A/N. The accent for the cabbie is the result of a youtube search for "London Accent."

The accent of the woman in the bakery is my attempt at a Cockney accent. I've tried to render the accent correctly, however, phonetics was never my strong point.

As for the teeth, let it be known that British dental vanity might have changed since my parents' last visit (about 18 years ago…). But my dad's part British, so you know, I have ¼ immunity here.

This was written in maybe about an hour all in all. I've started typing oneshots back on the bus from my college and it's about a 40 minute ride so… this was the product of two bus rides and a little bit of dorm writing.

Ideally I'll have the next chapter out before or around Valentine's day but … don't bet on it. Enjoy!

Chapter One:

Alfred was grinning. It was the day before Valentine's Day and he had it all planned out. He was currently on a plane (he loved flying), crossing the Atlantic Ocean. Finally. Since the incident around Christmas, security at the airports had been even more insane than usual (regardless of the fact that the boy—and he really was only a boy—never went through American American security) and he'd nearly missed his flight.

He'd been very lucky to get the flight and time off in the first place. Fortunately he seemed to have an unlimited supply of luck (Alfred crossed his fingers) and Obama was sympathetic. After all, it was Valentine's Day and Barack had plans for that day involving the First Lady.

Alfred wasn't sure if Obama knew that the nation he was visiting wasn't … uh female. He snickered at the image of him in a dress. That was… Alfred would be maimed for thinking about it, but fuck it was funny. He'd given Obama a garbled and unclear explanation about gender being a bit different for a nation and stuff. The man gave a dignified nod—he reminded Alfred of Lincoln when he did that—and was silent for a moment.

"Give my best to England and her queen," Obama said, before smiling and returning to paperwork. Alfred figured that was permission enough and that if Obama had somehow missed seeing Arthur during the last meeting, well it wasn't Alfred's business to correct him.

He tapped his fingers on the edge on the chair. The people to the side of him were both asleep and had been for the last couple of hours. Alfred almost envied him. Sleeping during flights would probably help with the jetlag, but flying. Even after all the years that had passed since the Wright Brothers, airplanes never failed to thrill him.

He woke up as they were landing. The people next to him, a man and a woman, smiled at him as he stretched. They'd spoken at the start of the flight. He was taking her to Ireland for the week. The man, Even O'Briain, had whispered when she'd fallen asleep that he'd also planned a trip to Paris but shhh—it was a surprise.

"Hope you enjoy Ireland," he said as they stood up. The couple smiled and wished him well in London. When the woman's back was turned Evan winked at Alfred and patted his coat pocket, which held a small box-shaped bulge. Alfred's eyes widened and flashed Evan double thumbs-up. He grinned and followed his lady out.

The line at customs was uneventful and rather. This was one of the few places he could make use of his nation status. He grabbed his suitcase from the um… place and was off to hail a cab. He found one surprisingly quickly and managed to confirm scheduled delivery of both the flowers and the chocolates.

"Do you know a good bakery?" Alfred asked the cabbie, suddenly thinking of something. The cabbie nodded gruffly.

"What fohr?"

"Scones," Alfred said smiling guiltily. "I can't cook and my Valentine can't boil water without disaster." The older man grinned and turned on a side street.

"You from acrohss the Pohnd?"

Alfred thought for a while. Pond. Yes. Atlantic Ocean.

"Yep!" he said, with another smile. "I'm from America."

The cabbie nodded. "Lohng di'stance relationship, then?"

Alfred nodded. Well, at least it would be if all went well. Though with the tickets to Much Ado About Nothing, he didn't see how Arthur would manage to resist him.

"Here's the bakery, you want me to wait out fohr you?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Alfred said with another grin. He ducked out of the cab and walked into the bakery. It was warm and slightly humid. Alfred breathed in deeply. It smelled good—like home and childhood. He smiled, content, before looking for the scones. Arthur always loved scones. He just couldn't make them (edible). He'd appreciate this, unless of course Arthur actually liked his scones and wasn't just being stubborn about Alfred's offers to help with the cooking.

"Whut 'ill it be for you, sir?" the woman behind the counter asked. Alfred grinned at her and she giggled and blushed. "Amer'ih'kin, ahre you?"

Alfred blinked. He didn't think he was wearing anything that would define him as American before he even opened his mouth. (He'd left the Inspi(red) American flag shirt at home, as not to antagonize Arthur.)

"How did you know?" he asked. The woman blushes.

"You 'ave pur'fect teeth," and she smiled revealing her own teeth—which weren't hideous but… well they definitely weren't the teeth of the average American.

"Erm, thank you," Alfred said. "I'd like some scones, for tomorrow's breakfast."

"Whut kind o' scones?"

"Surprise me—ah, whatever you think is best, I'm buying for my British friend," Alfred said. He always felt the need to explain these things. Ever since he'd tried to give Arthur the bacon flavored scones (which he had found delicious and England had called an abomination).

"Righ't then," the woman said, selecting a few scones with the tongs. "'ow men-y 'ill you be wantin'?"

"Enough for breakfast, a dozen?" Alfred was just guessing at this point. Plus, he could eat the scones for another breakfast if he managed to stay over longer than planned.

"'ere you ahre then," the women said, handing Alfred the bag. He gave her his credit card because he'd forgotten, again, to get his money exchanged.

The rest of the drive to Arthur's London house was uneventful. The cabbie didn't seem too interested in Alfred, unlike the Chinese cabbies that would talk your ear off, determined to learn English. Soon they were in the familiar neighborhood. Alfred sighed. Even though he wasn't a colony anymore, this place always felt like coming home.

He tipped the cabbie and grabbed his suitcase and bag o' scones. As the cabbie pulled away, Alfred breathed deeply before a grin split across his face and he bounded up the path to bang on England's front door.

Before he could yell at Arthur for being a slow old man, the door was wrenched open.

"Sorry! Just on my way—what the fuck are you doing here?" Arthur yelled his face going from apologetic to irritated in a span of seconds.

"HI ARTHUR! I'm staying with you for the weekend, just thought I'd stop in and say hello to my favorite former overlord," Alfred said cheerfully. He grinned at Arthur. Arthur sighed and for the first time Alfred noticed that he too was carrying a suitcase.

"I'm your only former colonizer," Arthur mutters before sighed again and looking up. "You can't—"

"Not true! What about France?"

Arthur scowled at the mention of his arch-nemesis, which despite Prussia's advances would always be Francis. Always.

"Still you can't stay here," Arthur said, his eyes darted from side to side. "See that's the car and I'm not letting you in this house unsupervised."

"But—" Alfred protested. Arthur was ruining his plans. Then an idea popped into his head. "I'll just have to come with you then!"

"No, no, no," Arthur said, but Alfred knew his resolve was weakening. "This weekend was supposed to be relaxing, and if you're there…"

"I can be relaxing," Alfred said. "Look, the car's already here, so you might as well…"

"Alfred be reasonable," Arthur said, glancing at the car. He didn't want to make the man wait. "I only reserved a single room…"

"No problem," Alfred said cheerfully taking Arthur's suitcase and hoisting it over his shoulder. "I'll take the floor."

"Alfred," Arthur protested weakly. "Can't you just go home?"

Alfred turned around gave Arthur a sad, sad face. "Please?"

Arthur winced. And he hesitated. He bit his lip. And then.

"Fine, you can come—"

"YES!! THANK YOU ARTHUR THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!"

"But only if you promise not to be annoying and I am not sleeping on the floor, you got that? And none of…" Arthur trailed off. Alfred was already at the car, chatting with the driver and loading the suitcases. He sighed. This was going to be a long, long weekend.

Fin.