and bright red at the slightest touch.
But the one with whom he shared a face…that person was the loudest, most obnoxious (wonderful) person England had ever known. That boy stomped about as if he owned the world. His raucous (endearing) laughter could be heard above a sea of people. Whenever he entered a room, he seemed to bring with him an abhorrent (dazzling) light which blinded any who looked in his direction. And he most certainly had no respect for anyone's personal space.
"I need you to let go now." Red rimmed eyes leaking liquid sorrow onto his neat shirt. "But I can't! You'll leave me!" Hands gripping vice-like around his throat. Constricting his air. Suffocating him. Loving him. "I'll come back." He pulls the golden light closer, memorizing the shape, the warmth, the feel of the precious child. Never mind that he is a gentleman, an authority figure, and such public displays of affection are impertinent. Lips press against a smooth brow. "I'll come back to you. I promise."
"I wanted to give you this." Canada's voice brought him back to the present. The boy's slightly trembling fingers held out a small, wrapped package.
England stared, his large brows knitting together in confusion. "…For me?" he replied stupidly. Canada…Canada had gotten him a present? But what-?
He took the parcel, from the now blushing Canada, pulling the ribbon and wrapping away to reveal a tiny ornate tea pot. A carved unicorn's tail made the handle, while the spout consisted of its head and horn. Small painted fairies chased each other around the porcelain surface, while miniature sprites frolicked through a gently wafting meadow. He stared down in amazement, not realizing he had left his jaw hanging open.
It was…It was…
"T-Thank you!" England stuttered, suddenly remembering his manners and turning towards the furiously red-faced Canada.
"It took me a long time to find it." Canada muttered, refusing to meet England's eyes. "It's not much…but I hope you like it." The timid boy chanced a weak smile. "Happy Father's Day."
"But I'm not your-" England was at a loss. He felt his eyes prick with tears once again, and he turned hurriedly away so that Canada wouldn't see them.
"You were my father for a while there." Canada continued, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "I mean, maybe you don't think we're close and all, but I appreciate the things you did for me." He looked down at the floor once more. "And I noticed that you hadn't been receiving anything for the past couple of years so I thought..."
His voice trailed away, but England didn't need for him to finish. A sudden, bitter taste had risen at the back of his throat. Pity. Canada was pitying him. The sweetness that came with the thoughtfulness of the gift dimmed slightly.
This wasn't like the tomato sculpture Romano had constructed for Spain, nor the copious amounts of stuffed animals Japan had showered China in earlier in the day. This wasn't like the wine Canada had given France. Just as thoughtful, just as expensive, maybe- but there was a poisonous lack of true affection behind the gesture.
Still though, England appreciated the time and effort Canada had spent on him, even if it lacked the sentiment he so craved.
"Thank you." He repeated, patting the ever awkward Canada who shifted once more away from his touch.
Before the smaller nation could respond, the doors to the conference room flew open to reveal none other than the one person England had been striving all day not to think about.
"The HERO has arrived!"
Mother f*cking, God sh*ting DAMNIT!
England tried to run, but soon found himself with a rather heavy, distinctly American, arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder. The nauseating smell of fast food and old leather assaulted England's senses. He grimaced, turning away from the bespectacled face which pressed right next to his own.
"Yo! Iggy! Mattie! What's up?" The idiot's smile was blinding even if England wasn't looking right at it.
"Please remove your arm from my shoulders you prat!" England attempted to wriggle out of the monstrous hold, but the taller nation refused to release him.
"Aw, come one England, you need to lighten up." Another glittering grin and suddenly America was no longer at his side.
"What's this?" those wide, idiotic (endearing, beautiful, wonderful) blue eyes examined the new teapot with interest. "This yours, England? It seems like the kind of stupid, girly thing you'd like."
Both England and Canada went bright red at the same moment.
"It is not girly!" England growled.
"It's not stupid!' Canada squeaked, burying his face in his bear's fur.
America's gaze flickered between the two nations, a shit-eating grin stretching his face. "Oh, did you give this to him Mattie?" He eyed England's furiously red form and smirked. "I didn't know you were into stuffy, old Englishmen. "
Canada blanched and England went deathly pale. "It's not…" England started, mortified, furious, wanting to punch that insolent (innocent, adorable)smile right off America's cocky face.
"It's not like that, Alfred." Canada nearly whimpered. "I was giving England a present…for Father's Day…"
"Oh…" and now it was America's turn to go pale, the smirk slipping into a small frown. "Oh…I didn't…Sorry, Matt."
Canada continued to fiddle and blush nervously. England was looking anywhere but at the two blue orbs fixed keenly on his face. He could feel them burning holes into the side of his head, but he daren't look up for fear of losing himself once more to the anguish of nostalgia.
"Um, Canada, could you give us a second?" the normally rambunctious voice was calm, almost subdued.
England glanced up just in time to see a look of understanding pass between the two brothers, the blue to the purple. Canada nodded meekly before fleeing to France's side, the latter of whom was bragging rather loudly to Spain about his newest gift.
With trepidation bordering on downright fear, England turned back around to meet America's uncharacteristically earnest face. The eyes that met his were brilliant even if hidden behind spectacles.
"What was it you wished to speak to me about?"
