Title: Waiting for the Dawn
Warning: Follows my head canon for the time period, so somewhat US-UK UST in nature, at least overtly.
Disclaimer: Serenswyrd is not a penname for Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.
A/N: First fic ever, so my apologies in advance. (*ﾉ∀≦*)
Special thanks to Liete for her beta help!
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America leaned over the heavy oak desk, his hands gripping its sides tightly.
"What do you mean you can't tell me where he is?"
The impeccably uniformed officer seated behind it returned his glare with a polite but pointedly cool smile. His eyes flicked, unimpressed, at the nation's civilian clothes and then leveled again. "I mean exactly what I said, sir. That's classified information."
America blinked, incredulous, and bent closer, sparing a quick glance at the man's nameplate. "Lieutenant Cooper, do you have any idea who I am?"
Cooper didn't retreat an inch, and America found himself fighting the urge to toss the desk aside to deal with matters more directly. "I assure you, sir," his smile widened a fraction, as if he could taste the nation's impotent rage. "As Mr. Kirkland's personal assistant, I know exactly you are."
"Then tell me," America said, each word slow and careful, "where he is."
"That's simply not possible." He spread his hands in a gesture of mock helplessness. "I'm afraid my orders are absolute. They come from the very top."
America's grip tightened further, the wood under his fingers beginning to groan in protest. This smug little bastard was enjoying himself. "I know exactly where your orders come from," he growled. "I know who gives them to you. And if you don't want a career mucking out latrines the goddamn minute I'm no longer a civilian, you'll tell me where I can find him!"
Cooper's smile vanished instantly at that, his eyes blazing as they locked with America's. "If I could trade in my bars for your active participation, sir," he bit out, each word as crisply edged as his uniform, "they would be on this table right now." He let the words sink in, gaze still burning. "Until then, as I said, I have my orders."
America opened his mouth and then closed it. After a long, uncomfortable moment, he eased his grip and straightened, Cooper's eyes still fixed on his. Finally, he lifted a hand to rub at the warmth creeping up his collar. "Yeah. Well." He looked away, running the hand through his hair. "You and me both, then."
The lieutenant's glare softened slightly, though his posture remained military stiff. "For what it's worth, sir, I'm sorry I can't be more help."
"Hah." America rocked back on his heels with a snort. "I'm pretty sure that's my line." He gave a half-hearted salute as he turned for the door. "I'm sorry to take your time, Lieutenant." America stepped briskly into the hall before the man could give a reply, nearly colliding with a blessedly familiar figure coming in the other direction, a thick sheaf of papers tucked against her matronly hip. America offered up a silent, fervent prayer of thanks for his luck.
"Margie!"
The woman's eyes went wide. "Alfred! What are you- oh!" Her question was cut short with a gasp as the nation seized her waist, lifting her high in the air as he spun. By the time he set her down again, a small blizzard of paper was fluttering to rest and her gasp had become breathless laughter.
"Alfred," she gasped, still laughing. She gave his cheek a fond, shaky pat. "Heaven's sake, boy."
America leaned back to give her a wide grin, his hands still around her waist. "What? You used to love that!"
"When I was four!" Margaret gave the cheek a quick pinch and pushed out of his grasp. "Goodness lad, it's been ages. You haven't changed a bit."
"Clean livin'." America winked. He bent to sweep the scattered papers into a loose pile and then took her by the arm, starting down the hall in the direction she'd been heading. "Listen Margie," he began, voice low and conspiratorial. "I could use your help. I need to find England, and Cooper there—" He jerked his head back toward the lieutenant's office. "—is about as useful as a bag of badgers. And twice as nasty."
"George?" Margaret looked shocked. "Oh, no. He's a sweet boy, once you get to know him." Her surprise eased into a knowing smile as America's frown deepened. "Can't say I'd be surprised if you two got off on the wrong foot, though. I've always suspected Mr. Kirkland keeps him close because he reminds him of someone."
America's pace faltered for a moment, his expression darkening as he felt heat creeping up his neck again. "That smug little brat?" He finally sputtered. "I was- I am- nothing like that."
"Of course not, dear." Margaret patted his arm kindly. "I don't believe anyone said you were."
America felt his flush complete and ducked his head, hoping his burning ears weren't as obvious as they felt. God help him, it was like the old man personally trained every member of his staff in the art of verbal warfare. It was exhausting.
"It's not like I was actually going to say anything to England anyway," he grumbled. "If he knew some kid had managed to get under my skin, I'd probably have to deal with Major-General Cooper the next time around."
Margaret chuckled an agreement, coming up short as the hall opened into the office's entryway. She tilted her head toward the exit expectantly.
America took a deep breath and tried again. "Look, I don't have long." He leaned in, keeping his voice low. "You know as well as I do that I'm not supposed to be here. I just want to see him before I have to leave. It's-" his gazed flickered to the window as he groped for an adequate word. "Well Christ, Margie. It looks like hell out there."
A pang of anxiety twisted through him as Margaret looked away, her smile faltering for the first time. "It hasn't been easy," she murmured. She glanced up to catch the nation's eye again. "But he's all right, Alfred. Honestly. He's in every morning like clockwork and holding up just fine. You know I'd tell you the truth if he weren't."
America rolled his eyes. "I don't need the stiff upper lip speech, Margie. I read the propaganda sheets. I just…" He faltered, uncertain where he'd intended the sentence to take him. "I need to…"
She gave his arm a quick squeeze. "I know, dear. I do. Now, if I had a mind to be helpful and still keep to the letter of my orders," she said carefully, "I might point out that your brother's been around a fair bit lately."
"Well, sure." America frowned. "Of course he has, but…" His eyes went wide. "Oh. Margie!" He swooped in to seize the woman's waist again, but was dodged with a quick side-step.
"Steady there, soldier," she chided, laughing. "Once a day is more than enough for these old bones." She tucked a loose gray curl behind her ear and gave him a fond smile. "I'm afraid I have quite a lot of work waiting, so I'll have to leave the rest to you. But it was lovely to see you again, Alfred."
America beamed back. "You too." He darted in for a hug before the woman could dodge or protest. "You take care, Miss Margie. Keep an eye on the old man. Don't let him work too hard."
Margaret drew back with a laugh. "God himself couldn't stop Arthur Kirkland. You know that." She took his hand to give it a final squeeze. "He'll be glad to see you, Alfred," she said gently. "Don't let him tell you otherwise."
America swallowed around a sudden tightness in his throat. "Yes ma'am." He held on to his smile, hoping it looked more confident than it felt. "He'd be the first to tell you, I stopped listening a long time ago." He gave her another quick wink, turning before his face could betray him, and stepped out onto the streets of London.