Summary: Switzerland discovers that America has a job, in a bar of all places. Inspired by Billy Joel's 'Piano Man'.
The gathered nations clapped as Switzerland's presentation on the statistics of recent banking activities in his country came to an end. The recent relations that the neutral nation had with others was rarely permitted, but he did have exceptions, thus his presentation at the conference today. His younger sister had recently asked for permission for a treaty with the United States that was focused on combating illegal banking and money laundering, and while Switzerland was hesitant to allow it, he really couldn't say no – he himself had a commission with America on the same subject that they had been working together under for the past two years, so what kind of hypocrite would he be if he said no to Liechtenstein?
A very bad one, apparently.
Speaking of America, where was the bumbling fool? As the European nation descended from the podium, he spied on the North American country that sat in a laid-back posture and sipped from a seemingly forever self-refilling extra-large cup of soda. As he took his seat, he watched as the golden boy leaned towards Canada who sat next to him and whispered something that only the two of them would ever know.
'Goofing off,' Switzerland noted. 'That dumbass.'
The further northern nation smiled bashfully in response to the whispers and scribbled something on the corner of his own paper, and whatever it read, it had the personification of the United States of America grin blindingly with all his shiny teeth.
Switzerland recoiled involuntarily. Next to him, Liechtenstein looked up in concern.
"Are you okay, big brother?"
Switzerland blinked. That smile was too bright – it was practically a flash bomb. "Yes, of course," he replied, and hoped that his voice was smooth enough to convince her. It was, judging by the way that Liechtenstein smiled at him.
Across the room, America had his phone out. He must have been checking the time, because the superpower nation suddenly looked up and raised a hand.
"Yes, America," Germany recognized.
"Motion to adjourn the meeting?" America addressed. "It's past six, and I'm sure we could come back to this tomorrow morning. What'd you all say?"
Switzerland blinked. It was surprising enough that they'd actually gotten things done for once, but it was even more surprising that he hadn't noticed how quickly time had flown by. But then again, this was America, and he was probably only doing this so that he could get to McDonalds to stuff himself with all those chemical slathered meat sandwiches. But apparently not everyone shared the trigger-happy European nation's thoughts, because Germany seemed to seriously consider America's offer.
"Motion acknowledged," Germany announced. "All those in favor?"
In unison, the entire world had raised their hands. For a moment, Germany looked over at the crowd. Apparently there wasn't a single nation that wanted to continue the debate today, seeing as Germany nodded and stated: "We shall meet back here tomorrow morning, 8 o'clock sharp. No excuses," he directed towards America, who was generally known for being his tardiness. America simply shrugged and grinned again, and Germany sighed at his response. "Meeting adjourned. You can all go."
There was a jumble of sound as chairs were scraped back and conversations broke out from here and there. Switzerland gathered his papers and filed them into his briefcase as he thought about dinner plans, then turned to consult his sister.
"What would you like for dinner tonight?"
"Um," the small nation started. She seemed rather flustered. "I was actually – "
"Switzerland! Liechtenstein!"
A female voice had called out, and Switzerland looked up. Hungary and Belgium were making their way across the room, against the flow of nations that were slowly filing out of the room. They waved at Liechtenstein.
"What do you want?" he demanded. The nation of Hungary frowned at his action.
"Rude, Switzerland," she said. "We're only here to take Liechtenstein out for dinner tonight."
"Liechtenstein?" Switzerland turned towards his sister. "What is this about dinner?"
"Oh," the smaller nation stumbled with her words, her cheeks slightly flushed. "I was going to ask you earlier, but you were so focused today that I couldn't ask… So I was just going to ask you now, but, if you don't want me to – "
"Rubbish," Belgium stated matter-of-factly. "We're taking her out, Switzerland. We'll return her to you before midnight, so don't worry about it."
Switzerland sighed. He watched Liechtenstein fumble a bit with her hands, before eventually deciding that one night out couldn't hurt. She wasn't his to control, after all, and he couldn't stop her from having a good time if she wanted to. "Who else will be going?" he asked instead. From the tones of the two female nations, they probably weren't going to let him in to watch over her sister, so at the very least he should know who her company would consist of.
Hungary shrugged. "So far, just us and Taiwan," she said. Female nations. At least they weren't going to be around other men. The further they were away from Liechtenstein, the better.
