Hello! This is my first ever post of one of my fanfictions so please be gentle; however, constructive criticism is very much welcomed. This is a USUK fic and there might be a few other pairings down the road, just waiting to see how this first post will go. USUK also means yaoi a.k.a. BOYXBOY and if you don't like that then why the hell are you reading it? WARNING: this will also be an mpreg meaning that, yes, one or more male characters will be with child. This is for my cracked up love child pairing US x UK= the beloved Sealand.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters, they all belong to their respectful creator.

This is somewhat short considering that this is just a preview of what's to come. This whole fic will be rated T-M for future smut. Please enjoy. ^_^

Preface: Alone 1959

"You'll be fighting a losing battle you stupid wanker!" Green eyes fumed and thick eyebrows knitted together out of frustration and rage. Of all this bloody nonsense...

"I don't need you to tell me what to do! I'm an adult, I can do as I please and if I say that I'm sending my men to Vietnam to stop the flood of communists then I fucking am!" Straight white teeth gritted as eyes blue as the sky were filled with defiance.

The two nations -no- the two lovers stood before each other as anger and negative energy floated about, almost as if they were engulfed by flames. The English nation wanted nothing more than to stop his lover from endangering himself. Vietnam, while being female, was still a force to be reckoned with. Her internal conflicts were none of America's business and he only wished that the younger would quickly come to comprehend this fact. Fighting against Vietnam was a suicide mission. She was fierce, dangerous, and had her land to her advantage. America... America... To the green-eyed man he was still so young, too naive. What would be the point of this war? But America stood there determined as a stubborn Spanish bull; his shoulders squared and his boyish charm had vanished. If needed he would end their relationship and that was something the older country was scared of. He didn't want that to happen.

"Why? Why?" the shorter blond's shoulders slumped, eyes brimming with tears. "What would you gain? It's pointless!" The look on England's face shocked the American. Wide open, red from the heat of the tears, his green eyes glazed with the salt water.

He sighed, raking his fingers through the cow-lick in his hair, "This... This is something I have to do Arthur." He looked down at the trembling man before him. A small but sad smile graced his lips as he engulfed the smaller male into a gentle hug, "I promise this to you. I promise that I'll return with not but a scratch on me. Everything will be fine, it'll be fast, like tearing off a band-aid."

The other shook his head against the other's chest, not attempting to return the embrace. His silent tears marked the man's shirt and he wished that they would remain there as a painful reminder to his lover who exactly he was leaving behind. "Don't go. Alfred. Don't..." he whispered.

America held all the more tighter to the man, "I have to. I have to go. I can't let communism continue to spread." He tried to let go but England then decided to hold onto him. The blue-eyed man sat his large hands on top of the other's shoulders, gently pushing him away. England's eyes held nothing but pain until his chin was lifted to look the young man in the eyes. Their lips connected in a soft but passionate kiss goodbye.

No no no! England screamed internally. Don't kiss me, don't hold me, don't look at me with that smile on your face like everything is going to be okay.

America was the first to break the kiss. His fingers tangled in blond hair, moving to caress a moist cheek, his thumb smoothing over the other's flushed skin. "I'll be back, I promise. I love you, Arthur." With that he turned away grabbing his military duffel bag and aviary leather jacket stopping at the front door of England's modest home. Turning, he smiled like it would his last though the sincerity of that smile didn't reach his eyes. Giving his lover a thumbs up he spoke loudly, "After all, I'm the hero!" The wooden door gave a soft click as it shut, but the British man didn't let the waver of that boy's confidence go unnoticed.

England stood there... alone. He didn't know how long he stayed there in that empty living room until the sky gave off a navy blue color to the house; the sun would soon be completely snuffed out by the moon. His small bits of tears had dried by then as his eyelashes were hard and he could feel the uncomfortable film of salt on his cheeks. Things weren't going to be all right. The person he loved was leaving for a second time but now he was not the one to decide whether he lived or died. No, it was Vietnam and he could only hope that that nation would be merciful.

The dark walls eventually made him feel as though he were suffocating and the blond Brit eventually moved as he turned to scale his stairs. He wasn't hungry and he doubt he could force himself to have an appetite so there was no point to eating. He wasn't tired and he also doubt that he could sleep but lying in a bed that smelled like his Alfred was better than standing in that living room trying to erase the image of the man's receding back from his mind.

He stayed in the clothes he was wearing, climbing into the bed and burying himself beneath his duvet he curled himself into a ball. He clutched a pillow to his chest beneath the thick cover of darkness allowing the soft sent of America whisk him away into a dark abyss.

Far away from that peaceful darkness that the British man slept in, his lover was already in the jungle of Vietnam alongside his men preparing troops for his first attack. It would be dawn soon. Blue eyes met a black and starry night. He didn't even say that he loved me back. That was all that the broad shouldered man could think of as the picture of his lover's tear stained face maimed his courage. Could he fight this battle with such torn emotions?...