A/N: Hey all! I'm Anatidaephobia, in my first Hetalia fanfic ever! Woot! I'm a little over-excited, so much so that I didn't plan the rest of the chapters after writing this, but just deciding out of the blue that I wanted it to be multi-chaptered. So, I hate to spoil things, but I know that HK was raised by China for a little while before England took him, but this is for the sake of accuracy within the story, which is totally AU from life, except for the obvious references.

I'd like to warn against mentions of male pregnancy and rape, possible lemons, more mpreg, mild coarse language and violence, and whatever else may come. If something turns up in a chapter that I've failed to mention here, I'll warn about it in the beginning of that chapter, should that be necessary. I hate doing it, I feel like I'm spoiling things….

I'd also like to say that I do not own Hetalia, but only because of copyright laws and blah blah blah…. If I did, I'd totally be drawing China in pretty little gothic Lolita dresses and cowboy hats and stuff… not writing about him. I could, but if I go into that I'll start ranting, so let's just get to the fic, shall we?

The Scent of Water

Prologue

"China, I'm taking him, whether you sign the papers or not."

It was too much to take in all at once. It stunned him to his seat and he dropped his teacup, which bounced off his thigh and shattered on the floor, splashing hot liquid up onto his legs. But he didn't even flinch. He stared ahead, mouth hanging open only slightly, hands fallen uselessly into his lap. He couldn't even look at Arthur Kirkland who sat across the corner of the table, pouring himself another cup of green tea that Wang Yao had obviously deprived him of through his utterly shocked reaction. Arthur was absolutely unaffected by the news that had shocked Yao hard enough that his body went numb, but that was to be expected of the messenger. He sipped from his cup, staring over the rim at the Chinese man, who slowly dropped his head and doubled over to hide his face in his hands. Arthur was about to pour himself another cup and looked up out of the corner of his eye when he heard a short sob. Was Yao… crying?

"It's not that bad, China. You know he'll be safe with me, and besides all that he'll need his father growing up in this world. It's just the way things are." He reached over to pat the other nation's back supportively, but he was swatted away with a fierce amount of disdain.

"How can you say that, aru?" Yao looked up at him, tears staining his reddened cheeks, and bit his lip. The expression on Arthur's face reflected how stupidly incoherent he could be at times. "Don't you understand? He's my son."

"He's just as much mine as he is yours, China. It takes two." Arthur moved forward, brushed the tears off the older man's face and sighed heavily. It bothered him to see Yao cry like this, especially over something so trivial. He was going bankrupt thanks to the Treaty of Nanking signed after the First Opium War and he could barely take care of himself with the money that remained. How could he be expected to take care of a child as well? To take the boy off Yao's hands was simply trying to make up for what he'd done so that Yao could get back on his feet; that's all. Honestly, they both knew it was a stupid war, and that Arthur shouldn't have tried to force the trade of something that Yao just didn't want. Trade didn't work that way. Still, with the money he'd taken as compensation, he might as well take their child as well.

Yao stared at him in disbelief; disgusted by the way Arthur treated him now, as if nothing had happened… as if he hadn't twisted his arm behind his back and forced him down. Given… Yao had attacked first, but Arthur had definitely started it! And now he was taking his— no… their son, because he didn't have the money to take care of himself anymore. The money that would have gone into raising his child was stolen away by England and their stupid war. To this, Yao had nothing to say, but he sucked in a breath, staring down at the adoption papers in front of him. Yes, he knew it would be stupid to attempt raising a child with an empty bank account, and of course it hurt. He had to do what was right for his child — it would be the only way the baby could grow up strong and healthy. There was no choice. Hand shaking uncontrollably, Yao signed the papers and stood abruptly, stalking out of the room, depression seething from every seam of his being. He held it in hard when his older son came running out of the next room and latched onto his mother's leg, begging to be picked up. Silently, Yao took Macau up on his hip and continued on his way to the small room at the back of the hall that the boys shared.

Macau squirmed when he heard a fussing sound coming from within the old cradle and dropped to the floor, curious of his younger brother's hushed sounds. "Mama, is Li okay?"

Yao was quiet, watching his baby and milking all the time he had left with him. He sank to the ground, carefully picking up the tiny bundle and cradling it close to his chest, trying to quiet him before the fussing turned into a full-blown crying fit. He didn't want to give Li to Arthur screaming — he could be so loud for such a small thing — because that would be unfair to both the young city and his father. He whispered gently to his baby, stroked his thick, dark hair off his forehead and bit his lip to try to hold back his tears when Li began to cry, his fair skin reddening and his tiny fists balling up like he wanted to hit someone. Heknows, Yao told himself, in denial of the whole situation. Heknowsandhedoesn'twanttoleaveme,aru. It was this thought that caused his breath to catch in his throat and escape as a hard sob as tears poured down over his cheeks. And he just sat there, crying. He had signed the papers, which meant that he was technically holding something that no longer belonged to him. His baby? No. Biologically, yes. Legally…? Everything was so complicated now with all these legal technicalities and paper work and modern travel. It had been so much more simple thousands of years ago when Yao had been young, when he'd lived next door to Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome, Ancient Egypt and Germania and watched them from a distance but never really interacted with them. Gods, but he'd been soyoung.

Perhaps the worst part of this — what hurt more than simply losing Li — was Macau tugging on his sleeve, speaking quietly and slowly, naively. "It's okay, Mama. Li will be okay with Mr England, and you'll still have me." This was just adding insult to injury. Macau had already been adopted out to Portugal, and Yao was simply waiting for him to come pick up his prize. He just didn't know how to tell his older son this.

Maybe now was as good a time as any….