Apparently both Belgium and Hungary had caught onto his thoughts. "We'll make sure that nobody bothers her, Switzerland," laughed Belgium. "Hungary brought her frying pan. It's in her briefcase."
"Good to know," the Alpine nation said, pacified at last. "You bring her back before ten, you hear?"
"Midnight," stated Hungary. Switzerland frowned.
"Ten."
"Midnight."
"If she's not back before ten, then you will answer to my guns," said Switzerland.
"My heart bleeds for you," Hungary stated with a completely flat face that suggested otherwise. "But she's coming back when she wants to, and not when you want."
Some tension was definitely rising here, now. Liechtenstein had obviously noticed, because she had stepped between them, and was looking up at him while ever-so-slightly tugging on his sleeve.
"I'll be back when I'm tired, big brother. Please?" Oh no, Liechtenstein was doing the eyes. Switzerland could never resist those eyes, not when they looked so sad and begging. Switzerland pondered on this for a moment, before nodding. He had to make compromises at some point in his lifetime, and most of them were for his sister anyways. This time would be no exception.
"Fine," he ground out, exasperated at the way things were going. "Midnight at the latest. Here's your key to the hotel room. Room 502," Switzerland added, just in case Liechtenstein had forgotten. He handed her a card key and made sure that she put it away carefully in her little wallet.
"Thank you, big brother," she beamed. He nodded in response, and watched as the three nations left in search for Taiwan and sighed. He was certainly doing a lot of that today. But at least he had an excuse to do so, seeing as his dinner plans had to be adjusted quickly.
Well, what to do now. He was sure that there were plenty of restaurants in New York City, but he couldn't spend money so easily or else he'd fall into a habit of spending more than he could afford. Frugality was one of his many traits that he wanted to shine through, and he wasn't going to tarnish that reputation now. What were some good, cheap places that he could go to?
'McDonalds,' he thought, and quickly shuddered at the thought. There was no way that he'd put that garbage that America called food in his mouth. But it was cheap, and if it was truly bad for him, the European Union wouldn't have allowed the stores to be set up in Europe in the first place, right? Right?
But no way in hell was Switzerland going to McDonalds for dinner. He left the conference hall and went up to his room to leave his briefcase, before heading back downstairs and leaving the hotel. Maybe if he walked a bit, he'd find some place that he'd find satisfactory.
But New York was a busy city, and before he knew it, Switzerland felt himself get swept up in the movement of the people washing like waves on a shore against the traffic lights. He struggled and yelled that he needed to get down that street and not this one, but New Yorkers paid him no attention. They had homes to get to, dinners that were waiting for them, and a remaining weekend day that they could use to recharge themselves for the awaiting Monday. There was no time to pay attention to an angry little Swiss man when they had priorities.
Which was why, after an hour and a half of struggle and walking, he found himself smack dab in the middle of an old Brooklyn neighborhood with simply no idea how to get back to his hotel. He had stupidly left his phone in his briefcase and his wallet too, so he couldn't even take a cab back at this point.
Switzerland growled in frustration. What a way to spend an evening. Time was of essence, and he wished desperately for some other personified nation to show up and notice him.
And then the music hit him.
It was a joyful sound of piano and laughter and singing, and apparently everyone knew the lyrics because wherever they all were, they were all singing along. Switzerland looked around wildly, looking for the source of disturbance before locating an old bar at the end of the street. An old wooden sign hung above the framed door, reading 'Brooklyn's Best'. The music streamed through the cracks in the door, and the European nation sighed. Maybe he'd be able to get a glass of water and some directions that might be helpful in finding his way back to the hotel. With that thought in mind, he opened the door and stepped inside.
He was greeted with a surprisingly cozy atmosphere. Yellow and orange lights hung on the ceiling and walls, creating a softened view of the place. It smelled of good food and cooked meat, and before Switzerland knew it, his stomach had grumbled in retaliation. There were all sorts of people sitting at tables with drinks and food in front of them, and they all eagerly tapped their feet and clapped their hands to the beat of the music and sang along to the chorus. The cheerful atmosphere was even more prominent inside than it had been outside, and Switzerland felt a pang of jealousy as he realized that he too could have been a part of this, if only he had his wallet with him.
