Disclaimer: If I owned England and America, I'd own the world's super powers (old and new). Unfortunately I'm not. Hetalia and both nation-tans are Hidekaz Himaruya's (damn, lucky boy!).

A/N: A fic for dear America. And… uh… it's my first Hetalia fanfic, so be nice? 8Dv

Beta'd by: the awesome Expresso Latte. NO, YOU ARE THE AWESOME ONE AND LUV YOU TOO! =3=

Warning: Slightly bad language. Human names only (hurhur~ Using their nation names is just too weird for me~). Overused plot and please ignore any historical inaccuracies.

Three Times Arthur Cried

In the span of four hundred years, Arthur had cried numerous times because of Alfred. But there were only three times he actually cried in front of him.

--

The first time Arthur cried in front of Alfred, his tears made little Alfred chose him over Francis.

Arthur still remembered it clearly as if it happened only yesterday, even though it actually happened more than four hundred years ago. That day was when he competed against Francis for the New World. Francis had used his so called wonderful French cuisine and the little boy with the golden hair and a pair of blue eyes was attracted to the alluring smell of the food. As much as he hated to admit, Francis' food was in fact (much)i better /ithan his own-- but Arthur was not the embodiment of the great nation of England if he admitted defeat to that stupid frog.

Arthur turned to his men and asked if they had something good, so they could lure the little boy away from that pervert. He couldn't hide his chagrin when he saw his men were either whistling as if they heard nothing or looked away trying to avoid his eyes.

Arthur Kirkland was a delinquent, a fearsome one at that. He was known to the whole seven seas as the pirate who would get whatever he wanted using whatever means necessary. He was feared by the Spaniards because of his fearlessness and evil schemes (Antonio still shuddered whenever he saw Arthur's shark-like smirk, it reminded him so much of the ol' Cap'n Kirkland). But as much as a delinquent that he was, Arthur still has some soft side within him; he wouldn't be able see the faeries and unicorns if he was just an evil nation, would he?

And so when Arthur knew that he possibly couldn't win over the nation to be's heart, he cried. He pulled up his knees, buried his face into his hands and sobbed. It was a bad habit, Arthur knew. He'd had the habit to cry whenever someone bullied him since he was still a small nation; he has three bullies for brothers… and for the love of Queen, even God knew that stupid bollocks called Francis' favourite hobby was to make him mad.

Arthur sniffed and tried to stop his tears but he couldn't. He wanted the little boy so badly, not for perverted reasons as Francis', but because he wanted to make the little boy a great nation under his care. He could smell the mouth-watering fragrance of Francis' (delicious) food and hear him calling out to the little boy, that made him sobbed harder. When a small hand touched his and a soft voice asking him 'Are you alright?', he perked up and surprised to see the little boy was coming over him and not to Francis.

The blue eyes were glistening with tears, the soft thin eyebrows were knitted together, his small pink lips were pursed and he was trembling. Arthur blinked his tears away and couldn't help but smile when the small hand gripped his sleeves tighter. Francis was muttering something about being jilted and Arthur smiled wider.

The first time Arthur cried for and in front of Alfred, the British Empire obtained America as one of its colony.

--

The second time Arthur cried in front of Alfred, his tears were hidden by the rain pouring down from the sky, but it was there and still it couldn't make Alfred choose him over independence.

It's one of the most depressing memories he had ever had of Alfred. It happened over two hundred years ago and he still couldn't wipe the memory away. He tried, but it proved to be a difficult task because when it rained, the memory always resurfaced. The fact that the rain in England fell almost all year round made it even more impossible for him to erase the memory.

It was just like he remembered clearly the memory of when Alfred chose him over Francis; he remembered this particular memory as clear as the day too.

That rainy day, he stood face to face with the American soldiers. The cold rain water pelting every surface of his body, the heavy and wet material of his military uniform clinging to his skin, making him uncomfortable, and the way Alfred's eyes—those blue… blue orbs that reminded him so much of the ocean sky, of when he was still the great pirate of the seven seas— looked at him with a mixture of hatred, disappointment, and—Arthur tried to convinced himself, hoping that it wasn't just illusion—love, were making him sore.

He didn't know what he did wrong in raising Alfred. How come he rebelled against him? How come that little boy chose to side with that sodding git named George Washington? How come when everything seemed just fine, it crumbled down to pieces all of a sudden? How come Alfred chose Francis now? Didn't he choose Arthur already? And on that note; how dare that stupid frog contaminate his little brother's mind! Francis should pay for this. That George fellow would pay for snatching Alfred away too.

And Alfred… Alfred… His little Alfred… No, he was not a little boy anymore, Arthur said to himself. He was not that little boy with the soft golden hair and eyes as blue as the ocean's sky who had run over to him in tears anymore. He'd grown big, bigger and faster than Arthur had anticipated. And now Alfred was standing proudly in front of his men, in blue, red and white soldier uniform. He looked so shocked when Arthur had surged towards him and his musket was flying away.

