Author's Note: I think I have caught a bug for writing recently. Or maybe it's because of the lack of school that got me into a writing frenzy. I still have a pile of homework to complete but I'm ignoring it. My beta, anglophilic, checked it over and promptly told me that I'm a drama queen. But each to her own, eh?

This fic's shorter and I got the concept when I was in a car driving towards home and I noticed all the industrial lights and I thought it was really pretty. I'm lame, I know that. And once again, it's inspired by a song, Faithfully.

Forever Yours. Faithfully.

America was behind the wheel.

The cool breeze was refreshing even during the volley of migraines the previous months had dumped on each nation, and at this point, England doubted that anything could get worse.

The windows were rolled down and the wind whipped England's hair into his eyes in the fast-moving vehicle but he was still tired and weary. Every single fall of the stock market incited a hacking cough from the Briton whose economy really cannot take another blow. All he had wanted was to take the morning flight back home to London and curl up under the covers before his next major meeting.

The road was dark and only lit by a street lamp every hundred metres. It was a serious safety hazard but America seemed to know what he was doing so England let it slide. Neither one of them wanted to break the companionable silence that was balanced so precariously.

The day's meeting was destructive. The nations were all too sick, worried or tired to even bother to bicker or provoke one another. Although it was quick and all the issues had been covered in record time, not a single country had the illusion that it was going to be as simple as that. It was a long, arduous road to recovery and they would all have to put in their best to struggle their way through it.

In other words, it wouldn't have made a difference whether England was there or not.

The recession they were experiencing though, was far from being the next Great Depression. The Great Depression was a frightful time and England had been confined to his home, too ill to be going about town. That, however, didn't mean that the recession didn't hurt.

Waves of agony rippled throughout his skull, constantly torturing him. England didn't have the energy to concentrate on anything during the better part of the day. But it must have been the fresh air, because he found the headache to be receding. If only slightly.

England breathed heavily and felt the breath rattle in his lungs. A massive weight was on his shoulders and he felt far from fine, but he wasn't the worst hit nation and he thanked god for that small miracle. No, that honour was to the one who started the global recession.

It wasn't on purpose, England knew, and yet, it was still America's blunder.

But the Briton didn't want to chide America; he had a lot on his plate. The pressure the other nations had been giving him in addition to the recession itself had been punishment enough. The younger nation was already going through a hard time and England didn't have the heart to be lecturing him.

It was an honest mistake, surely.

England had been confronted that day by a very irritated Germany with dark bags under his eyes who had harshly told him to keep America in line lest he plunged the world's economy into free fall again. But America hadn't been under his control for a long time. He didn't know what to do.

England had growled and almost gave the insolent German a mean right hook before Italy had tugged the man away, still smiling cheerfully even if the bright smile had dimmed significantly.

Despite all the excuses, he knew that America was at fault. He was too greedy and too reckless and that mistake had troubled everyone whose economies had depended on him greatly. But reproaching the American wouldn't do much help and now everyone can only wait and hope for the best.

The American had been quiet for the past few meetings and rightly so. But it was still unnerving. The normally enthusiastic and positive man with a hero complex was gone. In his place, there stood an apologetic pallid nation who didn't (not couldn't) defend himself when hurtful insults were subtly hurled over the discussion table.

It broke the Englishman's heart.

But all that still didn't explain why America was driving on some deserted road to who knows where instead of sending England back to the hotel to pack for tomorrow's journey.

"America, where are you taking me?" England asked, voice soft.

The American made no reply, only giving him the other nation a comforting smile but it never reached his eyes, which were riddled with remorse and guilt. But it was only for a moment before his eyes turned back to the road.

England did not press on the subject.

America stepped out of the car, petting the door fondly. England rolled his eyes at America's seeming relationship with his beloved car. His head, though, was preoccupied with other thoughts, a major one being, where on earth am I?

But the sight that awaited him when he turned around took his breath away.

Lights.

Hundreds of them, thousands even, stretching out towards the horizon before finally fading from sight. It took England awhile to realise that this magnificence was a city. To be specific, the view was of New York City… and it was exquisite.

It was like a sea of them, striking and bright against the clear night sky, which due to the intense light pollution, had no stars. For a moment, England regretted this sad fact but he cast the thought back into the recesses of his head and continued to gape at the brilliance.

He could see anything and everything. Because all was illuminated; the cars, the buildings, the bridges and roads were all shown with clarity like it was day. Truly, it was the city that never sleeps.

New York had glowed and each individual sparkle had its own intensity. Some had twinkled, some had glimmered, some had a soft aurora, while some glared, and some… they shone like the sun. Hurting his eyes but captivating him, England found himself unable to take his eyes off of them.

It was stunning.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

England could do nothing but nod. His mind was free from the throbbing and only an ache lingered, reminding him that this reprieve was only temporary. But he would take whatever break that he got. Whatever that could soothe the pain was good enough and this was practically a lifesaver.