The man at the piano tilted his head slightly as his hands flew across the piano, striking up a slow tune that was so different from the classical pieces that Austria would play, but Switzerland thought that it rather suited this place. The man sang in a delightfully light tenor, and the nation was surprised to find that the song was one that he knew as well. A famous song, from a famous movie. Even those who hadn't watched the movie probably knew the song, solely because of the fact that it was madly popular.
Then the first chorus struck, and the entire bar chimed in; "Moon river wider than a mile," they sang, and Switzerland watched the scene and was quickly filled with shock; as the man glanced behind him momentarily with one hand still playing the base melody to use his other hand to signal and encourage the guests to sing up, his eyes had followed the glint of light off the glasses that the pianist wore. Then as his eyes landed on the stubborn dark blond hair that stuck straight up from his head, he realized that he knew the pianist.
Great heavens, it was America.
The other nation was seemingly oblivious to Switzerland's enlightenment, because he simply turned back and continued playing, apparently now satisfied with the volume. The song continued for a bit longer and as the chorus soon stilled, and he was left with the last of the lyrics as they faded into air with the slow piano falling into a decrescendo.
The silence didn't last long; the entire bar clapped and cheered as the pianist stood, turned, and gave a small bow with a grin on his cheerful, young face, and Switzerland found himself clapping along as the American straightened back up.
And then their eyes met.
America's eyes widened as if in shock, then leaned over the bar counter to whisper something quickly to an elderly man. Whatever he said, the man had nodded in response, and all of a sudden Switzerland found him in the company of the younger nation on a stool at the counter with a drink in his hands.
What on earth just happened?
"It's totally on me," the other nation was saying, and Switzerland very nearly had to punch himself to pull his head out of the clouds and into the conversation. "I didn't know you'd be here! You should've told me if you knew where I work. Are the others here too?"
"No," said Switzerland, cutting off any other questions that the American might ask. Then he realized that that was too short of a reply, and the other nation was probably waiting for more answers, so he straightened up and braced himself before replying: "I didn't even know you'd be here. I was lucky to run into this place."
The American simply looked confused. "Wait, you didn't know that I was working here? How come you're here then?"
"I got lost and I didn't have money, so I kept walking until I ended up here."
The American let out a bark of laughter. "Where's all your cash, Swiss?"
"I left it in my room with my briefcase."
"Ah, well," America said. It was an unspoken promise that everyone at the conference tomorrow would know of his blunder and Switzerland grimaced; this was what he had been bracing himself for. "I'll buy you dinner then. Everything here's good!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, of course. I work here." America had gestured to the elderly man behind the counter, and the bartender handed him a menu. "You must be hungry. Did you walk all the way here?"
"I think that's the unintended drawback of getting lost," said the older nation
"Damn," America muttered. "This place is far from the hotel, man. I feel sorry for you." He handed him the menu.
Switzerland grumbled something along the lines of thank-you and received the menu before opening it. "What would you suggest?"
"The tavern burger," America replied smoothly without looking at the list of food. "It's better than what McDonalds makes, I promise. If you don't want that," he said quickly, looking at Switzerland's murderous expression at the suggestion of an alternative version of America's near-daily meal. "They have other things too, like roast chicken and salad. They're good stuff."
"A roast chicken then," Switzerland said. The American grinned in response before turning his head and making an order of the roast chicken for the Swiss and a tavern burger for himself to a waitress who was hovering nearby. The tightly coiled black curls on her head bobbed as she noted down their orders, then disappeared behind the bar to the kitchen. The American nation kept Switzerland's mind occupied with his stream of things to say as they waited, and Switzerland was surprised that he wasn't annoyed at his younger companion today. It kept his mind off from his hungry stomach and tired feet, and for that, he was slightly grateful.
But only just. Switzerland didn't feel like he owed America anything, no, he certainly didn't. Even if he was buying him a meal.
"I'm going to play another piece until the food comes. You can start eating without me if it does." The American patted the Swiss on the back before making his way back to the piano. Switzerland watched, intrigued, as an elderly man walked up to the young pianist, and held a short conversation before returning to his seat. America cracked his knuckles and straightened his back, wincing as more audible cracks came from it before he lay his hands back on the piano and started playing.
Switzerland recognized the song, but he hadn't known that America did as well, then immediately took a double take when he realized that the lyrics were in Italian.