"Macau… because of rude Mr England… Portugal's adopted you, aru. He'll be here to pick you up within the week. I'm sorry, but I just can't take care of you, aru."

Macau was stunned silent. He stared at his mother with large brown eyes, hurt, filled with feelings of betrayal and hatred…. At least, that was what Yao told himself. He despised the fact that he had to give away his children to nations that could afford to care for them just so that he could continue living. Already he was accepting support from Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, which was embarrassing enough, but if he hadn't given up Li and Macau, he might have died trying to feed them while he starved himself. There was only one choice in that case. It would be better for them anyway… more culturally enriching. Of course Yao worried about them returning and not being able to speak Mandarin, but he would teach them. Macau spoke very little — he was still quite young — but Li was still literally speechless. What if he never learned the language?

"What did you say about 'rude Mr England'?" Yao jumped at the voice behind him, the unmistakable British accent and turned to look over his shoulder at the blonde-haired, green-eyed man. He wanted to glare, but really Yao was grateful that he was taking Li where the baby could have a chance at a real future. He was. He was still trying to convince himself, but he knew it was true. Besides that, Arthur was great with kids… he was probably happy to have one of his own. To prove this, he knelt behind Yao to look over his shoulder at the bawling infant. "Is this him?"

"This is Li Xiao Chun. Yes. He's your son, aru." To an outsider it would have looked like quite the touching family scene, but maybe Arthur was the only one in the small gathering who wasn't completely torn up inside. Yao watched tentatively as Arthur reached over his shoulder to stroke the baby's face, slipping a finger into his mouth to feel his gums. There was a measure of disbelief in Yao's bloodshot eyes as Arthur pulled a small flask of brandy out of his jacket, wet his finger, and began to rub Li's gums until the crying slowly dissipated. "What did you do, aru?"

"He's teething. The brandy just numbs the pain, that's all." The silence was tense and Arthur looked down at his pocket watch to remove himself from it. "Look, China…. I've got to be going. The train's leaving soon. I can't miss it."

"I know, aru."

Arthur stood. Yao stood. He didn't turn to Arthur for a long minute, and even then, he kept his eyes locked on the infant.

"Yao…. Can I have him? I need to leave."

He didn't move. He was trying to hold back the tears again. Why was he so weak? He was cursing himself in his mind, holding his child tight to his body, ignoring Arthur as much as possible.

"Yao."

"Give me another minute, England."

Politely, Arthur was silent again; he waited a minute and a half. "Yao. I'm going to miss my train. Would you please give me my son?"

And that was what did it. Yao broke. He cried, nearly dropping to the floor, but Arthur was able to snatch Li away from him before he hit the ground. For a moment he admired the beautiful baby — hisbeautiful baby — but the sight of Yao sitting on the floor in such a state of distress sent waves of guilt through his body and he replaced the baby in the cradle so that he could sit with Yao, holding him close to his chest. Despite his reservations and uneasy feelings toward Arthur, Yao couldn't help but ball his fists in the Brit's shirt, crying onto his shoulder without much regard for what he was actually doing. Arthur held him, resting his chin on Yao's head and closing his eyes. Yao didn't know it, but he felt terrible. Honestly, the orders had been from his boss, and if he could have gotten away with it, he wouldn't have participated in the war at all. Mind you… Yao's instigation had tipped him off quite a bit. Rape… that was taking it too far, he knew, and he looked back on it shaking his head. Juvenile, to say the least. He wanted to say it was the opium, but that would just be blaming his wrongdoings on something that he could have controlled. He didn't have to smoke the opium. He didn't have to rape Yao or impregnate him and he most certainly shouldn't have had to take their son from him. He didn't want to. As much as he was concerned for this child, he was also concerned for his enemy. Yao had never really done anything wrong.

"I am sorry, Yao. Really, I am," Arthur whispered, and he heard a sob that sounded curiously like his human name. He pulled Yao closer, held him tighter, drew a long and deep breath and… dammit. If he didn't get out of there soon, he was going to cry. Still… he stayed and he waited for Yao to stop crying, to calm down, enticed him into smiling and brushed his bangs out of his face gently. He kissed the older nation's forehead, held his face and apologized once more. At last, he picked up the baby, and turned to leave. Before he could get very far, something else struck him, and Arthur stopped dead. "Yao, you gave me his human name, but no official name. Doesn't he have one?"

"Not yet, aru," Yao sniffled and wiped his eyes with a sleeve.

"I'll eventually need to register him for school. Part of the paperwork includes his official name…. Do you think you can come up with something?"

"You want me to give him his official name, aru?" And here Yao thought Arthur would try to steal that honour for himself when the time came. He was surprised at this and shook his head to clear it. "What about Hong Kong? I've been thinking about it for the last few months… and I think that's what I've decided on. Hong Kong."

"Good then…." There was a bit of an awkward pause where England just cradled Li to his chest, staring down at the big dark brown eyes from where they stared back at him curiously. God, but the child looked like his mother except for the obviously British eyebrows. Dark eyes, dark hair, soft pale skin…. He was quiet, but he watched the world carefully as Arthur left with him, curious about what was going on. He didn't cry when the train awoke him from a short nap, but he did fuss and squirm around quite a bit, something Arthur found quite frustrating, but he'd eventually get used to it. He learned that Li was quite independent as he grew up; he didn't want Arthur's help and didn't need it. He refused to acknowledge that Arthur was his father and that Yao was his mother, because this Yao was just a story to him, someone whose face he'd never seen and who therefore had no meaning to him.

And he just… grewup with Arthur. He got older. He stayed isolated. And eventually… it was time for him to go home.