My teacup clinked gently as I set it down on the table in front of me. It was one of my favorite teacups. It had little blue flowers all around the outside that looked just like the ones that America asked me to bring for him when he was so small. As much as I hated to see him sad over that boy he loved so much, it really brought us together even if it was for just a little while longer. Looking back on it now, I can see where we went wrong, but honestly I wouldn't have it any other way. If it weren't for all of that pain back then, we wouldn't have the kind of relationship we have today and most certainly the world wouldn't be the way it is today. My goodness I'm feeling philosophical today. Perhaps it's because of the rain. It was usually raining, or at least cloudy in London, but today I was in the countryside, the sky had decided to open up her floodgates, and it was really truly raining. It smelled like wet summers, and fresh grass, and the smell of flowers and trees was almost detectable among the wetness, but only so much as to make one think it was only a memory. The light was low, and there was a candle on the table in front of me casting a warm glow. It was peaceful and calm, and honestly, the perfect setting for thinking and reflecting. Today my thoughts seemed to want to linger on America and as much as I didn't want to admit it, I was okay with that. He seemed to be part of my thoughts a lot lately but they were much nicer thoughts than they used to be. It had taken a long time be we had reconciled, and begun to fix what little of a relationship we had left. It had been little things at first: opening up trade with me again, not aligning with France during his revolution, treating even my captured people with the utmost respect as humans. He couldn't bring himself to talk to me anymore, but he tried to show me that he still cared. We started making amends and making it work between us, but we still weren't talking. It was only until the war of 1812 that I saw him in person again.
"I can't believe you England" his voice was soft and riddled with pain. He clutched at his chest and his face was contorted in a horrific grimace. "I can't believe you" He let out a terrible pain-filled cry and fell to his knees clutching at his shirt and throat choking and screaming. I ran to his side and dropped to my knees reaching out to him, to help him. He shrunk away from my touch with another cry of anguish. His eyes flashed with anger and hurt as they locked on mine. He stopped his agonized yelling for a moment to stare at me. His blue eyes were so dark then, reflecting the smoke and ash in the air. Fire danced in eyes, from the burning capitol building in front of us, or from the depths of his soul, I will never know, but I was terrified. He opened his mouth again intent, I was sure, on making some sickly threatening promise, but he didn't. Instead he was only able to choke out "why".
My heart broke again at the memory. I knew why then, and I knew why now. He was trying to take over his brother's land and I had to stop him, but I will never forgive myself for putting him through that pain so young. Having your capitol attacked was like having your heart cut from your chest. Any nation who had ever been part of a war knew well enough that having any part of your nation attacked hurt, but crucial places hurt much, much worse. And still to this day, I was the only nation he had ever known, who had done enough damage to any one of his cities to cause him that kind of pain. I was the only one who he had fought with as a nation on his own soil. I was the only one who had ever brought him to his knees in tears, and I was surely the only one who had ever seen him cry. I felt my own eyes tearing up at the memories. It had taken a long time after that to repair the shreds of a relationship we had once had. It was not until his westward expansion that we decided we were going to settle land disputes peacefully that I got to see him again. He was older, stronger and more handsome than I remembered and I was shocked into silence. It was not until I saw him leaning up against his horse Abraham decked out in full cowboy gear, his eyes shining with adventure, excitement and youth, his face lined with hardships, trials and joys that I saw him as the man he was for the first time, and not the little boy I once knew. He flashed me a small shy smile and I remember extending my hand out for him to shake. His hand was calloused and strong in mine as he gave me a firm sincere handshake.
"It's good to see you again America" My voice was shaking and I knew my hands were trembling. If he didn't want to forgive me he could crush me in a moment. I could just tell by the way his muscled rippled as he shifted back and forth, jamming his hands in his pockets and tensing his arms over and over again, with a sort of casual confidence that just radiated off of him. His skin was tan and dirty and his hair was bleached a pale blonde, and as he squinted at me from beneath his cowboy hat I felt every bit of resentment I had ever felt towards him melt away under his gaze.
"It's good to see you too England" His usually loud voice was quiet and subdued as if he was as nervous to see me as I was to see him.
"You've grown" it was lame. I knew it was lame. Oh sprits of Albion save me now, he must think I'm an idiot.
"Yeah, I'm not your little brother anymore am I" He pulled me into a headlock, grinding his knuckles into my scalp and laughing all the while.
"No, I guess not" I meant it playfully, but it came out sounding chocked and melancholy, and I prayed to every deity my nation had ever worshiped that his powers of oblivion would activate and conceal my tone.
"Yeah, 'cause now we're equals right, and we can be best buddies 'cause you're not telling me what to do, and we promised not to fight anymore." His voice was peppy, but I could tell that there was sadder underneath his tone. As if this was something he had waited for, for a long time.
"Yes America, we can be friends" he released me from the headlock and placed me squarely on my feet.
"Good" he said "because I really missed you" his smile never faltered but his tone of voice suggested years of heartbreak and sadness following our separation. Perhaps, I was beginning to let myself believe, he really didn't want to end up like this. Maybe he really wanted to be my friend, be my equal all along.