Of course America would know Italian. The fool was practically a melting pot, of course he'd know more languages than English alone. Why this hadn't struck him of odd before today, was strangely bizarre. Perhaps it was the air of idiocy that America always wore that made others belittle him, but Switzerland knew that today's experience would change how he always perceived the other nation. Maybe there was more to America than the fast food and the inconceivably idiotic superhero fanaticism.
"Volare," the American nation sang. "Cantare."
"We can sing in the glow of a start that I know of where lovers enjoy peace of mind," some of the elder occupants of the bar chimed in. Switzerland's breath hitched as the song had suddenly switched to English lyrics – maybe there was an English version that was popular in America? – and he caught a glance of the elderly man that had approached America earlier, and found that the man looked happy and content as he nursed a glass of strong liquor. "Let us leave the confusion and all disillusion behind, just like birds of a feather, a rainbow together we'll find."
Nel blu, dipinto di blu.
America took his time playing more songs, some with lyrics, and some without. He was still playing when the food arrived and Switzerland made sure to thank the waitress as he received his roast chicken. His stomach grumbled and he wanted to start eating right there, but he wasn't going to be bad mannered and not wait for his host. Sure enough, as the song came to a close, the bar brought their hands together and clapped for the American as he took another bow before making a beeline back to Switzerland.
"I'm starving," he stated as he took a long drink of water. "You didn't start eating?"
"I was waiting for you to come," Switzerland replied. He took a fork and knife and cut into his roast chicken, marveling at the tender meat that broke apart. Next to him, America munched into his burger and chewed happily away.
"I didn't know you spoke Italian," said Switzerland, referring to the lyrics of the earlier song.
"Not much. You speak Italian too, right?" America questions. "Four languages, Italian being the 8.4% of your population, German being the most prominent at 63%?"
Switzerland blinked. "Y – yes," he stammered. "I didn't think you knew." Heat flushed to his face and he suddenly felt embarrassed. Had he been caught in thinking so little of the superpower? Luckily, America didn't seem to be much offended by his comment.
"I pay more attention that a lot of people give me credit for," he laughed. "It's nothing to be sorry about! I'm sure everyone else thinks the same, and it's not your fault either. I pretend to be stupid for a reason, you know."
"Why?" The question was asked before Switzerland could stop himself, and America blinked.
"Huh?"
"Why pretend?"
Switzerland could see the American thinking before he shrugged. "I think it started around World War II, really. Even though all of us were suffering from the Great Depression, I was still stronger than a lot of the countries at the time. But I couldn't let it show, just in case other countries decided to target me for the power of my military. Not that it worked," he laughed bitterly, and Switzerland was immediately reminded of the fact that America had tried his darned best to stay out of both World Wars but was always, always targeted in the end. "And after World War II, Russia and I came out on top for some reason. Russia was scaring the hell out of everyone, and I didn't want everyone to be scared of me the way that they were of Russia, so I decided to, well, – "
"Pretend that you weren't," Switzerland finished.
"Yeah," America nodded. "I find that people are more afraid of intelligence than they are of stupidity."
"I guess you aren't wrong there," said Switzerland. "When'd you learn how to play the piano?"
The American shrugged again. "I picked it up eventually," he said. "400 years is a short time for one of our kind maybe, but for ordinary humans it's quite long. If they can learn how to play Mozart within a hundred years of their lives, then who says that I can't?"
"Point taken."
America popped the last of his French fries in his mouth and wiped off his fingers with a wet tissue to get rid of the grease. He sure ate fast.
Something suddenly struck Switzerland as odd. He couldn't help but voice it, now that it was stuck in his head. "Why are you working here in the first place?"
America seemed surprised at his question. "The same reason why everyone else gets jobs, I guess," he said.
"We're normally at the government, America. Not many of us have times to get another job, and I myself am normally at border patrols," Switzerland pointed out. America frowned.
"Yeah, but I still have time to do other stuff, you know, after the paperwork. It's a lot better than having a shit ton of time of my hands and doing nothing. Besides," he said, taking a sip of water. "It's good to get to know my people again once in a while. It's like having my eyes open to another world when I'm among them."
"Yes," Switzerland agreed. "That is a good motive. But why here? Why not anywhere else?"