America blushed lightly, his hand coming up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his head. "Well…umm…"
This wasn't the first time England had witnessed America struggling to find words, though granted, they weren't in a meeting and America wasn't talking brazenly about world affairs which he did not understand. Still such indecision in speech was unlike the normally brash, uncouth (charmingly unmannered) country.
"Um…well… the thing is…I wanted to say…"
England crossed his arm and began to tap his foot impatiently. He wasn't exactly feeling the amiably towards the other at the moment, and America's constant hesitation was beginning to grind him the wrong way.
"Just spit it out you bloody git!" England spat irritably. The words came out harsher than he had intended, and he felt his stomach go slightly cold with guilt.
America on the other hand had stopped his useless babbling, a small, toothless smile gracing his lips. "You never change do you, England? Always so impatient."
"As I recall, it is you who is the tactlessly impatient one." England huffed indignantly.
America continued to smile, shaking his golden head in amusement. "Maybe I move a little too quickly when it comes to global affairs, but it was always you who was exasperated with me growing up wasn't it?"
England froze. This was…this was the first time since the Revolution that America had ever mentioned his childhood with England. He felt his whole body shoot up in flames before filling with dry ice. America…
The precious, sweet child who clung to him, and sang to him, and loved him…
England's heart was a pathetic, fluttering thing that beat feebly in his chest.
"Yeah…" America said, sweeping a hand through his hair as his eyes took on a vacant cast. He was looking into the past, into the place that England loathed (loved). "I remember. You always used to tell me I was too slow. Too slow when learning how to read and write. Too slow when learning my table manners and etiquette."
He chanced a glance at England. The older nation's head was bowed, his expression hidden by the shadow of his blond fringe.
"You always said things like 'You need to learn faster, America! You need to grow up and be a gentleman!' "America blinked away the memories, turning his usual cheery smile on England. "You could never say I didn't grow quickly, though."
England's fists were clenched at his sides, and he was horrified to find two twin tears making their way down his cheeks. Yes, he had wanted America to grow. He had wanted America to mature. But, he'd never known to what extent the boy would take his words. (He'd never wanted to lose him…)
America didn't seem to notice the miserable air radiating off his companion. He'd never been very adept at reading the atmosphere after all. "I miss it sometimes…" And it was like a sword, a dagger straight through England's chest. America looked back over at the slightly trembling blond beside him. "Do you?"
"No." (Yes, yes, YES! More than I will ever be able to say.)
America laughed that horrible (perfect) laugh of his, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small, slightly crumpled envelope.
"I got this for you." He beamed, holding it out towards England. "Sorry it's not very neat, but I've had it in my jacket all day so…"
He trailed off as England took the envelope with shaky fingers. The paper was wrinkled and had been folded several times both vertically and horizontally. A small blotch of what appeared to be ketchup stained the upper right hand corner, and the entire thing smelled of leather and grease.
And as England held back nausea, he also bit back a smile at how ridiculously America it was.
"What is this for?" England managed to mumble through his silent tears. He refused to meet America's gaze instead continuing to stare in annoyance (fondness) at the envelope in his hands.
America blushed and scratched the back of his head once more. "I…" he toed the carpet nervously as England opened the envelope and pulled out its contents. "Happy Father's Day, England."
England froze, staring down at the small, brightly colored piece of paper in his hands as his face filled with heat. "America…" he whispered.
"Do you like it?" America beamed, throwing an arm around the other's shoulders and looking triumphant. "I had to pull some strings, but I have connections and-"
"America, you IDIOT!"
America jumped back as England rounded on him, his eyes alight with fire.
"What…What's wrong?" he backed away from the irate Englishman, diving beneath the table as chair was hurled at his head.
"What the bloody HELL would make you think I would enjoy something like that?' England fumed. He was furious. He was livid. He looked like a wildcat in heat.
America hated cats.
"That's a great present!' the cowering nation defended, diving to the side as another chair was flung in his direction.
"How can you say… how can you say that you miss me and then give me something so…so…STUPID!" Really, he shouldn't be using such common language, but at this point he didn't really give a flying f*ck.
The other nations took little interest in the rather common occurrence going on behind them. So, none of them noticed the gleam that lingered behind the rage in England's eyes. None of them noticed the flash of understanding that emanated between the two, an unspoken conversation communicated between the cries of pain, disgust and anger. It was something so much more.
"You bloody moron!" (You wonderful idiot)
"You cranky old man!" (You loving bastard)
"I can't stand you!" (I miss you)
"I hate your guts!" (I respect you)
"I hate you!" (I love you)
On the ground lay the discarded present from America to England, the brightly colored paper giving its owner "A FREE LIFE TIME SUPPLY OF HAMBURGERS"
Some things never change.
A/N: Meh, sucky ending, but I'm tired and need to spend tiem with my dad. ^^" (PS: The "I hate you" at the end is said in unison) Reviews are appreciated!
Translation:
~Um, merci pour le cadeau, Mathieu. Mais…c'est quoi = Thanks for the present, Matthew. But...what's it for?
~S'il vous plaît …juste l'ouvrir = Please...just open it.
~C'est pas vrai! Tu m'as acheté une bouteille de vin de glace! = It's not true (or: It can't be possible)! You bought me a bottle of Icewine!
~H-heureux p-père de jour, papa... = H-Happy Father's Day, Dad...
~Merci beaucoup, mon fils. Merci beaucoup... = Thank you so much, my son. Thank you so much...