Okay. Deep breaths, Alfred. They might be a bit pissed off, but hell. This was a matter of national security.
Everything turned out good in the end, though, right? Right.
Taking a deep breath, the American pushed open the door labelled "NATO" and stepped into the conference room; what he was met by were just over a dozen glowering faces- and Greece's (somehow also glowering) cat.
Shit.
The silence was unbearable as Alfred waded through it to take his seat.
"R-Right, let's get-" America tried to begin, looking up at the faces fixed on him. His cheery tone tailed off slowly as he avoided each pair of eyes. For once, he was able to sense the atmosphere- it seemed just a little uncomfortable. "What's up, you lot?"
"Why didn't you tell us, America?" Norway was the first to speak- his voice was quiet but dripping with ire.
"About what?" It came out before he could stop it; America was too used to checking and double-checking before getting himself into trouble.
"You know what, America!" Belgium hissed, sitting back with an aggravated sigh.
"What is the point of this organisation if you do not tell us things that are so important, Alfred?" Francis spat, the Frenchman's usual jovial air replaced with fiery indignation. "We could have all been killed!"
"We had it under control." Lied Alfred. "There wasn't a moment it went out of our control."
"Oh? Really? Because twenty communist ships heading for Cuba, with a missile base being built there and a communist government practically on your shores isn't what I'd call under control!" Demark spat, hitting his hands on the table and standing up.
"Denmark…" Norway pulled at his sleeve urgently, and the nation sighed and slumped back into his chair.
"Why didn't you tell us, America?" Ludwig said in a controlled tone; he was still technically partially the bespectacled nation's property, but he was just as much a member of this Organisation anyway.
"Didn't you think we could help?" Northern Italy asked, eyes wide.
"That bastard's too dim, brother, leave it." Romano tugged at Feliciano's sleeve.
"I don't get why you couldn't tell us." Iceland's stare, as usual, was distant, but the meaning was all too clear.
"If this is part of your stupid hero complex thing, I'm disgusted." Francis spat, taking another swig of the wine on the table before him- straight from the bottle. Uh oh.
"America- why did you take your missiles from my house anyway?" Turkey asked, sitting forwards. Greece beside him shuffled nervously.
"Why shouldn't I? They were mine." America said, the turn of the conversation making him nervous. Nobody was supposed to know about that, or the deal with Ivan's boss about its removal!
"Never mind those now, what I wish to know is why we were not informed!" Francis' tone was getting angrier, his voice getting louder.
"We didn't see the need." Alfred said probably the worst thing he could have.
"QUOI?!" France seemed to explode, leaping to his feet and sending his chair skittering backwards. "Are you really so dim, America, that you do not realise why we are here? It seems we are no more than a backing gang for you, this organisation! Well, the great Republic of France does not make alliances such as this to be associated with liars and cheats! People who hide things from their supposed friends are not welcome in my borders, and I shall not endure such nonsense!" grabbing the bottle of wine from the table, Francis Bonnefoy turned his back on the table and stalked to the door of the room.
"Francis, wait! We can talk about this!" called America, also on his feet. Francis shot a glare over his shoulder, shooting straight through America's head like an arrow.
"Do not use my name with such familiarity, you bastard. I am no longer your slave." He spat vehemently, slamming the door behind him as he left. America's knees felt weak and he collapsed back into his chair.
"Let's take a break." Canada muttered with a small frown, anxious to check on his former guardian, knowing how offended he had been. As the nations bustled out, muttering their respective insults, only two remained seated; Alfred, who had buried his head in his hands, and Arthur Kirkland.
"Are you pissed at me too, Artie?" mumbled Alfred once the door shut with a thud. The gentleman sighed, his teacup meeting its saucer with a discordant clink as he fixed his green eyes on the taller nation.
"Haven't I always told you not to use such vulgar language?" Arthur said, straightening up his already rod-straight back. "And, since you asked, I'm not 'pissed at you', or whatever you yanks say nowadays. I'm disappointed, I'm offended and I feel betrayed, Alfred. But I'm not 'pissed' at you. Though exactly how I could be drunk at you is beyond me." Each of England's words stung, almost making America physically wince as he heard them. Arthur was offended- it wasn't a rare occurrence, but he usually had some sense of humour about these things. Now, however, he was as deadly serious as he had ever been.
"I'm sorry."
"Do you even realise how foolish you were, America? You could have gotten us all killed!" Arthur's voice was shaking with barely contained rage. "We made NATO so we could stop Communism together, as a team, like a family. You're a member of my family, Alfred, and yet you won't tell me when something goes wrong. You needed help on this occasion."
"But thing is, Artie, I didn't. I fixed it, didn't I? And how long was it before you told me everything about yourself?"
"This is completely different, don't you dare bring my past into this!"
"It was decades before I even knew you had been a pirate- even longer before you told me about the other places! India, Hong Kong, Australia; Africa, for God's sakes! You didn't even mention anywhere there, or what you did to them!"
When America stopped, he realised he was on his feet again, tears brimming in his eyes, hands flat on the table, face nose-to-nose with Arthur's own. He drew back slowly, his breathing seeming obtrusively loud in the silence. Arthur sighed.
"Fine. Enjoy your denial. But you need us, Alfred. You need us, and you'll realise this some day." Arthur sighed, finishing his tea and standing up. His chair squealed indignantly as he pushed it back.
"But I..."
"You are a dim imbecile, Alfred." Arthur hissed, biting back other curses unsuccessfully. "If only you knew how fucking dangerous Ivan is... Get it into your thick skull, you sodding, gitfaced wanker. We're supposed to help you."
Alfred clenched his shaking fists. Heroes don't cry. Heroes don't cry. "...Artie?"
"No, America." Arthur looked back at his ex-colony, his seemingly constant facade of heroism dissolving slowly but surely. The use of his formal name made the American's fractured heart crack a little more. "Francis isn't coming back."