While Switzerland had first described the bar to be cozy and comfortable, it didn't take a hawk's eye to notice that the place was a little more than run down. The wallpaper was slowly peeling off, and the only thing that was stopping it was a couple pieces of old duct tape. The bar counter itself was made of wood, and he could spot cracks in it that came with the old age. The tables and chairs were all mismatched, as if they had initially bought a complete set and then had to make replacements with other pieces of furniture as some had become too broken or too old.
Why here, indeed.
"I dunno. Maybe it's because you don't have to pretend to be something that you're not when you're here," America said in response, and Switzerland stared. What kind of an answer was this? America grinned, as if he could hear his thoughts. "You'll find out once you come here a couple of times. Then the answer's pretty obvious."
That didn't stop Switzerland from staring, but the two cans of coke slid quietly next to the American, did. America looked up momentarily to flash a smile and a gesture of gratitude to the bartender. "Thanks, John."
The bartender smiled back. "On the house, Alfred. It's the least I can do."
"John here's been working here for nearly twenty years," America explained as he handed the Swiss man a can. "He's great at everything. He practically runs this bar when the manager's not here. But if you ask me," he leaned towards Switzerland and his voice lowered several tens of decimals. "I think he wants out of this place. Sometimes his eyes have this look in them, and I think he's tired of this bar and wants to get out and do something more."
"A common workplace depression then," Switzerland replied. America shook his head, to his surprise. "It's more on the lines of an unfulfilled dream," America said, and his smile was soft and sad. "A dream that can't be met and the harsh reality of life."
Switzerland pondered on this – he always thought that America was naïve and simply young, but apparently not. The North American nation was simply an ever-optimistic one, deep-seated in the egalitarian belief of hard work and fair success that had led him to his independence from Britain. Optimism was the first word that he would use to describe the American, and naïve the second.
But he had never entertained the idea that America might actually knew what reality was like. He'd always thought that the American didn't know how to read the mood, nor did he take note of the situations at hand. Apparently, he was wrong; now that he thought about it, the harsh realities of life had struck America hard over and over during the centuries past, but America would always get back up, grin that blinding smile and continue with his unending strength and confidence. He must have known what the reality was like, but had simply not let it be shown.
Politics during the days from the American independence to World War I was a terrible subject. Empires peeked at other nations constantly, looking for any reasons to start a war. Any signs of weakness would lead to an immediate failure, and America was the newbie who had no idea what he was in for. Of course he'd stay strong and put up an unyielding face. It was the only option that he could have taken.
Switzerland suddenly felt something akin to pity for America and had to restrain himself from petting the younger nation on the head as he did to Liechtenstein.
"You seem to know a lot about these people," said Switzerland, desperate to change the subject. He wasn't exactly interested per se, but he was eating good food for once, and he didn't particularly want to lose his appetite. He still had a fair bit of chicken and vegetables left on his plate.
"Of course I do, they're my citizens."
"Not in that sense." Switzerland had to remind himself not to be rude to the American – he didn't want to come off as ill-mannered when the other person was literally buying him something that he didn't have to pay for. "I meant personally."
"Oh," the superpower blinked. "I dunno, I guess I never thought about it. I do know everyone in here though.
"That's Paul over there," he nudged his chin over to a man sitting at a far table in the corner in his late forties with glasses. His hair was slicked back, giving an air of professionalism, but his suit was too large for his frame and it hung off his shoulders. "He's trying his hand at becoming a best-selling novelist. Haven't seen his work yet, but he says he comes down here for inspiration. I asked him if he was married once," America laughed. "Dude said that he didn't have time for it."
Switzerland noted a notebook in the man's hands and nodded. An aspiring novelist, where the criteria was harsh. He looked over to a man in a crisp military uniform and wondered if he was allowed to wear that outside of base. America followed his gaze and smiled.
"Oh, that's Davy," he said. "I've met him when back when he was in training ten years ago, actually. I've only watched from afar, so I doubt he knows who I am. I'll admit, I was kinda surprised that he was here when I started working."
"What branch?"
"The Navy," America replied. "I think his base is near the city."
"Why is he drinking?"
"The same reason why we all do sometimes," the American explained. "When you're in the military, you're fighting for your country, right? They've got a burden on their shoulders with the weight of the protection of your country and all the people in it, and you know, sometimes it doesn't take a lot to make it all come crashing down when they think that they're sometimes not strong enough."