Arthur was breathing heavily as he pointed his musket to Alfred's face. He could feel his eyes started to felt warm, a dangerous sign that the green orbs would start producing salty trickles of water soon. He shouldn't be crying now, he really shouldn't, he couldn't in front of that little brat. It would make him look weak. He couldn't let that happen. The Great Empire Britain shouldn't lose against this small rebel. The Great Empire Britain was the greatest empire in the world. He shouldn't let this colony—his most favourite colony, his most beloved boy—got away from the empire. He shouldn't… he shouldn't… He should stop this outrageousness.

His forefinger was trembling hesitantly, because of the rain, because of his pulsing vein, because of not wanting to fire a hot bullet to that face… that face he'd loved so much.

"You fool… You know I would never be able to fire, you twat!" Arthur dropped his musket and it fell to the muddy earth floor with a loud splash. He fell to his knees and covered his face with one hand. The tears were falling fast and his whole body was shaking—from the cold, from the deep grieve, from the anger…

This was it; Arthur had lost. He had lost Alfred because of his own disability to fire, to stop the revolution, to stop the boy—no, not boy!—the man from slipping away. He clutched his chest, feeling the numbness seeped slowly to his heart. His heart was hurt and shattered and broken and he couldn't feel anything because it hurt so much… being betrayed by your own child (Alfred was his son, his little brother and perhaps lo-), by the boy you've raised for almost two hundred years.

"England…" Alfred's voice barely reached his ears because of the rain and his hard sobs making it harder for him to hear anything at all. But he heard it nonetheless. "Arthur…" Arthur didn't want to look up, he didn't want to see Alfred's triumphant face, and he didn't want Alfred to tell him that he had lost, that the Great Empire Britain was not so great after all.

"You… used to be so great…"

Before Arthur could wipe his tears and looked up, to make sure that he had heard it right, Alfred had walked away from his pathetic form—kneeling on the ground, covered in mud and blood and rain and tears… The Great Empire Britain was reduced to this and Arthur couldn't help but feel even angrier. He had cried and bleed for that child! But unlike old times, this time his tears didn't make Alfred run towards him. It was useless and Alfred didn't need Arthur anymore.

The second time Arthur cried in front of Alfred, it was when Arthur lost his little brother, when Alfred broke his heart to pieces and trampled on it, and he swore to himself as Alfred turned his back away from him, to never shed any tears for the ungrateful brat anymore.

--

The third time Arthur cried in front of Alfred…

Arthur was looking at the merriment in front of him with vicious eyes. The sound of fireworks exploding in the sky made him even more aggravated. He really hated this particular date of the year, hated it even more when that sad excuse of a self-centred man shamelessly invited him to come. Ever since they started to talk gain, since their broken and shattered relationship (international affair, some would say) slowly mended itself, Alfred always invited Arthur to come for his birthday party on the 4th of July.

That stupid git was just too full of himself, and never really cared about how the other would feel, to stop and rethink his invitation. No, that stupid Alfred would never cease to amaze Arthur with how thick his skull was. Shouldn't Alfred known that it must have been so painful for Arthur to be reminded of how he had lost one of his largest colony (He still has Matthew, Arthur told himself. Alfred's brother would never leave Arthur even though Matthew wasn't really his colony anymore. But he was still a part of the Commonwealth of Nations), of how he had lost his most precious person, every 4th July? Shouldn't he known?

Arthur massaged his aching temple and grunted disapprovingly when Peter bumped his side as the small ambitious nation wannabe ran all around the large compound where the party's guests gathered to watch the fireworks display. He sighed and tried to go back behind the large tree where he was hidden from view. He really shouldn't have come to this stupid party. He should have just turned down the invitation like usual and stay at home, drinking his beer, drowning in tears and wallow himself in self pity.

He had reluctantly got up from his comfortable couch when Francis and Matthew practically dragged him out of the house. "Come on, Angleterre! You can't disappoint our little Américain again!" Francis had purred to his ear and it earned him a sharp jab to his chest. "Please, Arthur… You came to my birthday party! Alfred will be sad if he knows you don't want to come to his when you came to mine." Matthew had pleaded with his kicked puppy look. If only… if only Matthew's face wasn't look like that of Alfred's, Arthur knew he wouldn't give in so easily. Crying wasn't the only bad habit he had it seemed.

The loud explosions and the 'oooh's and 'aaah's coming from the crowds made Arthur felt more miserable. Fireworks also reminded him of when he had to give Hong Kong back to Wang Yao. One thing led to another, the memories of when he had to let go of his colonies came and attacked him from all directions. This made his eyes felt hot, tears threatening to fall any moment, and he clutched his aching chest.

When he realized that the pain and the sad memories wouldn't go away anytime soon, he covered his face with his hands and slumped down to the ground. This time his tears were shed not only for Alfred, like it always was the past four centuries, but it was also for his own disability to maintain his Empire. He pulled his knees and cried silently.