I smiled to myself remembering that reunion. It was then, for the first time, that I realized how much America had really meant to me. I had spent years convincing myself that he wasn't important, that my empire would be okay without him in it, but seeing him there in that hot day in the west, leaning against his horse that I knew how wrong I really was.
After that, trade between us continued normally, with us getting together every now and again to discuss this or that, each time promising to write. We didn't. We lost contact yet again during his Civil War, and I suppose I'm glad for it. He was sick and dying. He knew it and I knew it, a nation divided against itself cannot stand or something like that.
It was when I reached this part of my thinking I looked down at my empty teacup and realized it was no longer completely empty. I put the dish down and reached up to my face to find that I had started crying sometime during my reminiscing.
"Bloody Hell" I grumbled to myself. I was not about to start crying now. But the idea of a bloody and torn American was etched into my brain and I could see his dying face in my head clearly, despite not being there when it happened.
It was then again when I lost contact with him for awhile. I knew that this time it was of no fault of my own, but because of the internal struggles that he would have to recover from by himself. There was nothing I could do but continue to trade with him and hope his economy stayed stable.
I stood up and went and began to make myself another cup of tea.
"If my thoughts are going to be stuck on America all day I may as well be sure I'm being British about it" I took a long angry sip of my tea and resigned myself to the fact that I would be reliving my entire history with the man today whether I liked it or not.
I didn't like it, not one bit. I shook my head violently to try and stop the memories flooding into my mind but I couldn't. These were not memories of good old wars long gone. These were not memories of guilt and conquest. These were memories of pain and destruction. The worst war I had ever had the misfortune to be a part of. When I watched the world collapse around me as my friends and my enemies tore each other apart for no reason. My heart began to race and my head began to spin. The room was pitching and rocking and I could hear bombs breaking over my head. My hands in their trembling dropped the teacup I was holding and upon it's shattering on the floor what was left of my composure broke. Time stopped as the two biggest wars the world had ever seen blurred together in my mind. The trenches, and rain and the gas that surrounded me once combined with the feelings of threat from all around me. The screams of death a fear from my people and from Germany's so close around me. The bombs that America created rang in my ears and a war torn Japan unable to stand sitting at the negotiating table that I heard about when the man came crying to me at the end of it.
"Britain, I'm here to help you out dude! " A loud voice shouted behind me and I whipped around. There was America looking fresh and chipper in his clean uniform. I looked down at my own tattered disgusting clothes and sighed.
"Not really looking like a gentleman any more" I muttered to myself before looking up at America. The expression on his face was grim and his lips were pressed into a tight line. "What took you so long? " He looked down at me gravely before flashing a worn smile.
"I'm only doing this for you England" he said. No response to my question, but I knew the answer. This war had nothing to do with him, but that didn't mean I wasn't angry.
"I've been begging for you to help me for so long America! Where have you been?! It hurts, it hurts so badly, and you've done nothing, nothing!" I was hysterical. I had fallen over into America's arms and was pounding on his chest like a mad man. I was in so much pain, I couldn't think. Every city was in shambles, everywhere ached and burned like fire. There was no more I could give, yet here he was now.
"England, it'll all be okay, I'm the hero!" It was the first time I had heard that and it made me furious. How dare he! How dare he swoop in and save the day after everything I did, after everything I gave. It wasn't fair, but here he was and I could already feel some of the pain ebbing away.
"Idiot Yank" I muttered.
My head was pounding as the scene began to fade away. I was back in reality in my own room with a shattered teacup on the floor in front of me. My body ached with the memories, and I couldn't remember when or where that conversation had even taken place. I would tomorrow, or perhaps in a few days, but at that moment I was in too deep to even care. The rain was drumming on the roof harder now and instead of being comforting, I found that I was chilled to the bone. Somewhere outside of my mind I heard a knocking on the door but I couldn't tell if I had imagined it. So much for my peaceful reflections this afternoon.
"IGGY!" A loud call echoed through the large house. It was a familiar voice, a voice that I had wanted to hear.
"America" I cried out weakly, my hands weakly trying to pick up the broken glass.
"IGGY, I'm HERE AND I BROUGHT FOOD!" His words pounded into my skull and broke me from my reverie. On another day I would have yelled at him for disturbing the peace, but I was grateful now for the distraction.
"America, could you be any less quiet" I tried to look annoyed as usual but there was no venom in my voice, only hurt and regret. As the taller man strode into the room, his arms laden with bags upon bags of fast food, he stopped abruptly, his gaze trained on me. I suppose it was a strange sight to see me on the floor in the middle of the room during the day.
"Iggy, dude, you okay?" There it was, his obnoxious vernacular that was a complete disgrace to the queen's English.
"America, please, I am just fine, and could you not use such an uncivilized manner of speaking here in my home. You sound like a child who never learned any manners" His expression didn't change with my words. It was a still contorted into s mask of worry that was disconcerting to anyone who knew the bubbly nation.
"Iggy, you're on the floor, and, and your hands are bleeding" I looked down at my hands. He was right , my hands were cut up from the glass that I had frantically tried to pick up.