"Ah." Yes, he knew the feeling well. Being armed always meant that he had to be the strong one, and he had known it since his mercenary days. Taking another's life was never easy and it left a tainted blackness in the soul that would never go away, even to that of a nation's. To a mortal, it could be the fatal blow to the conscience.
The Swiss man took a moment to take a swig of his drink and change the subject to what he considered to be lighter. "Wouldn't it be bad for him to be caught drinking when he's in uniform?"
"He only comes out on weekends and he's not on duty at the moment," America answered back. Switzerland stared for a moment, before turning back to his cold fries.
So the nation did know his people, after all, and well enough to know their schedules. He tried to make out another sentence, but found his throat clogged. He coughed and cleared his throat with a sip of the coke that America had handed him earlier, and found his throat was now miraculously clean with the fizziness. "Who else do you know about?"
"The waitress," America started. "She didn't say her name earlier, but that's because I know her. Ivryonna's been here for a year or so. She told me that I was the fifth pianist that she'd seen while she was here."
"What's her story?"
"A political science major. She's attending the university here in the city. Brooklyn College, I think. She says she needs money for tuition 'cause her family can't afford to send both her and her brothers to college, so she' working here and studying her ass off for a scholarship."
Switzerland looked up from his string beans. "No loans?"
"Student loans are dumb," America stated with a grim tone. "The other guests are mostly businessmen. They work around here, have homes around here, and probably will stay here until they pay off their mortgage loans and stuff. Life at the city can be exciting when you first start, but it gets pretty dull quick, so I guess that's why they come in here frequently."
"Again, work depression," said Switzerland. "It comes with years of work and pitiful environment." The words were out before Switzerland could stop him. Had he just called America a pitiful environment? He observed the American carefully, hoping that he hadn't insulted him too much. If he had his gun with him, he wouldn't have given a damn, but at the moment he actually needed the other nation for his meal and a way back to the hotel.
Thankfully, America didn't seem to mind.
"You're not wrong, I guess," he said, and Switzerland found his forehead coming together to form a frown.
"Aren't you the country where dreams come true?"
"The American Dream?" inquired America. "Working hard doesn't equal in success anymore, for anyone. The times have changed, you know. I hate it. I want to do better for my people. I need to do more and being in here makes me realize it. That's why I'm here," America's hand swept over the bar. "I'm trying my best to cheer them all up the best I can, before I go and try to convince my politicians to make their lives easier on them, and before the people here try their hands again at life and success.
"They're all lonely here," the American continued quietly. "I haven't met anyone in here who wasn't. But when they're here, they're all brought together, and we sing and sometimes we dance, and then they're not so lonely anymore. Most of them are just tired at the end of the day and need a drink to forget how hard their lives are. I'd like to think that I help," he said, and this the soft smile was back on his face, and the bright light that had always been present in his eyes had become hidden.
"Are you lonely?" Switzerland asked. Then he immediately wished that he hadn't.
Switzerland tried to ignore the sadness that was radiating from the American. God, he was learning a lot about America today.
"Comes with being a superpower," said America, and whatever heart that Switzerland had remaining in his cold, wintry Alps had immediately shriveled up into a painful clench. With great power came a great cost. Has America suffered the loss of a social life when becoming the strongest nation in the world? He hadn't known that America could even be capable of an emotion like loneliness.
"Are you lonely, Switzerland?"
Switzerland choked. He coughed and drained the rest of his coke can and avoided the other's eyes. Neutrality was the only option that he had in his life now, and he wasn't going to start regretting it because of a reflected question.
Neutrality meant that he wouldn't have enemies. But it also meant that he couldn't have friends. And that was enough to make the Alpine nation almost insane.
He was lonely. He couldn't deny it outright, because that would be a lie. To everyone else in the world, it might have seemed like he took in Liechtenstein because he was a man with a good heart and good intentions, but that wasn't true. It was a lie. It was a blatant lie, and Switzerland couldn't shake it off. Perhaps that was why he was so agreeable whenever Liechtenstein was involved, because he felt guilty for being selfish and using her as a means to stop his loneliness.
But he'd never tell America that.
"The crowd's grown," he observed instead of answering, and the American stopped looking disheartened at once to glace behind him at the bar.