"Arthur?"

It was Alfred's voice, and Arthur buried his face deeper to his hands. He couldn't let Alfred see him crying, again, no… Alfred would tease him about it, making fun of him, and made him mad again and again.

"Arthur? Is that you?" Alfred was closer now and Arthur could feel his heart beat faster; his blood rushed to his cheeks and ears, and his tears still didn't stop falling. He decided that he really should just chuck his eyes out so he wouldn't have to shed these useless tears and embarrass himself anymore. And perhaps that way it would lessen the rain in England.

"Arthur? You came!" Alfred sounded so ecstatic and Arthur could feel the earth practically shaking when the American run towards him. "Wha-? Are you crying?"

"I am not and go away, you dolt!" His cracked voice was a dead giveaway and he froze when a large hand was placed on his head. He perked up and saw Alfred was looming over him with a small smile on his face. "Get your bloody hand off of my head, you ungrateful twat!" Arthur hissed, his tears still flowing endlessly.

"Chill out, old man," Alfred grinned and took his hand away after he ruffled Arthur's sandy blond hair. "What's wrong? You're not supposed to cry now that you came to my birthday party."

"I'm here not because I want to," he grumbled and sniffed at the same time. He turned his face away when Alfred crouched in front of him, his overly wide grin made his eyes hurt even more. "Stop grinning, git. I'm not doing this for you."

"I know, I know." But his amused tone told Arthur that Alfred thought otherwise. "So, why are you crying? Too happy to see such fabulous and awesome party?"

Arthur smacked the boy's head. "You're too full of yourself!" He wiped his tears away with the handkerchief he always kept on his pocket. "This party isn't that awesome… And it's none of your business."

"Hey! I can't let my guests feel depressed because you're spreading this creepy aura all over. Tell me, what's wrong?" Alfred tried again. "You never cry without any strong reasons, Arthur."

Arthur turned his gaze sharply to meet Alfred's blue eyes—his heart fluttered slightly, those blue eyes that reminded him so much of his great pirate days—and scowled. "What do you know? Don't act like you know everything!" He growled and felt his eyes were stinging again. This was just too much for him. He really shouldn't have come, shouldn't have gave in to Francis and Matthew.

"I know, Arthur," Alfred started. "You always cry whenever someone bullies you, like Francis or your brothers. You always cry when your countrymen are in pain. And you always cry when one of your children left you," he added with such solemn expression that Arthur couldn't believe it was Alfred. "And I know…" Alfred lifted his hands and cupped Arthur's face, "… you always cry every 4th of July alone in your home."

Arthur was gaping like a fish, trying to shove Alfred's hands away, and to stop his tears from falling again. "How…? I…!"

"I'm glad that you came this year, you know." Alfred grazed his thumb over Arthur's wet cheek because by then, he was already crying again. "I've always wanted to say I'm sorry for leaving you. I don't regret it because it was necessary. I can't be a great nation if I always depended on you. Thank you for coming."

Arthur sniffed and leaned on the Alfred's warm hands. "You should be sorry. You're a fool… And I didn't come here for you! It was Francis and Matthew's doing."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred grinned and moved closer to him. "You're here. That's what matters." He put his arms around Arthur's shoulder and pulled him into a hug. "Don't cry again, okay? England already has enough rain as it is without you crying all the time."

"Stupid git…"

"And you should stop crying because the way you cry never changes even after four hundred years, Arthur. You always pull your knees and hide under your hands. It makes me want to run to you and hug you, you know."

And that made Arthur sniffed loudly. Alfred chuckled lightly and just patted his head.

"Awww~ C'est magnifique, non? Matthieu, mon chou, we're so great for bringing him here, aren't we?"

Arthur swore to God as he hugged Alfred's waist tighter to hide his face; he'd kill Francis for sneering later.

The third time Arthur cried in front of Alfred, he finally realized that even though Alfred had broken his heart once (or perhaps numerous times) before, even though there was still some bitter feelings between them, even though that yes, Alfred was now an independent nation—a great nation at that— and an even more powerful world superpowers more than Arthur had been before, even though more than four hundred years have passed, even though he was not the greatest empire in the world anymore; Alfred was still going to run over to Arthur if he saw him cry.

Random Author's Endnote: You know, for some reason, I think I finally found my own writing style. From writing that uber long khrminibang fic (still unpublished) and this one, I kind of finally get my own comfortable style of writing and it's like this; less dialogues and more emotional description, not to mention the repetition (and again… it rhymes~). Ohgod, it took me a year (and two writer's blocks) to found it. But you guys don't need to know that. OTL.

Anyways, thank you for reading. No historical footnote because I think almost everyone knows already about the Battle for America, the Revolutionary War, and maybe about the Commonwealth Nations of the United Kingdom (I doubt this one, but I'm too lazy to link or explain anything about it)? . The last part is a completely fictional event. Again, comments are definitely appreciated. 3