You're Not Mine Anymore
Summary: During the War of 1812, American sailors were impressed into the British navy... Secretly, America's boss at the time sent him across the pond to attempt and reason with his former mentor. Slight USUK, slight angst. T for language.
A/N: This is a request fic for Lady Scribetracker, who requested a fic about the War of 1812. In particular, she asked for a story about the impressed seamen that were one of the main causes of the war.
This also made me dig out my history notes for the War of 1812, though I hardly used them, preferring to just follow wherever my brain took me. _ I apologize for that, since it probably kills any historical accuracy. I tried!
"Damn them!" Alfred winced as his boss slammed a hand down on the top of his desk. "Who the hell does he think he is? That fucking limey!"
Alfred had to hold his tongue to keep from talking back to his boss. Even if his relations with England were strained, he didn't enjoy it when his bosses insulted him. The man had, after all, raised him.
And, unfortunately, England happened to be his soft spot.
He'd entered the Revolution thinking that, if they were both nations, he and England could love one another as equals, and not as brothers. He could finally surpass being just England's colony, and become something more to the man.
That plan had gone to hell in a hand basket rather quickly.
Arthur shuddered, remembering the day he'd finally gained his independence from the man he had been in love with for as long as he could remember.
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
England's musket was aimed at America's heart. The green-eyed man was shaking slightly, his finger ready to pull the trigger. Alfred looked at his former mentor, his beloved Arthur. England's hands trembled even as he adjusted his aim.
The smaller nation dropped the gun to the ground, falling to his knees. The gun lay forgotten in the mud. "As if I could shoot," Arthur whispered, his voice trembling nearly as much as he was.
There was an uncomfortable pause as America continued to watch England kneel in front of him, his shoulders shaking. He could hear quiet sobs.
"You used to be... so big..."
He turned, unable to see the strong nation he had looked up to, the man he loved, cry like this over his own stupidity.
He tried to tell himself that the water running down England's cheeks was only the rain, and that the man was shaking from frustration, not crying his heart out over a betrayal he had never expected.
The Englishman's heart shattered into pieces seemingly too small to put back together.
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
"Maybe England's just trying to-"
"Alfred, he's taking our people," his boss pointed out. "That damn Empire is taking American citizens and forcing them to serve in the British Navy, to fight under his flag. You fought in the Revolution to break free of just that, didn't you?"
No. "I'm sure England has his reasons."
"I want you to go talk to that damn British Empire," America's boss continued. "God knows he won't listen to humans. Maybe he'll listen to reason if we send you."
"James-"
"I'm your boss, America. Address me formally when we're in a meeting like this."
This is hardly a meeting, America thought bitterly. Almost all his boss had done for the past half an hour was rant about how much he hated England at the moment. "President Madison, then," he replied testily. "I'll go over, but I can't promise I'll get Arth-England... to do what we want him to. It's highly unlikely that he'll listen to a nation as young as I am."
"America, you forget: we are among the strongest nations on the Earth now. We easily rival England's strength. There's no way he won't listen to you. You've beaten him in a war once. There's nothing stopping you from doing it again."
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
The boat ride to England was worse than horrible. Alfred hated boats with a burning passion. He was seasick the first half of the trip, and the second half it was stormy and rainy the whole time.
He had to keep himself from getting on all fours and kissing the ground once he'd finally landed in England.
He was whisked off to London, forced to sit through all the pleasantries of meeting with England's current king, George III (a bit stuffy for his taste, but not too bad of a guy), meeting what had to be three fourths of his parliament... In short, it was long and boring.
Eventually, he saw a familiar short figure standing near the door. Green eyes stared at him coolly, holding none of the warmth that America had grown accustomed to as a child. He winced at the quiet, cold fury held in that gaze. "Hey... Arthur..." he said quietly.
England's eyes flashed. "America."
So formal. "Look... My boss asked me to come here to talk to you about-"
"I know why you're here, America," England said shortly. "I'm not daft." The smaller nation adjusted the collar of his suit. "Let's go talk in private. I don't want to waste any more of my precious time standing here talking with you than I have to."
America followed the nation towards the back of the building, past a few rows of offices, into a larger room. A table was set between two chairs. A few quills, a bottle of ink, a small stack of paper, and a tray of tea were set on it.
England set himself down on one chair, motioning off-handedly for America to sit opposite him. America took his offered seat awkwardly, and watched as England poured out two cups of tea. The island nation took a sip of the hot liquid before setting it aside and crossing his legs in a business-like manner. "So. Let me guess. That Madison of yours is exacerbated because I've been taking some of your seamen into my Navy?"
"Well yeah," America responded, forgetting that this was a formal occasion. "You'd be pretty pissed, too, if I suddenly started kidnapping your people and making them serve in my Army, wouldn't you? God, Arthur, and I thought you were intelligent."
England tilted his head, looking amused. "America... It's simply amusing how you think I'll continue to coddle you." America's eyes widened slightly at England's icy tone. "There's no reason for it. After all, you're your own nation now. You're no longer mine. I'll do what I want - unless you stop me. And you can tell Madison as much. I'm not afraid to fight against you, America. Remember that."
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
America returned back to the states. The talk with England had been a complete failure. America couldn't help but feel disturbed. The England he had seen back in London hadn't been his England.
Arthur had looked at him like a stranger. No... Arthur had looked at him with complete hatred. America had only ever seen that level of dislike in his eyes when England looked at France.
His heart contorted in his chest, aching. England hated him, didn't he?
America could hardly blame him. He knew how much England had adored him when he was a colony. America couldn't begin to fathom the hurt England must have felt when his beloved little brother, his "little America", had risen up against him. But England had been asking for it, and in the end, it was in the past, wasn't it? Why couldn't England just let things go, let the past remain buried?
America thought that, perhaps, England was simply trying to get back at him for the Revolution with all these small little annoyances - his men being taken into the British service, the constant reminder that Britannia did indeed rule the waves. America and his boss were both acutely aware of how ridiculous the notion of fighting against the British Navy was.
Even if England hated him, though, America still loved him. He wouldn't ever want to hurt him. Fighting against England again was an impossibility. His people may resent him, but America couldn't shake off all the years they had shared, nor could he ignore all the feelings that he now had to force down at every meeting he went to when his politicians argued about whether or not attacking Britain was a good move or not.
After breaking England's heart with the Revolution, after finally admitting to himself that England had been sobbing, crying for the loss of his little brother, America knew better than to hope for England's love as anything more than that now; even asking for that could be too much.
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
America's boss called for a war on England.
~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~
Two years.
Two years of hell.
America hated his boss for this. This war was pointless, stupid. What had started as an attempt to get England to stop impressing American seamen into his Navy had somehow become a battle for America's brother, Canada.
And somehow, his brother was taking England's side. America wasn't sure what hurt more - fighting against his brother, fighting against England, or knowing that Canada had chosen England over him. All the choices sucked.
America was currently running through the streets, trying to help all the citizens he could. Washington D.C. was under attack. The British Army was storming the city, setting fires where they could, attacking all his key buildings. The White House was now an inferno. His president and nearly everyone else who mattered were off in safety, but his people... Well, they weren't as lucky.
America stopped, panting, in front of the nearest burning building - back where he had started. The White House.
In front of it, wearing his signature red wool coat, was England.
America moved forward, hurt rising in his chest. "England! Why are you doing this?" he choked. He tried to hold tears in, but it was more difficult than he would have imagined.
England looked away from the burning building, staring at America for a few seconds. Then he smiled wryly. "You're not mine anymore," he whispered. "How does heartbreak feel, America?"