"Pretty good crowd for a Saturday," he said. "The manager's gonna be happy. He thinks that it's me that they've been coming to see."
"Do you think so?" Switzerland tried to make the question sound like he didn't doubt him. Apparently, it didn't work as well as he thought he did, because all America did was to simply shrug. "I try my best," he said. "Like I said, I'm only trying to help."
He placed some bills and a heavy tip on the table for the waitress; Ivryonna, Switzerland remembered her name from what America had told him. "My work ends at eleven. Do you want some money for the cab, or – ?" he asked, and the unsounded option was left hanging in the air for Switzerland to notice and take. Switzerland sighed. He wouldn't be rude any further tonight when he already owed the American so much.
"I'll wait until you're done with your shift," he said, and he tried not to feel disappointed as the American positively beamed at him. He didn't want to think how dejected the other nation would've been if he had just gone back to the hotel alone, especially after that conversation that they just had, so there was no other choice now.
America had now left for the piano again. Switzerland watched as the bar grew silent, conversations coming to a still as America sat on the piano bench, facing the crowd. The American nation whipped around and gave Switzerland a grin and a thumbs up. Switzerland felt the corner of his lips turn upwards at the gesture, and he couldn't help but think that the other man's smile was rather contagious.
"Thanks for coming everybody," called America – Alfred, now – to the crowd. The bar cheered. "I hope y'all have had a good week!"
The bar laughed. "Sing us a song, boy," someone called from the crowd. "Sing us something!"
America laughed at that. "Will do, James," he answered back, and swung his feet over the bench and sat straight facing the piano. The twinkle in his eyes was back, and all at once Switzerland knew deep down that he had been suspecting what his next song would be all throughout the night.
The piano picked up an all-too-familiar tune, and the left hand supported the melody with a heavy backdrop. The hands danced, and the feet pressed the pedals lightly but affirmatively before the American's mouth opened and the tenor joined the music.
"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in," the American sang, and the irony of the entire situation was not lost on Switzerland – Saturday, past nine, and at a bar with the familiar faces, and the bleak state of the people in the bar. The elderly man who had requested a song earlier was looking up instead of drowning himself in his gin tonic, as did the melancholy bartender who had been shaking up cocktails for the customers. The aspiring novelist stopped in his note-taking as he watched the American sing, and he spotted the military man take off his cap as his hands clutched the whiskey glass.
"Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone."
From the corner of his eyes, he watched the businessmen put down their hard liquor that they'd been drinking to forget the cold, hard realities of their workplace. He heard the waitress huffed at the lyrics quietly, but nevertheless took her tip with a beautiful smile.
"And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar and say, "Man, what are you doing here?"."
They were all concentrating on the song now, instead of the reality that they were forced to face; and they weren't the only ones it seemed, as Switzerland felt himself lean forward in his seat in eagerness. The music was warm, warm as the sunshine on America's home in sunny Virginia, stronger than the winds of the plains, and more protective than the Appalachian Mountains, and he felt the fatigue that had come from a long day wash way and let himself be comforted for the first time in centuries.
"Sing us a song, you're the piano man, sing us a song tonight! Well, we're all in the mood for a melody, and you got us feeling alright."
Switzerland let out a breath that he hadn't realized that he was holding as the song came to a close. The bar cheered, and he noticed that some of the gloominess in the bar that had been over their heads when America hadn't been playing was gone now. The faces were brighter, more hopeful, and a tad bit happier, as if the music had brought some sort of magic onto them. And he wasn't going to lie to himself about it not affecting him, because it did. Switzerland let a genuine smile fall to his face. He didn't have to be stern in this bar, nor did he have to deal with idiots and whatnot that he'd have to face in the World Conferences. He didn't have to pretend that he wasn't tired, nor did he have to pretend to be strong for his sister. He could just be himself, and nobody would judge him for it.
He didn't have to be lonely in this place, because they all were, but that was okay because this quaint young pianist had brought them together in this run-down mill of a place.
Of course it was America that they've been coming to see. It couldn't have been anything else, not in this small dinghy bar in the corner of an unnoticed street in Brooklyn. It couldn't have been anything else but the piano man, and everyone listening to the singing knew it.
Switzerland smiled as he watched the young man play. He might just come back to this bar, after all.