"She's one of my proudest achievements, actually. She stands for everything that I have ever held dear to me. And the Lady of Liberty guards her closely."

It was only with the sudden declaration that England tore his eyes away from the view to look at America.

His face was hidden carefully in the shadows but in their proximity, England could still make out those bright eyes and a small wistful curve to his lips as he looked over his prized city. He could understand what America was going through; it wasn't too long ago that he was staring at London himself.

"Why aren't you telling me off?"

Frowning, England feigned ignorance, "What are you talking about?"

There was an annoyed exhale and America continued, "I heard Germany, and he was right. It is my entire fucking fault. I had to go and fuck everything up for the world like the obnoxious grabby brat that I was when I was still your colony!

"And I haven't changed… I'm still as tiresome as ever, still as stupid, naïve and dim-witted as ever. And I caused all of this."

England grimaced at the onslaught of insults America brought upon himself. "Hush. Don't say that, it's not true."

It was too harsh. Maybe America was all of those things, but he was so much more as well. He was the foolish, honest and trusting idiot that went around proclaiming that he was a hero, the one that kept shoving England coffee instead of tea and if he was also the one who was to be blamed for the disaster, that couldn't be helped. What was done had been done.

"There's no use crying over spilt milk, America. Stop blaming yourself and concentrate on pulling yourself out of the mess you've created."

America made no attempt to respond so England continued.

"I'm not giving you a good solid talk-to because I thought that you've received enough of those in the past two months. Nothing I say now is going to do much and I'm absolutely not going to nanny you again.

"Stop looking so wretched, boy! Chin up! It's right to be sorry, but don't you dare just stop there. Mend the hole you've created, love. And then things may finally start to look up again."

Looked surprised at the passionate pep talk that England may or may not have just given him, America nodded in understanding then spoke.

"I need your help."

America had whispered it and it was barely audible, but England had caught it and wasn't shocked by it. He couldn't say that he hadn't been expecting a plea for assistance from the country. But he was at his wits end. There was nothing more that he could do for his ex-colony without putting himself in danger. And he couldn't do that. Not to his people.

England sighed, "America, there's honestly nothing I can do for you… my economy is in an uproar and I– I can't do much else. I'm not in much of a position to be able to aid much and—"

America snorted and turned to focus on the Englishman.

"You misunderstand me," he said, chuckling lightly. "I know that you're doing everything you can to help me recover from this shit, but let's face facts, yeah? It's going be hard to drag me out of this one and… I probably deserve it."

England was silent and America pressed on.

"But, I wasn't asking for help from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

"I was asking Arthur Kirkland, the closest person to me in the world."

England felt a twist in his gut under America's intent gaze. He wasn't asking for a loan. Anything else… England could and would give. England would give anything America asked for, within reason, though sometimes not. He knew that he indulged the younger nation way too much but it was many years ago that America had personally asked something that he as a person could give.

"Anything, America."

America's face had lit up and he grinned beatifically, he scooted close to England from where they sat on the bonnet of one extremely pampered vehicle, America's treasured Chevrolet Impala. America's side was a reassuring heat in the crisp night air. England went back to admiring the lights as he waited for America to make his request.

"Stay with me."

England stared at America in confusion.

"I mean," America reiterated, "that it would be great if you didn't get on that plane back to London tomorrow."

England cracked a grin at the simple request and gave his assent before adding, "You do realise that I would have to return to my country soon. It may not necessarily have to be tomorrow, but soon."

"I know," America replied, albeit a little resentfully, "But I need your company for a few days to take my mind off things, to forget that I still have a mountain of paperwork to fill when I get back to work, to forget all of… this. "

England knew that America had needed to forget so much more than paperwork but perhaps, the real reason need not be said when it was already so obvious.

"All right then."

England leaned in towards America's warmth, arms hugging his knees and stared out. His mind travelled to other places but his sight was fixed upon the metropolis. The lights felt like a good representation for the nations, England reckoned. Alone, they weren't much, not even the brightest one would inspire a sense of wonder when standing by itself. But together… together, they had a chance in making the globe shine so beautifully. Peace, prosperity and progress. It was within reach but it would take more than a little recession to form the bonds needed to create such a powerful revolution. But he had no doubt, one day they would achieve it, all that and more, so much more.

But for now at the very least, England was content to stay at his America's side.

I'm forever yours. Faithfully.

End.

I know the ending is kind of an overkill but I want to put the lyric there. Since, I have done for my past two fics. Did I mention that this could very well be a Song!verse? Hope it wasn't too sappy, because I descend into an epic pot of sap once I start writing.

Song is Faithfully by Journey, which most of you would have only heard the Glee version. But listen to the original one too, it's good. I'm going to avoid songs like roaches... okay, I can't. I love my music too much.