She tucked her hair back away in a messy ponytail as her eyes were drawn almost without fail to the T.V. with the volume off; the newscaster stared ahead, lifeless with his mission, the actions behind him painting him dark with the blood of loss.

She couldn't take this anymore as she watches Arthur stare at the screen as if memorizing those old images, as if lost in a world that would never, could never have her in it.

Alyssa was much too old for him; she knew it too.

She felt it in the way he so quickly adjusted to this new life, felt it when he first lost everything, felt it when he'd held her close like a broken puzzle piece, clinging desperately to his missing piece, his life.

Scotland sighed, remembering when she'd first met him.

"Who's this little tyke, Momma?" She held strong, every bit of fierce teenage strength enduring within her veins.

"He's your little brother, Aly." She murmured; her blond hair gently dropping over her shoulder.

"Why?" She glared at him, imagining that he'd just leave her life, and she could continue fighting for her rights as a newfound nation, and that she could continue to live by her own means without fretting or worry.

"Sweetheart, you have to take care of him. He's still young yet." Her mother leaned towards her, looking tired for once despite her beautiful strength her whole life through.

"I don't want to." She sighed, knowing that she had no choice, but she didn't have to make it easy.

"You'll need to. I don't have long yet." Despite all of Scotland's built up strength, she feels tears pool in her eyes and hugs her mother.

She'd try to make it last though she knew that she couldn't be much of a big sister and definitely not a mother; she'd never cared for children or babies or even anyone other than herself and her mother.

Her mom leaned in anyway and tucked the two in together and promised that she'd see her again one day though even Scotland knew that when her mother walked out that door that she'd never return again.

Scotland had grown up further since then, made childhood a bit rough for Arthur, but she'd grown a sudden soft spot for him, wanted to hear him laugh and see his smile though she'd also grown more malicious.

She'd come to blame him for their mother's passing, brushing him off easily, reacting negatively to his presence most of the time.

He'd cried and cried, but he'd still look up to her.

She still blamed herself for that, still blamed herself for never letting him have truly happy love, because for him, there had to be something heartbreaking about his relationship with anyone.

It was a king or queen of his that made her stay with him when he was older.

Arthur barely even looked fifteen, but she knew that he'd have to be hers to claim, have to be hers to tarnish, and hated it.

Scotland was his sister though she didn't look it and ended up pouring her love into this broken, messed up relationship.

He'd been her only husband and like usual had tarnished her chances of strong independence.

Scotland sighed as she sat down and watched him watch nothing now, knowing full well that it was her fault that he'd became this way.

She stepped closer, drawing an ice cold kiss from him, trying to find the passionate flames of youth, trying to find joy and failing spectacularly.

"Do you even love me?" It came out like a broken record, full of bruised scratch marks simply from the way she said it and the pain that registered in her eyes.

"Did I ever?" He doesn't say it like a harsh remark, just a broken, unsure sigh.

Scotland doesn't know the answer to that, but her heart breaks at the thought of even telling him goodbye; she doesn't know the answer when it comes to herself either.

She wants to be independent, to be strong without him, doesn't quite know what having a younger brother is like anymore; they are too broken to stand strong together or alone.

Scotland wraps him up in her arms anyway and doesn't let go, fearful of the broken glass shards of their relationship.

She doesn't know if there is affection masked by her hold; she knew of passion once in his arms that sometimes ran dark but grew between them anyway.

Alyssa remembers wanting to kiss him some time after they were married; even now, they weren't officially divorced.

She wanted freedom from this that made her feel as if she could never be free again, but she also wanted to wrap her arms around him tighter and never let go.

Scotland sighs, can't help the muffled sound, and kisses her brother again, lost to whatever dark vortex, they'd fallen in to.

She can't say whether she wants England to love her or not, never could anyway.

Scotland had never really cherished the words unless her mother had spoken them and now knew not whether she was supposed to stay for his sake or whether they'd be better off broken up from each other and with other people.

She sighed again and nestled closer, pretending that they were something they were not for another moment before the harsh tug of reality and silent televisions tugged them back apart again.