"I suppose you're right" I said quietly dropping the broken teacup pieces I was holding and picking some of shards out of my palms. "Could you go get me a broom please" I asked and America darted off eagerly, probably never to return.
I heard a loud THUMP and a cry of pain before a bedraggled American cam running into the room with his arms laden with things. There was a pile of fast food bags where he dropped them on the floor, and next to said pile he dumped most of the contents of his armload save the broom and dustpan. I stood slowly, and took the broom from him, sweeping up the broken glass and pushing into the dustpan and disposing of it. When I was done, I was greeted with the USA's million watt smile and a shock as I was jerked forward gracelessly and swooped up in the hyperactive nation's arms.
"What the Hell are you doing you Wanker!"
"I'm taking you to the living room so I can wrap your hands"
"It's called a parlor, and I can do it myself thank you" I retorted squirming angrily in his grasp.
"No way dude! I'm THE HERO!" his obnoxious laugh filled the air, and I was dumped unceremoniously on the couch. He grabbed my wrists harshly and pulled something from his pocket. It looked to be a roll of bandages, and the pure white gauze was being wrapped around and around my injured hand much more gently then I would have expected from the hyperactive nation.
"America it's okay I can do it myself" I protested again, more weakly this time.
"Britain, dude, it's done now. " his voice dropped drastically in volume when he said that, and my stomach lurched. What was this idiot up to now? He looked at me a minute and sighed. His baby blues were so close to me now that I couldn't seem to make my heart stop racing, what was he doing? Was I okay with this? I wasn't sure. I squeezed my eyes shut tight expecting something, anything to happen, but then…nothing.
When nothing happened I opened my eyes and there he was, staring at me just as before, but with a big goofy grin on his face .
"What on Earth are you doing idiot?" I snapped causing him to jerk back for a moment in surprise, but then offer me a bigger smile.
"I was looking at you" He dragged his eyes conspicuously down my form and I shivered just a little. "You've been crying." I looked away from his scrutinizing gaze, embarrassed.
"No, I wasn't, it's just spring allergies" He grabbed my chin and turned my face towards him gently.
"You and I both know you don't have allergies" He was right. Nations lived a long time and learned to live with a great many things. We didn't have allergies.
"America, please take your hands off me" my voice was weaker than I thought it should have been. "America I'm warning you"
"What were you thinking about, when I came in?" Unlike his usual tone he sounded concerned. "I know you were upset about something" I sighed. Should I tell him the truth? What would happen if I told him what I was really thinking about? I didn't know but in a flash burst of courage I decided I would.
"I was thinking about you" He looked taken aback.
"Me?"
"Yes, you." I took a deep breath. "I was thinking about us, and how we used to be." America's face twisted into a million different emotions, none of which I could place, and few of which I had seen before on his face.
"How we used to be?" He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. "I don't want to think about how we used to be." With a long and labored sigh I shook my head.
"Me neither, I didn't want to remember it either, it just, just happened." He looked down at me sadly.
"Which war?"
"All of them" A look of complete heartbreak spread across the man's face and I was sure he was going to start crying as well, but he didn't. Instead he leaned forward and captured me in a hug.
"You know I forgive you, and I hope to God you forgave me" His superhuman strength was crushing me, but I knew that it was because he was scared that I would leave his side right then.
"America, we hurt each other so much back then. Let's not think about it anymore okay" With a great deal of effort I pushed him off me and made him look me in the eyes. "There is nothing in the past for us now." He nodded and pulled me back into another hug.
"I'm so sorry Britain" He took a deep breath and I could feel his chest rise against my own. "But how on Earth can I be your hero if I'm moping about the past" A chuckle rumbled through his chest. "C'mere" He turned and flopped down on the couch pulling me with him in his tight embrace. "I think we both need a nap after all those feelings huh" He laughed loudly, practically blowing out my eardrums.
"Idiot! Stop!" I struggled in his tight grasp. Hugging this goof was one thing, I was only doing it to make myself feel better I reasoned, but letting him cuddle me was another. I was not going to get sucked into being all lovey dovey just because this idiot..
"Arthur pleaaaaaasseeee!" He whined loudly into my ear as he pulled one of my neatly folded blankets off my couch and on top of me.
"No, and don't you have food you need to deal with, it'll get cold just sitting there on my floor" If protesting wouldn't work maybe food would persuade him to let go of me.
"NOOOO ARTHUR I WANNA CUDDLE WITH YOU RIGHT NOW!" Ugh he was going to get his way wasn't he. If I wasn't so tired, and so rattled, and if his grip wasn't so warm and comfortable, and not quite exactly what I needed I would have made more protest, but instead I just let him keep on holding me and I didn't bother arguing anymore.
"Alright fine you wanker, but I'm making scones when we get up" He groaned and I just laughed internally. He was going to have to eat my cooking and like it if he ever wanted to cuddle me again.
"Alright, fine Arty, but only because I love you" my heart jumped in my chest and I snuggled down closer into him irritably.
"I love you to, you wanker, and don't call me Arty"